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Old August 21st, 2008 #1
F.W. Braun
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Default The interesting case of Constantin von Hoffmeister [an essay]



I’ve seen this little comedy played out a dozen times over the past three or four years since I first saw Big Von’s drivel on VNN. I remind you that back then he was writing about Aryans on the moon and getting his “own fuckin’ Israel”. What he got, instead, was a foot in the door with some nobody Russian nationalists and an ESL position in Kazakhstan or someplace like that. At some point he sat next to Duke a few times and tried, in his creepy, lispy German-accented English, to enthuse the poor fellow with his loony self-indulgent I’m-a-crazy-poet-prophet-revolutionary blather, failing of course to elicit more from Duke than his usual exasperated whining.

Now, the comedy I refer to goes like this:

Big Von shows up at your favorite WN virtual stoop with his (charming, but vapid) “avant-garde” racialist essays (or, some well-meaning but small-minded WN finds his essays, freaks out over the content and splashes the forum with their ‘discovery’);
WNs get pissy, call him a Jew, decry his name as a preposterous pseudonym;
Big Von, clearly delighted, coolly replies that it is his real name, and does so in every case in exactly those words;
WNs get pissier;
Big Von sticks around for a few arrogant, empty little provocations, departs again for his circles of sycophancy on Phora, VivaMalta, Thiazi, LJ, etc. etc.

Big Von is a lot like Bill White and, say, Richard Barrett. All three are extremely narcissistic — to the extent that it is their defining virtual characteristic. They do not write essays and interact with us because they are interested in truth, art, friendship, solace, survival, or any of that, nor even some hearty flamewarring; they do so because they are primarily concerned with the construction and promotion of their personal mythos on the internet and, to the extent they are able, in real life. Big Von is better situated for the latter than my two examples. Wild Bill, as we all know, is class-A keyboard warrior, and Barrett is so utterly absorbed in his false reality he exceeds grotesque. Big Von, however, has something these two do not: youth and a degree of charm. He is German, that is his name. Chicks love it — or I imagine some do, and that is enough for the Vonze. (Have you seen those photos of him clutching Inga von Kramer?) He has crazy-sexy-cool poetry to spice up his twisted beyond-left-and-right mix-and-match pseudo-ideology. People dig that, I’m telling you, especially traditionalists and neofolkites. One part German fascist, one part Red demagogue, another part wannabe surrealist, you have yourself a one-man cult.

I’ve said it before, no doubt I’ll say it again and again: Big Von is just trying to get a rise out of you. He says it himself: he is here for amusement. He likes to play the ‘deep’ guy who knows better. Then, when he’s got you howling like cats, he adds to his conceit by limiting himself to a few stock one-line ripostes which give him (at least to himself and his buddies) the virtual appearance of haughty objectivity and tact; then he says hahaha a few times for effect. Every post by Big Von in this thread was reproduced a dozen times elsewhere, from VNN 1.0 to Skadi and back again. It’s an invariable routine he hits you with to make himself feel bigger, cooller, more aryan than you. Do yourselves a favor and ignore him. Those who like him are essentially sycophants, I mean to say people whose nature is inclined to following and praising, yes-people, those who will mistake a blue sky for a black one if it pleases the self-appointed alpha shyster. You’ll also find Vonzee reproducing criticism of his virtual persona on certain forums; like all narcissists, he feeds on ANY and ALL attention, because ultimately it is all publicity and the sycophants will construe it as proof that they have hitched themselves to the right wagon. (Vonzee himself, of course, is not quite so stupid: he sees the criticism for what it is, probably even knows, in his stomach, that he’s a self-absorbed cunt.)

