Britslore

THE SONG OF THE WOOD a gravediggers guild they left their posts they set out for iron and went to the north they hired a crew to cut down a wood the wood was gone so they shoveled the earth they dug colosseums and mined the ore depleted the veins and shipped their haul the blacksmith turned the iron to steel and crafted the head of a woodcutters axe and the carpenter made a handle from wood and crafted the helve of a woodcutters axe the woodcutter took the new axe to a grove and with a swing he chopped down an ash and with the wood from the lonely tree the carpenter fashioned a body and neck and with the steel he had leftover the blacksmith forged a new set of strings and with the neck and the body and strings the luthier crafted a flawless lute and with the lute a bard did go back to the grove where the tree was chopped and on the stump where the tree once stood he played for the forest the song of the wood

On the day of her funeral, Some Britons mourn, Some of us shrug, Discussing compliments & critiques. Yet above our musings, Rises a black chorus, Of mockery and jubilation, A foreign choir we've come to know, Saharan hyenas & Oriental vultures. Their malice not towards her coffin, But unleashed upon the people, No criticism of her reign, Only of our existence. As the sun sets on her Empire, A new day breaks for us, The death of our monarch, Our nation's rebirth. Hope & Glory! - Tucker, National Director

A beautiful genius lies dormant in the hearts of our people. Oh the things that could happen if this potential was again realized.

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MY BOOK “NIGHTWALKS IN LAIBACH” IS OUT NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON PROCEEDS GO BACK TO OUR WORK IN PROJECTS DEDICATED TO THE PRESERVATION OF BRITISH HERITAGE “A PATCHWORK OF INTERLACING SCENES SPAWNING FROM THE MIDSUMMER NIGHTWALKS OF A TRANSATLANTIC TRAVELLER IN A POST-YUGOSLAV CAPITAL AND A YEAR OF NOMADIC ESCAPADES AT THE HEART OF EUROPEAN RUIN. A KNOTWORK OF FUTURIST RAMBLINGS AND NOCTURNAL RUMINATIONS. A THEATRE OF WAR” https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BCQDMYX9/ref=cm_sw_r_api_i_P6CE5TRGV6VZH7ZXK9XC_0

As autumn approaches and the harvest season begins, we’ve assembled a way to exhibit your support for British folklore! 🍂 Go grab a John Barleycorn shirt now and support our work at Britslore :) https://faust-6.creator-spring.com/listing/john-barleycorn-print?product=2

John Barleycorn is a personification of barley and of the alcoholic beverages made from it: beer and whiskey. In the British folk song of the same name, he suffers indignities, attacks, and death that correspond to the various stages of barley cultivation, such as reaping and malting. John Barleycorn is to the harvest what Santa Claus is to Christmas. John Barleycorn is the spirit of the harvest and there are countless songs singing his praise. Corn in ancient times referred to any grain - rye, barley, wheat. That explains why when America was being colonized and they came across an unfamiliar grain (maize)-they simply referred to it as the generic "corn". The song may have its origins in ancient English or Scottish folklore, with written evidence of the song dating it at least as far back as the Elizabethan era.

“POST INDUSTRIAL TRENCHES” THE UNION JACK UPON MY SHOULDERS THE RED HAND PINNED UPON MY COAT THE RAIN FALLS DOWN LIKE BOMBS FROM THE BLITZ OUR BOOTS ARE WET AND OUR TWEED IS SOAKED WE’RE MARCHING THROUGH THE EMERALD HILLS ROLLING LIKE OUR LOVERS BREASTS ONE THOUSAND BRITISH LEGIONARIES WITH HEARTS OF IRON AND SWORDS OF RED WIELDING EXCALIBUR ARTHURS SWORD IN THE POST INDUSTRIAL TRENCHES WE’RE MARCHING THROUGH THE FORESTS OF STEEL ENVELOPED BY FACTORY STENCHES WE’RE SHROUDED IN A SEA OF SMOKE CLOUDING OVER OUR PIES AND MASH WE’RE SWALLOWING UP OUR LONDON GIN IN COUNTRY FIELDS OF CINDER AND ASH

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Our Majesty, King Charles is not only a Perennialist, but has such a cogent, erudite understanding of the perennial tradition, it almost seems as if he’s directly quoting the texts of Guenon, or Evola themselves. His proficiency in sophia perennis, and blatant alignment against the deracinated ideology of modernism, is astonishing. Even if say, we reduce him to just some ineffectual figurehead of a dying, powerless order. His reverence and yearning for the sacred as our King, is such a powerful symbol. There’s simply no conceivable way he doesn’t come to the same human conclusions that we all do when confronted with the unenviable horrors we face in our lives every day. Pretty big deal when the most important King in the world is by his own words- principally against the modern world.

Dark Charles activated

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The British are the greatest race in the history of the world.