Sitaruîm's Blog

[Sitaruîm]

Hi guys, I've created a discord server. I don't have an invite link because I'd have to pay for that, but if you're interested in joining send me a private message.

Apparently you don't have to pay for it, you can have a permanent invite link for free, so here it goes:

Join the Sitaruîm Discord Server!

 

[Sitaruîm]

PRIDE AND HATRED

​

I still remember that day of May. It was close to noon, and I went to the university registrar as if my business was a simple chore. I asked the lady if my degree was ready, and she nodded. Then she headed to the back and looked through the files. Soon after she came back with a big envelope that contained my new title. More than five years have now passed.

The diploma looked pretty, but at the time it was not something I was proud of. There were many reasons, but at the core was that I had not tried my best, I simply didn’t have it in me: I wasn’t interested enough. Another reason was the sorry state of academic standards in America. I often looked around me, and it did not seem to me that I was among bright people—my teachers were of course top mathematicians, but my fellow students left much to be desired, there was a palpable lack of quality in the student body. That’s what profiteering coupled with silly racial laws will do to ya, American! There was also the fact that although many of the teachers were objective geniuses, many of them did not give a crap about teaching, which only added fuel to the fire of mediocrity.

Just like a chore, I went and retrieved my diploma. I forewent the ceremony, the pictures with friends, the cap and gown, the shaking of hands with some important scholar; I wanted none of it. As time passed, my brewing insanity made me deny not only that I had got my title, but even that I lived in America. And after having abandoned the American hellscape, I would stupidly lie by omission by just saying I studied some mathematics at university, but never specifying where this took place. Actually, this depended on the level of intimacy I had with the person, and on where my mood happened to be. It was more than self-hatred brought about by continuously doing something I was not meant to do; but looking back, my time in America was like a dark cloud. Mostly dark, very little in the way joy and pleasure—a life that could serve as a form of punishment, surely. And it was me causing it, me and no one else! Man can have many enemies, but his own mind can be the toughest one to beat up, wrestle down, and put in its place.

If so far this seems like a senseless ramble, I hope that at the end you will leave with at least some insight. Mental illnesses run rife in my blood, and I feel most fortunate for having averted some of the many blights of the mind through an unlikely display of will, but too many times I have felt that I was too close to becoming insane—it was not easy! What I find interesting is that when I feel good and healthy, I look at what’s positive about every single past experience, even the worst ones. After all, would there be growth without suffering? Is it not a crucial step in becoming stronger?

I think this message is mostly geared to those people who are conflicted in their life, those who feel like there are things they must fix. My advice is that that you stop and listen closely, because what your heart wants, it doesn’t say feebly: it screams! So, unclog your ears and get to work. It is possible, to turn all your failures into something good.

 

[Sitaruîm]

I started a youtube channel, I'm gonna livestream hangouts with the people in my discord server and I plan to do other projects like book reviews as well. Here is the first test run!

Test run

 

[Sitaruîm]

I translated Tommy Makem's Four Green Fields into Spanish.

Cuatro campos verdes
​

“¿Qué es lo que yo tenía?” Preguntó la mujer
“¿Qué es lo que yo tenía?” Preguntó la orgullosa mujer
Tenía cuatro campos verdes, cada uno era una joya
Pero extraños vinieron e intentaron sacármelos
Yo tenía hijos buenos y fuertes, que pelearon para salvar mis joyas
“Pelearon y murieron, y esa es mi pena”, dijo la mujer

“Hace mucho tiempo”, dijo la buena mujer
“Hace mucho tiempo”, dijo la orgullosa mujer
Hubo guerra y muerte, expoliación y saqueo
Mis hijos murieron de hambre, en las montañas, en los valles, y en el mar
Y sus gritos de lamento hicieron que el cielo temblara
“Mis cuatro campos verdes fueron manchados de rojo por su sangre”, dijo ella

“¿Qué tengo ahora?” Dijo la buena mujer
“¿Qué tengo ahora?” Dijo la orgullosa mujer
Tengo cuatro campos verdes, uno de ellos esclavo
En manos de un extraño, que me lo sacó
Pero mis hijos tuvieron hijos, tan valientes como sus padres
“Mi cuarto campo verde va a florecer de nuevo”, dijo ella

 

[Sitaruîm]

I added Spanish subtitles to this great interview. The man is 93 and has an enviable mental sharpness, it's definitely one of my goals to retain my cognition into old age.