Do you all understand what I’m saying? Every time you call him a Jew or say that’s not his real name, you reinforce his own vanity. He RELISHES every opportunity to assert that yes, that is my real name, ha!, I am so very amused and euro at your pathetic hyperventilating americanism. This was in fact my first experience with Big Von. In a reply to him in VNN Reader Mail (years ago; you can probably still find it in there) I pointed out how absurd he is. Aryans in space. National Futurism. VON HOFFMEISTER. Pff, give me a fucking break, right? Now I never said in that first potshot that I believed his name to be false, but just as though I had — like he was just waiting for the chance, and verily chirruns, was he! — he countered with “That is my real name.” I was incensed, for you see what he did here: he had distorted my meaning with a self-serving response. By simply regurgitating a vain assertion of identity, he made me a tool of his own conceit. I HATE, HATE, HATE when people do shit like that, and I bet you all do, too. It’s what we call ‘jewish’, even if it isn’t specifically jewish. It is at the same level of deceit, of vanity, of just plain self-serving gall. From that moment on I knew the nature of the beast I was dealing with.

Now, Constanin von Hoffmeister is indeed his real name. We, as Amurrcans, are not used to seeing a name like that and are apt to disbelieve it, especially in a social environment like ours, clogged with all kinds of pretentious fake germanisms. Understandable, but also symptomatic of a larger problem which unfortunately cannot be explored here, which is the American inability to grasp the peculiarities of German society, to ‘feel’ them, as it were. In Germany vons are not all that rare, and a von doesn’t mean you’re anything special; they were given out as freely as knighthoods. Big Von’s claim to vonhood is through his grandfather who, he claimed at me (I can’t say to me because he framed his response indirectly, which the narcissist does to avoid validating other people besides himself), was vonned by the Kaiser or somebody for his participation in the suppression of the Boxer Rebellion — i.e. when the Kaiser sent his boys to shoot at weaponless but determined Chinamen who resorted to their fists to beat off an oppressor. (Students of history will know that on this occasion the Kaiser made his famous ‘Hunnenrede’, where he enjoined Germans to act like Huns, which indeed they did — furnishing British public opinion with one of its most popular nicknames for Germans.) Now, one can well imagine some kraut getting vonned for that. It was the times. Shoot a native, get a medal; ’twas a white white world, me lads. So what then? The von is reduced to nothing. Which leaves us with the surname HOFFMEISTER, whereof our boy hath also waxed fabelhaft. He claimed — in this same initial exchange to which I have referred — that Hoffmeister means HOPEMASTER.

Wait, let us pause for a moment. To let that sink in.

….

….

….

….

….

Once more: HOPEMASTER. Remind you of anything? like maybe all those silly “name origin” websites catering to warm fuzzy idiots who like reading that their Hebrew- or Celtic-derived names mean things like “awesome star power” and “shining moonbeam love warrior”? Yes, we’ve all been there. Everyone has a cool, romantic, or ferocious name and this is amusing for a few weeks or at least whenever one has the chance to tell someone new about it and watch them pretend to be impressed for a second. At the same time, because Constantin is actually German (and if you do some googlewerk you’ll find his name in the alumni list at some Berlin “American school”, which leads me, at least, to believe one of his parents to be American or at least mischling), it displays a truly deplorable ignorance of German etymology — or not even that, an ignorance of the ubiquitous German TOURIST INDUSTRY, which abounds with ‘Hof’ after ‘Hof’, this word meaning no more than ‘courtyard’, and by extension ‘household’ — which makes ‘Hoffmeister’ no more than a slight spelling variant of the professional title HOFMEISTER, which is to say……..“private tutor”. Yes, you read it here volks!, Big Von is most likely descended from a mere private teacher. No offense to that extinct breed, they were a pillar of German and European society back in the day. . . .

Just as likely is it that Big Von will take all this demolition of his persona as no more than further occasion for preening, in fact I doubt he can do anything else at this point: for people like this, routine narcissistic self-deception is, as I’ve said, a defining trait, a psychological reflex they are usually not objective enough to identify and curb. And that is exactly what ails our boy Constantin. I’ve said elsewhere that he has some good ideas, that aren’t ‘his’ at all of course, and are more the products of excitability than solid thought, nonetheless expressed in charming fashion, but his creepy self-absorption and petty fishing for reasons to love himself far outweigh his shtick and style. In short, Big Von is a case of euro-decadence meets post-nationalism: his need for the primitive ‘steppe’ mythos of Russia satisfies his Aryan fetish (stripped of failed and phony modern trappings), which, being more intelligent than his compatriots, is not satisfied by German nationalism or White Nationalism as a whole. A need for the primitive is in the best cases a pure masculine impulse, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but in this case is muddled by a lot of bullshitting and conceit — but again, no one should expect such a hotblooded and unreflecting creature to understand, much less correct itself. Probably in his spare time, when no one’s looking, he reads Ossendowski and pretends he’s the Baron von Ungern-Sternberg. Yet, despite his romanticism of blood and the East, he has shown himself time and again to be a typical believer in petty euro-nationalist political romanticism, which indicates nothing more than the weak theoretical intelligence endemic to all White Nationalism.

