by Kevin Alfred Strom

TODAY MARKS the 200th anniversary of the birth of the European-American literary genius and racially concious writer Edgar Allan Poe. I have paid my respects to the eternal memory of Edgar Poe in person at the Poe Museum in Richmond and at his and his beloved Virginia’s grave site in Baltimore, and I offer them again to all who read my words today.

Just as an abomination like Barack Hussein Obama could only be elected in an artificial multiracial slave state (and never in the White America of recent and lamented memory, and likewise never in a healthy all-Black nation) — just as a degenerate like “Martin Luther” King could only be lionized by a degraded, ignorant, and servile population — so Edgar Poe could never be published in modern America. His recognition of individual and racial inequality would have made him anathema to those who control the media today, and his private life and reputation would have been ripped to shreds by the international vermin and the vultures they employ.

According to the most plausible theory of his death, Poe died as a result of the corrupt mass ‘democracy’ he despised. Never able to withstand drink without severe reactions, it appears that Poe was shanghaied by ward politicians who were sweeping people off the streets and pumping them with free liquor in between sessions of herding them to the polls to be “voted” several times in succession. (Similar techniques are still used today, especially in “communities of color.”) He was found on the street inebriated and half-mad with alcohol poisoning. He died shortly thereafter. He was only 40 years old and had been planning to remarry when he died.

Who knows what works this sensitive genius might have bequeathed to us had his life not been ended so early? What might he have said about the tragic war brought to this nation by the abolitionists’ equalitarian delusions? What advance might he have made to the Cosmotheist ideas he began to express in his late work Eureka ? What would he have said of Karl Marx and Nietzsche and Wagner and Herbert Spencer? What works of ratiocination and romance and high poetry might he have given us in his second 40 years? We will never know.

Had he been born in our times, we would never even have heard of him. How many European-American geniuses have been relegated to obscurity and despair, about whom we will never know because they refuse to serve the alien masters of the media? We will never know that, either.

Here is one of Poe’s greatest short poems, A Dream Within a Dream :

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow—
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand—
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep—while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?