View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bdG8GhVggMU

 

[yerrag]

He was just a folk singer. The music he sang was high quality, this is what inspired me. What also helped was watching him be interviewed in his final years when he struggled to speak.


View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MNFeFeeW63E

Thanks. He sings from the heart, although I have to admit it is hard to listen because of his accent. I wish I had a better ear as I find myself smiling along only to be embarrassed when asked for an opinion. He is what I would consider a quintessential troubador, and his style connects people to their land and tradition and history.

 

[yerrag]

PRIDE AND HATRED

View attachment 43158
​

I still remember that day of May. It was close to noon, and I went to the university registrar as if my business was a simple chore. I asked the lady if my degree was ready, and she nodded. Then she headed to the back and looked through the files. Soon after she came back with a big envelope that contained my new title. More than five years have now passed.

The diploma looked pretty, but at the time it was not something I was proud of. There were many reasons, but at the core was that I had not tried my best, I simply didn’t have it in me: I wasn’t interested enough. Another reason was the sorry state of academic standards in America. I often looked around me, and it did not seem to me that I was among bright people—my teachers were of course top mathematicians, but my fellow students left much to be desired, there was a palpable lack of quality in the student body. That’s what profiteering coupled with silly racial laws will do to ya, American! There was also the fact that although many of the teachers were objective geniuses, many of them did not give a crap about teaching, which only added fuel to the fire of mediocrity.

Just like a chore, I went and retrieved my diploma. I forewent the ceremony, the pictures with friends, the cap and gown, the shaking of hands with some important scholar; I wanted none of it. As time passed, my brewing insanity made me deny not only that I had got my title, but even that I lived in America. And after having abandoned the American hellscape, I would stupidly lie by omission by just saying I studied some mathematics at university, but never specifying where this took place. Actually, this depended on the level of intimacy I had with the person, and on where my mood happened to be. It was more than self-hatred brought about by continuously doing something I was not meant to do; but looking back, my time in America was like a dark cloud. Mostly dark, very little in the way joy and pleasure—a life that could serve as a form of punishment, surely. And it was me causing it, me and no one else! Man can have many enemies, but his own mind can be the toughest one to beat up, wrestle down, and put in its place.

If so far this seems like a senseless ramble, I hope that at the end you will leave with at least some insight. Mental illnesses run rife in my blood, and I feel most fortunate for having averted some of the many blights of the mind through an unlikely display of will, but too many times I have felt that I was too close to becoming insane—it was not easy! What I find interesting is that when I feel good and healthy, I look at what’s positive about every single past experience, even the worst ones. After all, would there be growth without suffering? Is it not a crucial step in becoming stronger?

I think this message is mostly geared to those people who are conflicted in their life, those who feel like there are things they must fix. My advice is that that you stop and listen closely, because what your heart wants, it doesn’t say feebly: it screams! So, unclog your ears and get to work. It is possible, to turn all your failures into something good.

I'm sorry it has come to this.

Cultural marxism served to the highly ranked universities. It is everywhere. I'm pretty sure it extends all the way to Argentina and to the Philippines, although the worst poison is fed to US universities and its downstream effects accumulate like quicksilver down to k-12. Your disappointment would have been less felt a generation or two ago, but the poison was already pervasive. It only took the internet to be developed in the early 90s to begin the stirrings of awareness of us being poisoned. And the gears of mass intoxication had to be put on high, in order to arrest the process of mass awakening. They weren't successful in continuing with their past pretensions of hunky-doryness, and Trump's rise was the signal to shift from their strategy of slow rotting into full-scale in=your-face belligerence on the people.

Which is why you experienced it going to university. Hope it wasn't what someone here would call JUCLA, a perjoratory term for UCLA. I didn't go to a top tier school when I studied there. I really didn't care for the name. But I didn't know there was good reason to avoid the schools that scored high in US News and World Report's ranking, but I just did. Maybe because I felt I wanted to experience the true USA. But I'm glad I did. As a foreigner, I never felt discriminated against. Except for a white cop who took the side of the lady who swiped my car in a corner turn with a pickup truck. But eh, that happened to me also with a cop in the Philippines. So, I gave him the benefit of the doubt for the law's bias against men, not foreigners. I learned to act very stressed even though I'm not so a cop would look kindly to my case. Being cool and composed in such instances makes one guilty.