But as I say, he will no doubt paste this all elsewhere, and we must give him credit in that he faithfully reproduces criticism; yet it reminds me of that note of Kierkegaard’s in which he says even if a professor quotes him as saying professional philosophy is absurd, it will not give him pause, and even if another professor quotes the professor quoting him, it will not give him pause, and even if another professor, etc. Nothing, in other words, will give Big Von visible pause — we don’t know what goes on in his head by way of self-criticism, though by the looks of it, little to none. And as has happened before, some little sycophant will make a post about how great he is, and even reading this will not give them pause, etc. That’s how this game works. The narcissist, the solipsist thrives on attention: we are all damned for giving it to him, no matter how explicitly & exhaustively critical. In a way, the solipsist-narcissist pulls the entire world under his feet, reinterprets it as a reflex of his own imagined superiority, for though it is all an obvious charade put on for their own benefit, they still occasionally succeed in getting a rise out of someone, for they have inspired in them the feelings associated with being inferior, though the circumstances of such a relation have nothing to do with the exact, existing dynamic between them. Thus they can be said to capitalize on a mere feeling — an emotional-linguistic stimulus response game — both in themselves and in others, just to have that precious illusion of being superior. Those are the entrails of narcissistic psychology, the libri haruspicini of the solipsists, as it were. Something in their early lives sets them on the path of self-deception, much like the Jews as a race, and from this course they never waver: their whole lives are devoted to constructing, patching, and promoting their own mythos, their own imagined superiority to everyone else on the planet, their solitary, high-minded righteousness in a sea of low-born stupidity, treachery and cowardice. They’re the biggest liars on the block, yet are the first to call everyone else liars, as loudly and often as possible. Big Von is not a fraud in the way you all like to think (and this is a symptom, again, of your own mental limitations): but he is very much a fraud to himself, and to the extent that you speculate in the terms to which he is accustomed, to that extent do you keep alive the caricature of his persona. Put another way: your quibbling over details (name, race, ideas) feeds the real fraud, the fraud of vanity which seeks out such quibbling to reassert itself. Ever seen Star Trek: TNG? He’s kinda like the Borg, who ‘adapt’ to your ammo. He has adapted to wide-of-the-mark speculation; he has assimilated it in his quest to aggrandise himself on ~~*the internetz*~~. The more you fire, the longer the game is perpetuated. Ideally every forum would have a sticky alerting newcomers to his eventual appearance, his nature and the rules of the game, so all can avoid indulging his tired, self-serving whimsy. (Too much organisation involved for WNs, unfo.) And you most certainly will not see him address any of this; he hasn’t before, and will never, for two reasons: first, he knows I am right, and doesn’t want to see himself bested in argument; second, somewhat related, is that to address this analysis would be a departure from his routine, which involves saying as little as possible to appear cool and discriminating. To actually defend himself would be to acknowledge the existence of a competing interpretation of his character. This is why he comes on sites like VNN when someone mentions his essays and acts out the routine: — he is safe when it is only WNs and himself. The WNs can throw their superficial accusations at him, he can delicately parry and feel like the bigger man swatting off so many incompetent fools. But add another voice, another line, another interpretation, and he’s lost; it breaks the rules of his game; and to play by the new rules is already to acknowledge defeat. The solipsist does not even want to think about being put on equal footing with someone else, and is actually incapable of considering that he has been shown up or proven wrong; their psychological condition is bound up with belief in their overriding superiority and correctness, and one would have to physically torture them to reduce them to a state of self-reflection. This is also much like the Jews — they thrive on binary opposition and are systematically trained from their swaddling clothes to consider themselves the center of the universe. The introduction of a third element is, in fact, what Big Von tries to represent in his fashion between Neo-Nazis and Zionists, though usually with the intent of pissing off the former and sucking up to fringe representatives of the latter, which he in his overheated brain imagines to be a mystical, symbolic wedding of Judah and Arya through the medium of his own person, high above the mundane pettiness of the races themselves.

