Anti-authoritarian, championing re-tribalization, exploring knowledge of many disciplines to live as free and prosperous life as possible in a dangerous world.
Alaska, USA
Joined September 2023
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Modern Barbarian retweeted
The screen glowed with the familiar chaos of a city tearing itself apart. During the George Floyd riots, I watched the footage, like everyone else. Then I saw it. A group gathered around a spot on the pavement. One of them held up a bottle, spoke a few low words, and tipped its contents onto the concrete. A libation, a common action we have come to know as "pouring one out for the homies." But this time something clicked, They were perfoming a kind of "magic." In that moment, surrounded by violence and state power, I saw a ritual as old as time. It was ancestor veneration. They were concreting ground and making a direct, unmediated offering and a plea for favor in the coming battle, from the spirit(s) of someone(s) they considered their own.
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You despise the street gangs and mock the motorcycle clubs with "BROTHER!!", but they understand something you have forgotten. These groups possess something you've lost; local networks and brotherhood. They are acting while you scroll your phone. The state despises the patch or the colors because it's a declaration of a tribe, a direct threat to its monopoly on protection, identity, and control regardless if they are criminal or not they will designate them that way. That is a price for this membership: scrutiny and risk but living has always been risky.
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The original MCs were largely started by WWII veterans who couldn't find the brotherhood they'd known in combat and were alienated by a slow, 40-hour-week culture. This is a recurring pattern that they saw back in the 50s. The veteran comes back from a world of stark reality and profound brotherhood, only to find a society that feels fake. A society lacking the key tenants and needs of men. Made worse that regardless of why the 18 year old enlisted man joins; The modern military is now just another corporate job, serving globalist interests instead of the nation. Offering a belonging and purpose only as long the charade of for freedom and country, can be maintained for the individual soldier. Like so many things once that veil is lifted there is no going back.
modernbarbarian.substack.com…
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The screen glowed with the familiar chaos of a city tearing itself apart. During the George Floyd riots, I watched the footage, like everyone else. Then I saw it. A group gathered around a spot on the pavement. One of them held up a bottle, spoke a few low words, and tipped its contents onto the concrete. A libation, a common action we have come to know as "pouring one out for the homies." But this time something clicked, They were perfoming a kind of "magic." In that moment, surrounded by violence and state power, I saw a ritual as old as time. It was ancestor veneration. They were concreting ground and making a direct, unmediated offering and a plea for favor in the coming battle, from the spirit(s) of someone(s) they considered their own.
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Ancestor veneration is not about worshipping the dead as gods. It is the simple, profound understanding that our Innangardh does not end at the grave. The loyalty that defines family does not vanish when the heart stops beating. Our ancestors are not distant, gone forever to some unreachable heaven. They are still our tribe, still bound by the oaths of loyalty that transcend death. They have knowledge, power, and a vested interest in the survival and success of their kindred. To venerate them is to maintain that relationship, to keep the lines of communication open between the world of the living and the world of our dead. It is the ultimate rejection of the modern isolation The Empire demands.
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You don't need to look to ancient sagas or foreign lands to find this tradition. It is alive and well today beyond the street gangs you just have to know where to look. Many still practice it; they just may not realize it. You can find it in any American Legion, VFW hall, and most bars and restaurants on veterans day. It is the reserved chair at the table, the place meticulously set that will never be sat. It is the bartender setting a full beer on the bar, untouched. All for the soldiers who will never come home to them.
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