 

[Sitaruîm]

I'm sorry it has come to this.

Cultural marxism served to the highly ranked universities. It is everywhere. I'm pretty sure it extends all the way to Argentina and to the Philippines, although the worst poison is fed to US universities and its downstream effects accumulate like quicksilver down to k-12. Your disappointment would have been less felt a generation or two ago, but the poison was already pervasive. It only took the internet to be developed in the early 90s to begin the stirrings of awareness of us being poisoned. And the gears of mass intoxication had to be put on high, in order to arrest the process of mass awakening. They weren't successful in continuing with their past pretensions of hunky-doryness, and Trump's rise was the signal to shift from their strategy of slow rotting into full-scale in=your-face belligerence on the people.

Which is why you experienced it going to university. Hope it wasn't what someone here would call JUCLA, a perjoratory term for UCLA. I didn't go to a top tier school when I studied there. I really didn't care for the name. But I didn't know there was good reason to avoid the schools that scored high in US News and World Report's ranking, but I just did. Maybe because I felt I wanted to experience the true USA. But I'm glad I did. As a foreigner, I never felt discriminated against. Except for a white cop who took the side of the lady who swiped my car in a corner turn with a pickup truck. But eh, that happened to me also with a cop in the Philippines. So, I gave him the benefit of the doubt for the law's bias against men, not foreigners. I learned to act very stressed even though I'm not so a cop would look kindly to my case. Being cool and composed in such instances makes one guilty.

Thank you for your reply and for sharing your experiences. At first I was sorry about the whole thing, but now I see my time in America as a crucial part in my growth and development. I think I would be much more childish, naive, and much less wise had I not left for America by myself as a teenager. It's a thought experiment I did a few times, to picture how stunted my ability to think and correctly perceive the world would be. Seeing with my own eyes how mind controlled the average American is was quite a shock to me. I pity Americans, it's a country full of decent people and it's the nation whose elites hate the common folk the most.

 

[Sitaruîm]

I wrote a new poem, what I wanted to communicate is, what I deem, the necessity of having children. Enjoy..

THE TREE OF LIFE
​

When you were young your tree was strong
For it had just been renewed
And what is it, that your tree needs?
Give it a daughter, or a son

The tree is now under your care
Can’t you see its end is nigh?
So make sure that you water it
Make sure it won’t dry up

At first, you’ll be oblivious
Because you will be high on life
Tasting her every fruit
Walking the paths where joy does lie

And then you’ll note a change of pace
The tree’s become a tad too stiff
Because its blood moves oh so slow
It has got to be replaced

But of this you weren’t mindful
Now your tree, it must depart
Its care to you behooved
Now it’s dead right at the roots

Remember your uncle, Jack?
I heard a great man, he was
Make sure you do him justice
Because now of him, only you can talk

And of the more than thousand souls
With whom a bond you had then formed
Only a few of them remain
That bond’s no longer one so strong

And when you think of long gone friends
It will all seem to have passed so fast
All those games and all the talking
Will play before you in a flash

And when about them you do talk
Choose your words with utmost care
Because you’ll have to do them justice
You’ll have to treat them very fair

You will begin to hate the silence
Which will bring you nothing but despair
You will be living in the past
Because the present you won’t bear

And when your once beautiful tree
Reaches the untimely, dreadful end
Peacefully it shall not go
It will be there, left to rot

And if this mistake you do avert
You will have done what must be done
You will enjoy the words and laughs
Of your blood that was renewed

 

[Sitaruîm]

Hello everyone, I plan on reviewing the books that I read from now on and commenting them. I uploaded my first review to youtube. Would love to hear your thoughts!

 

[Sitaruîm]

What is a good way to deal with the people you hate? I’ve taken on the job of insulting one of my most hated personages, hopefully without, in the process, reaching a level as low as is my esteem for this clown. Below is the list of insults, which may, in the future, grow. Enjoy!

NASSIM NICHOLAS TALEB

​

Mr. Cortisol

Mr. “You can’t compute this irrelevant integral, therefore I am right.”

Mr. “I am good at probability theory, therefore the world is random.”