Once again, the more you air your all-too-typical WN paranoias, the more you feed his conceit. The best approach is to ignore him entirely, because whoever doesn’t directly add to his mythos, his delusions of superiority and ‘amusement’, literally ceases to exist for him psychologically. He says he doesn’t care, but that is a symptom of how very much he cares about, NEEDS your attention to support his mythos. It is not without significance that the original definition of autism, coined by Eugene Bleuler, was “withdrawal of the patient to his fantasies, against which any influence from outside becomes an intolerable disturbance.” He actually included autism under the umbrella concept “external negativism”, which meant negation of outside influence, and described its relation to others in this way —

“Often the patients maintain their indifference in spite of
opposition; it may be that very strongly negativistic patients
are permanently euphoric and do not come out of this mood,
while they resist with bites, scratches, and blows the invitation
to shake hands; their defense is sport for them like a jolly play.
More commonly the whole behavior looks like that of a flirt;
women patients watch the physician, as if they were waiting for
him to offer them his hand, or bring forward a request, so that
he must busy himself with them, and then, in their negation, behave
like a maiden who stimulates her lover, but tries to appear
as if she were keeping him off. At other times the negativism
has a plainly erotic character, sometimes in the agreeable sense
of a love-play, sometimes in an unpleasant sense, as the aversion
to an attack, and often in both directions at once.”

Link to Google Books

— and indeed, I have elsewhere described, long before reading Bleuler, the behavior of narcissists like Hoffmeister, White and particularly R. Barrett as “feminine feint-strategy”, i.e. the setting up of the male or masculine element for subsequent debasement to serve the reinforcement of their ego; Si Sheppard analyses this in his Tyranny of Ambiguity. At any rate such behavior is categorically feminine. What Big Von does is not quite feinting, but pretty close, and Bleuler’s description of the external negativist in relation to others is spot on. Von likes to flirt with those he feels beneath him. The crucial factors are professions of indifference (he “REALLY, REALLY, REALLY doesn’t care” what you think of him), always following provocative one-liners designed to lead on the target, thus expressing a morbid symbiotic relationship, and euphoria, which is the unique tone of his style (though not his general state of mind) and the excuse for his wishy-washy allegiances, also the cause for labeling him ‘sociopathic’, clinically quite correct but not leveled at him with clinical intent; his over-cultivation of a so-called ‘dionysian’ flair and approach to metapolitics is too outré for most around these parts, which doesn’t make it better, deeper, righter, or something to extol, but exactly what it is and appears to be: an artificially wild curio amid a few dozen blander voices with this or that rigid party line. Just here the vanity of Von crosses over into the neofolk obsession with crossing subpolitical boundaries, or what they believe to be such, finding expression in vapid constructions like “National Bolshevism” and the like. In fact they have never departed from a quite shallow understanding of politics, delimited by tepid character, and hold up their vociferous renunciation of extremism and Hitler, and their pandering to neofolk Jews and other non-white nationalists, as some deeply philosophical blend of nationalism and leftism. They say they are “beyond left and right” when they are merely too decadent and ambivalent — ambivalence: also coined by Bleuler — to be militantly right or left. Kitsch, artsy-fartsy traditionalist myths and the like render them unfit for the thickheaded approach to politics, which they decry in WNs as bigotry (which it is) and praise in Jews as ‘Zionism’ (which it isn’t). This is not even beneath politics, it is actually a literary disease posing as politics. Big Von’s allegiances are basically dual: one to Germany, which he execrates or extols as the mood (or the book) strikes him, goading you and himself — the masochistic propensity of the exasperated outsider to flog his own people is in fact the primary motive here; one to the East, or what these people call ‘Eurasia’, which is of course a clever species of would-be Russian imperialism posing as multiculturalism. Between these two poles he ‘euphorically’ gyrates, baying here about the anti-Aryan SS and the primitive virtues of the Slavic domain (though the “noble savage doesn’t exist”, he says), backtracking like a fool there about the NPD’s couple hundred votes and its alleged ‘unique’ blend of left and right (there it is again!), which is, of course, a not really clever disguise for the basic tenets of National Socialism, which they dutifully repudiate by holding up early Nazis like Röhm as ‘real’ National Socialists and can in no way put into practice, being a repressed class whose activities are restricted to making up isms and websites, occasionally meeting for din-din and a few flaccid speeches. This is Big Von’s entire catalogue, actually the entire catalogue of his whole ilk. They’re as grandiose as they please; the internet affords them this creative license.

