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May 6th, 2016 
Awake Goy The teenager looked through the photos and grunted, “I can’t believe you’re real, dad.” The photos stopped when I was 24-years of age. I had by that time used up most of my nine lives. A Merchant Navy seaman I had travelled, I had lived and nearly died more times than any self-respecting cat.
I had lived much; boy-gang leader on New York’s waterfront, knife fights in South Africa, jungle flight in the war-torn Congo. I had swung precariously from masts, fallen down ship’s holds, sleep-walked and climbed the ship’s handrail as it crossed the Bermuda Triangle.
I had challenged the Atlantic in an African native’s canoe, stolen a tug in Hamburg harbour et al. I had almost met my Maker on a Peruvian hilltop, escaped a gunfight in Brazil. I had trotted unscathed through Aden’s Crater District, was almost run over by a tug in Beirut harbour just one night after surviving a knife fight in a nearby brothel. I had negotiated both New York’s East End and South Africa’s shanty towns at night. The Atlantic hurricanes were just par for the course.
Instead of counting my blessings I continued to push my guardian angel’s patience to the very limit. Having opted for life on shore I was fuming. The British regime was subsidising travel to Australia to rid itself of those Whites who had survived their war. Simultaneously, Westminster’s pinstriped Bolsheviks were using looted war prize ocean liners to subsidise West Indian immigration. I saw the classified advert, ‘Stop Coloured Immigration. Back Britain for the British’.
A week later I was one of very few fully paid-up members of Colin Jordan’s British Movement. Sieg Heil to that! Months earlier George Lincoln Rockwell had been assassinated. Street fighting with the Reds was to be routine; on occasion I was buried under the smelly bastards. Six years of frontline campaigning then unexpectedly I was British Movement leader.
During the following ten years I was to lead Britain’s largest, most virile and successful unashamed National Socialist political movement. David was confronted by the media, liberal-left, and the combined Socialist Workers and Tory elite alliance. While the Reds were kicking my head in on the streets their henchmen in editorial offices were kicking in my reputation. To make matters worse the skinhead cult asked if they could join in ~ on my side.
Life was getting colourful. Soon I would speak from Trafalgar Square and lead marches and demonstrations through London. I would chain myself to the US Embassy gates in Madrid and soon afterwards be looking out of the gates of Her Majesty’s Prison in Liverpool. I was fined on many a court appearance.
Apart from receiving 6 x 4 month prison sentences for publishing fliers critical of government immigration policy, there were the lighter moments. After being assisted at an election by a former Leibstandarte officer there was a starry night chase through the forests of Denmark during a smuggler’s recce. We visited Dachau and the Zeppelin Field in Nuremburg, and were self-invited guests at Adolf Hitler’s mountain retreat, the Eagle’s Nest.
Into the Lion of Judah’s jaws, Capitol Hill and the White House were to be my neighbours from hell. It was 2000 when I was to stay at Washington DC Holiday Inn having been invited by Willis Carto to be a guest speaker.
A little more relaxing was the annual pilgrimage to the beautiful Belgium city of Diksmuide, an occasion that has as its theme ‘No More Brother Wars’. There, we enjoyed the company of the United States brightest stars, James K. Warner, Dr. Ed Fields, David Duke, and J B Stoner and similar others.
There was just one more challenge to face but it was a challenge too far. In 1983 I was confronted by the Machiavellian might of the British government’s anti-Fascist cabal. The membership evaporated. In debt already ~ we relied on donations ~ I was faced with court litigation that would cost thousands. I surrendered to fate.
You don’t fail when you fall down; you fail when you fall down and refuse to get up again. I got on with life and for twenty golden years was the brightest star membership executive for Britain’s prestigious Guild of Master Craftsmen.
Ever the optimist I believe that all good stories should have a happy ending. Thanks to my ability to write, the career I wished for originally, I now win more hearts and minds than I ever did in my life. As for the rest, well, grab the liberal-left by the balls and they will follow.
Why did I reluctantly publish The Rise of the Sunwheel? The Fuhrer’s life is far more interesting. My wife changed my mind.
If you don’t tell your story your critics will.
Source Article from http://www.renegadetribune.com/man-nine-lives/
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