Mr. “I claim to be stoic, even though any Greek philosopher would eventually slap me in the face for my lack of respect.”

Mr. “I insult people after they die, ha ha ha!”

Mr. “Ad hominem is my greatest weapon.”

Mr. “I pretend to be a polyglot but stutter when I utter anything that is not grotesque.”

Mr. “I blabber more than the opposite sex.”

Mr. “I will never be a Greek. Ever.”

Mr. “I fight verbosity with an even more verbose retort.”

Mr. “There are no problems in the world, because I have none.”

Mr. “See this plot that is in no way related to the phenomenon? It explains why I am right and you are wrong.”

Mr. “Trust the data, because it comes from the government.”

Mr. “America is the best nation, you only know of its corruption because of its goodwilled transparency.”

Mr. “Trust the pharmaceutical industry, because never in the past have they falsified their research to get their latest ‘innovation’ to be sold.”

Mr. “I have a million followers and it surely hasn’t made me overestimate my worth.”

Mr. “I love being a cult leader.”

Mr. “When I’m outsmarted, I hit the ‘block’ button.”

 

[Sitaruîm]

Hello everyone, It's almost been one year since I began playing the violin, I was very inspired today to write about it, but this time it is in Spanish. To the few of you who can read Spanish, here are my thoughts...

Un año con mi violín
​

Aprender a tocar el violín no es muy distinto a cocinar un plato de tallarines. Se hierve el agua, se le echa la sal, se echan luego los tallarines, y se los revuelve por un minutito para evitar que se peguen en el fondo de la olla. Una vez pasado el tiempo justo, se los cuela y se los une al condimento, que se suele preparar en simultaneo en la hornalla de al lado.

Una de las peculiaridades es que, a diferencia del plato de tallarines, en el caso del violín no podemos apurarnos y sacar la olla del fuego un poco antes, y llamarlo al dente. No, con el violín no se pueden arrebatar las cosas, hay que tratarlo con el respeto que merece.

El trigo del violín es muy distinto al del pan de todos los días, su creador fue ese mismo genio que decidió cortarle la crin a la yegua, sacarle el jugo al pino, y así hizo que las cuerdas vibren. Es un trigo muy duro, tan duro que a esos tallarines hay que cocinarlos por cinco años. Un riesgo muy alto, imagínense dormir más de mil quinientas noches con la hornalla viva, muy poca gente se atreve a hacerlo. Pero no hablemos solo de lo malo, porque todo aquel que lo logre, ¡va a saborear la gloria!

Yo a los míos los tiré al agua hace un añito. Mirá vos, y que rápido que se pasó. Y aunque falten cuatro más para que pueda finalmente disfrutar de mi carbonara, estoy muy relajado, porque sé que en mi casa no se va a cortar el gas, y que la hornalla va a seguir prendida, ablandándolos a esa velocidad de tortuga.

​

 

[Sitaruîm]

Most of us here on the forum know the extent of the mass media's evil. I drew stories I found on this telegram page and wrote about the phenomenon of racially motivated crimes against whites. This phenomenon affects families primarily in America, but also in South Africa with the Boer killings, and more recently in Europe as well.

WHEN YOU LIVE AMONG THEM
​

It is something I wonder, whether evil is crafted or if it arises spontaneously. Is it a combination of both? Or are some predisposed to evil, and it’s all a matter of circumstance whether this potential will be achieved? Whatever the case may be, the fact is that They are evil, and They have been taught to hate people like you, and people like me. They have been taught to hate, to hate viciously. Those who instigate Them to commit crimes against us go on to hide these crimes, so that the carnage may never stop. In an attempt to alert my fellow men and women, and so that the victims may be remembered, I will share their stories. These are but a few, a few drops in an ocean. The amount of pain and suffering that They have caused is beyond measure.

Robert was killed while waiting for a ride after a Halloween party. A car pulled up to him and the driver beckoned him closer before shooting the 19-year-old in the chest and leaving him to die in the street. Robert was a college student who enjoyed writing and performing music with his band. Investigators believe he was the first victim of one of Them, who in the next few weeks went on to kill three more men and injure several others. Almost all of the targets were random strangers who he shot from his car.