Stirpes banned him last year for spreading his drivel, even allotting it a special corner for more objective display. I point to that thread as being representative of his usual mixed reception: amusement, disinterest, speculation, consternation. The more intelligent mark him for what he is and smile. (I feel it is necessary, or at least more fun, to go a step further by opposing him wherever he turns up.)

Incidentally, that thumb ring is characteristic of him as a whole. You’re all right to fixate on it, though stupidly wrong to take it to mean he’s homosexual (though that svelt, gothy little thing between him and Duke leaves this open to question), and again, that kind of WN potshot is just what he feeds on. He WANTS you to call him a fag, a fraud, a jew. He LOVES it because he can keep whining to his friends about how cliché and close-minded you are (he’s generally not wrong, there: no offense). He has more experience of the world, you see; he thinks he’s hot stuff because he sat in a rented room with some fatass ruskies with alleged “ties to the Duma” — which everyone seems to have at this point, possibly also myself, à la Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon — or because he’s banged a few Russian chicks, or, and make no mistake about this, because he’s German, which he thinks is the summit of human existence yet, at the same time, excoriates to bolster his ‘edgy’, ‘fringe’ persona and curry favor with his neofolk/traditional/eurasianist buddies. It’s bohemianism, in a word. Ok, Constantin reads Euro-poetry. Ok. He drinks wine and has dinners with NPD people. Here’s Constantin in Russia, making a speech at some unimportant meeting with this hot chick, David Duke, that highly fuckable Lady Renouf and some totally forgettable ruskies. Ok. Ok. The Earth is shaking . . . can’t you feel it? He’s the man, he’s making waves, death to the Fascist Aggressor! A murmur goes through the crowd….scandal! the ferocious poet-prophet-madman-wanderer Constantin “das ist ja mein wirklicher Name” Hoffmeister comes out against Adolf Hitler, the SS, the Party, Germany itself….locates the true Aryan spirit on the steppe, whence it came, behind the Iron Curtain!….scandal! schock! murmur! nie dagewesen……goes on, time after time, however to sing the praises of Sonderweg and the NPD, always in exactly the same way, verbatim, word-for-hopeful-word, because at bottom he’s a German who wants to believe his country (where he must return when his visa expires!) isn’t lost and that this worthless little party, which survives because Germany’s political tradition is a little more stable than our own, will one day reseat das deutsche Michel upon his mighty steed and blah blah blah. Utter tripe, the whole of it. Whenever, wherever you encounter Big Von, just remember: ARYANS IN SPACE. His head’s already preceded us. Will we ever catch up, we pitiably unworldly, close-minded nationalist types, o so woefully behind his awesome prophetic visions of IMPERIVM EVRASIA* and big bouncing russian boobies for all?

Post-script: Anyone notice Big Von’s molestor mustache and slicked-back hair? or how about his startling resemblance to Falkor the Luck Dragon.
 
Old August 23rd, 2008 #2
George Witzgall
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this post is just creepy. in a basic-instinct/fatal-attraction kind of way.
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Old August 23rd, 2008 #3
psychologicalshock
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Quote:
Originally Posted by George Witzgall View Post
this post is just creepy. in a basic-instinct/fatal-attraction kind of way.
I agree with you this time.
 
