National Futurism

Manifesto of National Futurism
National Futurist Splinters
National Futurists to the Front
Beatnik Fascism
New European Fashion
Racial Bolshevism
The Program of the NFUPE – The 25 Points
Italian Futurism
Tomorrow Belongs to National Futurism
White Eurasia
Revenge of the Technocrats

Manifesto Of National Futurism


by Constantin von Hoffmeister (c) 2004-2006

The power of the people is directly related to how it views its own place in the cosmic scheme of all organisms. The select are not select for the mere sake of glory and power that they themselves might want to gain, but they are only representatives of the broad sheet that comprises the masses’ aspirations, goals and ultimate destiny. If the masses, in the sense of being nothing but a HERD, would be allowed to ruthlessly rule and take away the rights that belong to themselves, then the masses would be the ones that suffer indefinitely from such a complete lack of order and principle. As the saying goes (and this is obviously true in all ages of decaying empires): “The Party is always right!” Dogma is the catchword here, raised to the status of divinity. Dogma is God and vice versa. One who follows the people’s path into progressive existence must follow the Dogma that is laid out clearly and precisely by the Party’s natural ability to foresee the obstacles that need to be removed in order for the people to prosper. Hence, to rule is to guide, and to guide implies being an integral part of the masses, eternally and inseparably. HAIL the Party!

We never thought possible the end, but then true anyway. Prussian profiles politics is the highest. Recognize those in the East and West poet and mystic, war in Eastern Europe travelling through genocide and starvation. The honor’s largest part belongs to the Slavs. Armies rise in red and white cross. Born the man and the subjection of women. The more thorough exploitation they slaves settle everywhere, crushed not only at home. The European working class succumbed a literary battle, strong to wish catastrophe and whispering sympathy. The tragedy of the Soviet Liberation Front: makes vision our whole being and enduring creation.

As individuals we might perceive our self-proclaimed and self-contained characters and believe that we are indeed unique. In nature’s ethereal and stupefyingly awesome power, however, we as single units are but a shadow of a doubt in the lingering collective consciousness that harbors us like a titan’s body its own functioning cells. The queen is dead, the hive is vacant. Work is to be done in broad daylight, work of the fist and the brow. Sweat might run in rivulets along the muscular bodies of the toilers of the seven seas and the multitude of continents that have yet to be conquered in the vastness of the universe, but one aspect of all OUR existence remains clear: While the one might contain many, the many can never claim to be autonomous while at the same time desperately clinging to any sort of self-respect. This has to be programmed into the masses’ mind, by force if necessary, voluntarily if the masses are benignly bowed down to the Party’s demands as should be customary in a society less filled with ills than benefits. The current regime must fall, inevitably and finally, so that the Order of the Party can be established. Founded upon the solid tenets of National Futurism, the future can only be national and egalitarian within the society created by the Race, all within the given context of reality’s way of separating the organic world along hierarchical lines.

A concept emerging clear as a clean blade, cutting a path through all the muddled selves on the worn shelves. Appreciate the national in the style of our favorite sitting place. The not too distant past, discovered barbarians horned with lust. The death of mortality through denial of individuality. Overcoming through blood. Is the spirit of originality pandering alone to one man? Knelt steeple high, his idol like himself? Easier to grasp the belief of all. Down the dream that dwelleth in misery! Arise! Not drown in gold that no one counts. Time to rape again the wild women of yonder! The feminine neutered, the high valley sunk low finally grasped they. Angels bleed blue.

– Constantin von Hoffmeister