Tracy was killed at work. One of Them came to rob the gas station where Tracy was a clerk. He pulled the 54-year-old into the station’s restroom and shot her in the head, then left with a few hundred dollars. A customer found Tracy’s body shortly afterwards. Years earlier, Tracy had suffered a stroke which affected her speech and made her self-conscious, but she found her occasional shifts at work helpful. According to her family, “She loved her job. She always tried to keep a smile on her face, especially with her customers. You could see a light shining through Tracy.”

Matthew was stabbed to death. On his way home from work, a group of six of Them attacked Matthew. According to the attackers’ statements, They had been watching TV together when something on the screen got them “hyped” to the point that They decided to find a random person to assault. One of Them dared another to stab their victim, and so he did once they had chosen Matthew and began beating him. Court documents indicate that the underlying reason why the group killed the 25-year-old was “because They were bored.”

Matthew was killed by his caretaker. Matthew lived in a group home because of his severe autism, which left him with the mental capacity of a 4-year-old. A worker at the facility, who is one of Them, beat and stomped on Matthew, causing him to die of severe organ damage.

Kelli came home from school to find one of Them burglarizing her house. The man stabbed the 14-year-old several times and ran off with her phone. When Kelli’s mother arrived one hour later, she found the girl lying face-down in the kitchen and feared she committed suicide. The day after Kelli’s murder, the perpetrator texted her mother several times to tease and intimidate her.

Colleen stepped out of class to use the restroom and was followed by one of her 14-year-old students. Inside the restroom, He stabbed the young math teacher, raped her, and slit her throat with a boxcutter. Then He used a recycling bin to haul Colleen’s body out of the school and into some nearby woods, where He posed the corpse in a sexual position.

Autumn went to a nearby house to trade bicycle parts. The 12-year-old girl was beaten and strangled to death by her 15-year-old neighbor, who is one of Them. Then He and His older brother dumped her body in a recycling bin.

Quita was found dead near some railroad tracks. Quita and her newlywed husband had been taking a walk near their home when a van pulled up with strangers inside. They forced the couple into the vehicle, tied them up, sexually assaulted Quita, and beat the couple unconscious. They drove to an industrial area and dragged Quita out by the hair. With a machete, they began slicing at the 28-year-old and her husband. Having nearly decapitated Quita and believing her husband to be dead as well, the men left.

Joshua and Michael died of smoke inhalation. The boys had been asleep when one of Them started a fire outside their apartment, targeting his ex-girlfriend who was living with the boys and their mother. Although the women survived the attack, and the other tenants in the building were able to escape, firefighters couldn’t reach 4-year-old Joshua and 3-year-old Michael in time to save their lives.

Lawrence was in his driveway when a group of Them approached him. They pushed the 87-year-old to the ground and stole his wallet, then left him lying unconscious. Lawrence, a war veteran and entrepreneur who was famous in the area for his hot tamale recipe, died in a hospital two days later.

I showed you only ten of these stories. These events happen every single day, but you will never see them reported in the national news, a media apparatus that works incessantly to create a distorted reality, where the victim is the perpetrator, and the perpetrator is the victim. Now you know, that when you live among Them, you had better watch out!

 

[Sitaruîm]

Hey all, I wrote another poem. No prelude this time, enjoy!

JUST A GLIMPSE
​

What is the crux of the matter?
In this world where words abound
For a thought I’ll give you a shilling
And for a deed at least one pound

To know this, would be my pleasure
How it is our worth is measured
Because my mind, no one can read
And my deeds are what is seen

So I could quietly play the game
And this benefit always reap
But for a minute I’ll be earnest
And of my thoughts you’ll catch a glimpse

A good measure of them is happy
And sometimes they make me chuckle
Seldom times I do feel fear
And some others bring me tears

I’ll say most folk I find alright
Nothing compromise can’t solve
So unless you’re out of reason
Know in me, you’ll find no foe

For a few, I hold deep hatreds
That one proscribed emotion
I make sure it is well placed
On those who make my stomach churn

And those I love, it’s with a fury
But how does it manifest?
In friendship, a little timid
And in romance, a lot less

‘Tis one thing you may deem silly
But I gave up a year’s wages
To get a prize money can’t buy
A gift so prized all through the ages

This gift demanded quite the effort
Because the clock was ticking fast
And them poor souls who were too greedy
And chose the dough over their wants
Alas they can’t go back in time
And now they are rich, sad, and old

But that’s enough, I’ll now stop wandering
So let us get back to my thoughts
Sometimes they are well intended
And some others quite perverse

There’s also room for melancholy
And the sadness might well linger
But of your mares please beware
As too much of it, is a folly!