Old August 24th, 2008 #4
Sándor Petőfi
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Yet scribbling down a four-thousand-word essay about somebody nobody cares about doesn't hint of narcissism? Not a little dramatic? Not a bit self-indulgent? Eh?

Tell your your friend Sudaka, or Fade, or diggbnini, or Mr. T.H. Outis, or THamilton, or Anti-European, or Anti, or uppinatta, or whatever this semi-literate truck driver is calling himself these days, if he insists on pounding with his fists on our ear drums, at least to spare us the long-winded verbosity he thinks sounds so good. Not that he'd ever use a word like "good".
 
Old August 24th, 2008 #5
psychologicalshock
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Sándor Petőfi View Post
Yet scribbling down a four-thousand-word essay about somebody nobody cares about doesn't hint of narcissism?
I am only wondering, if you're going to go off on a short story about someone no one cares about yet everyone knows, shouldn't your work at least elicit a chuckle? Essentially the best criticism is criticism that elicits amusement due to its observed truth value. Without that tinge of humor criticism of such individuals is rather bland and uninteresting.


Quote:
Tell your your friend Sudaka, or Fade, or diggbnini, or Mr. T.H. Outis, or THamilton, or Anti-European, or Anti, or uppinatta, or whatever this semi-literate truck driver is calling himself these days, if he insists on pounding with his fists on our ear drums, at least to spare us the long-winded verbosity he thinks sounds so good. Not that he'd ever use a word like "good".
Hmmm a 4003 word essay can easily be cut down to 4 words! "I dun like VonBluvens"

On a side note I completely do not understand the Russophobia contained within the article. On one hand he's living in "Blondist" while on the other he dislikes Russians, that is certainly mysterious considering the amount of blonds residing there. At any rate observing such tripe only makes me think that perchance it isn't a coincidence that most Russkys gravitate towards Country and Ethnic Nationalism rather than White Nationalism. As they say "Better to lose with a wise man than win with an idiot"

Last edited by psychologicalshock; August 24th, 2008 at 01:55 AM.
 
Old August 24th, 2008 #6
cygnet
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Default It WAS funny.

Quote:
I am only wondering, if you're going to go off on a short story about someone no one cares about yet everyone knows, shouldn't your work at least elicit a chuckle?
I thought it was funny.
 
Old August 24th, 2008 #7
F.W. Braun
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1) There's no Russophobia contained in the essay. I'm actually pro-Russian. The only anti-Russians today are either neo-con jews or their useful idiots.

2) White Nationalism is a Yankee product with no market outside of the Jewnited States. In Europe there are only Russian nationalists, Serb nationalists, French nationalists, Croatian nationalists, etc.

You should know this by now.



Quote:
Originally Posted by psychologicalshock View Post
I am only wondering, if you're going to go off on a short story about someone no one cares about yet everyone knows, shouldn't your work at least elicit a chuckle? Essentially the best criticism is criticism that elicits amusement due to its observed truth value. Without that tinge of humor criticism of such individuals is rather bland and uninteresting.



Hmmm a 4003 word essay can easily be cut down to 4 words! "I dun like VonBluvens"

On a side note I completely do not understand the Russophobia contained within the article. On one hand he's living in "Blondist" while on the other he dislikes Russians, that is certainly mysterious considering the amount of blonds residing there. At any rate observing such tripe only makes me think that perchance it isn't a coincidence that most Russkys gravitate towards Country and Ethnic Nationalism rather than White Nationalism. As they say "Better to lose with a wise man than win with an idiot"
 
Old August 24th, 2008 #8
psychologicalshock
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Originally Posted by F.W. Braun View Post
1) There's no Russophobia contained in the essay. I'm actually pro-Russian. The only anti-Russians today are either neo-con jews or their useful idiots.

2) White Nationalism is a Yankee product with no market outside of the Jewnited States. In Europe there are only Russian nationalists, Serb nationalists, French nationalists, Croatian nationalists, etc.

You should know this by now.
If you say so. But fine I suppose I wasn't in tune.

Last edited by psychologicalshock; August 24th, 2008 at 02:59 PM.
 
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