And though fair souls I do respect
Their achievements duly admired
I don’t forget they’re all too human
Of repeating that, I’ll ne’er tire

And in the most extreme of cases
And where my wisdom does permit
I am not ashamed to admit
That my deed may be deceit

One of the hardest things I fought
Is the urge to talk too loud
And undeserving, be too proud
And thus replacing mouth for snout

Now it’s time to stop the talk
For I deem you’ve heard enough
All the rest I’ll leave to doubt
And what you see is all that counts

 

[Sitaruîm]

Hi all, today I wrote about patriotism, which has been heavily attacked for a long time. I think patriotism is very noble, and it can make for beautiful moments full of ecstasy and joy. I wrote this in Spanish but the message is universal, so if you want to read it in English I suggest DeepL, it does a decent job!

EL PATRIOTA
​

Se justifican, diciendo que al patriotismo te lo inculca la cultura y el contexto en el que crecés, asumiendo que esto necesariamente es malo. “El antipatriotismo es superior,” dice esa clase de gente que no cree en nada, y cuyo ser se basa en las cosas que de alguna manera llegaron a detestar, esa clase de gente que va a ser amarga hasta que el mundo sea exactamente como se lo plantea en la cabeza. ¡Egoístas!

“El antipatriotismo es superior”, me dicen con su tono prepotente, “porque a diferencia del patriotismo, tan básico e instintivo, el antipatriotismo es pensado, es académico e intelectual, es superior”. Son como los peces, que no saben que están en el agua porque nunca se animaron a pegar el salto para descubrir el aire, y no se dan cuenta de que lo que sale de sus bocas es la paráfrasis de lo que dice gente con más neuronas.

Me dijeron que no debería sentir amor por mi tierra, total, es lo mismo que cualquier otro lado. Pero después de una década de vivir en el extranjero volví a casa, y cuando llegó la primera noche de verano, de esas que solo los cordobeses conocemos, me di cuenta de que, después de tanto tiempo deambulando, me estaba faltando algo.

Me dijeron que amar a los tuyos es odiar a los otros, pero yo no odio a nadie ni a nada por el simple hecho de no serme familiar, de hecho, ¡me cautiva!

Me dijeron que alegrarme por el bienestar o por los logros de mis compatriotas es patético, ya que sus logros no son míos. ¿Acaso alguna vez le dijeron a una madre que no se enorgullezca cuando sus hijos logran sus logros? ¿Es tan irracional acontentarme por ser parte de una sociedad donde todavía existen las condiciones para que el individuo florezca, y que tiene una gran historia de gente capaz, trabajadora e incluso genia?

Y cuando Messi hace un gol, no puedo evitar que se me ponga la piel de gallina, y festejarlo. Y por alguna curiosa razón, la última vez que escuché “La mano de Dios” de Rodrigo, solté un par de lágrimas. Y mirá que yo nunca escucho cuarteto. Y si al mensaje antipatriota le hubiese dado más peso que el merecido, a lo mejor habría intentado retener esas lágrimas, pero dejé que fluyan.

También me dijeron que el patriota es un tosco, pero yo concluí que el tosco es amigable y honesto, y me quedo con él antes que con ese falso intelectualismo.

Me dijeron que el patriota es un inculto, y honestamente no creo que sea un adjetivo que me califique. ¿No nos demuestran su torpeza cuando ladran sus generalizaciones?

Entonces, a los antipatriotas, les pido que reconsideren, o que al menos practiquen la tolerancia que supuestamente tienen.

¿Y quién soy yo? El gitano que, después de haber probado lo mejor de las otras culturas, ¡se queda con el asado bien hecho!

 

[daphne134]

Hey, I just found your YT channel and am really enjoying what you have to say.

Edit: Oops that is someone else's YT but I like your writing a lot too!

 

[Sitaruîm]

Hey, I just found your YT channel and am really enjoying what you have to say.

Edit: Oops that is someone else's YT but I like your writing a lot too!

Thank you, my blog is dead (rip), hosting was too expensive, so I moved everything over to substack. Unfortunately I cannot edit the links in these old posts.