The Bloodless

The bloodless are those who scorn the very blood that makes them who and what they are, for in the genetic and historic twists and turns of their own blood, they see no value. Nor do they see any value in yours. Why? They have bitten the hook baited with ‘we are all the same; this, that, and the other are only social constructs’. They have been poisoned. They have been weakened.

In these days of degeneracy and decadence, we see weakness enshrined. Such is the outcome in the midst of decay wherein the average are oh-so-average, base creatures who cannot raise themselves any higher and so obsess over all things lowly and degenerate; this is the best they can do. All becomes centered on the genital, and the weak assume that everyone else is likewise obsessed with whatever may or may not lie between their frail legs. Their every thought consumed by a confused sexuality, they project this onto the great men of ages past and cast down theories and theses tarnishing our shining ones with various sexual promiscuities and oddities in an unconscious effort to bring the great down to their level. Never does it occur to the base modern man that countless others do not and will not operate on their lowly plane.

All is reduced to the most basic, the most base, and thus the world of the bloodless revolves around the genital. A vague reference to the love between men or women? Surely, say the bloodless, this is proof of a homosexual relationship! Never does it occur to these pretend historians that some operate on a higher plane where love is not centered in the crotch but in the heart, mayhap the mind, and (dare I say it?) the soul. The bloodless do not understand notions of brotherhood with its pants up. Instead, all is reduced to fornication, as if there could be no other reason for love between men and women.


These citizens of Weimar have been pulled into the gutter and they are charged with the task of pulling us in with them. Should you protest, you will be called a Puritan, a Bible-thumper, a prude, a Nazi, frigid, boring, old-fashioned. Or maybe they will assert that you have been brainwashed by religion. Yes, those who are not sexually promiscuous or even those who simply consider themselves traditional will be labeled “brainwashed” by some aberrant faith. Never does it occur to the bloodless that one may genuinely believe oneself worth more than the cost of a few cocktails. Never could they conceive that one’s mind is simply devoted to higher things. Such is anathema to those incapable of belief.

Are they incapable or simply afraid? Are the bloodless afraid of being rejected by the divine? They shroud their fear with bitterness and arrogance, but the shroud is transparent. Just as the perceptive can see the weak’s wailing and gnashing of teeth at the mere appearance of the heterosexual, white male so can the perceptive all but taste the fear of the bloodless; the inescapable fear that despite ephemeral trends to the contrary, they are hopelessly inferior and worse – inconsequential. And so they scream.

Theirs is not merely a fear of violence. Theirs is not just a fear of rejection. Theirs is by and large a fear of apathy and indifference. ‘Maybe those cis-gendered chest beaters will notice me, and maybe they won’t even care’. Oh how mediocrity longs to be celebrated! The bloodless and mediocre would far rather be attacked and abused for such proves their cause just! This gives them glory, martyrdom, and the precious spotlight. Indifference? It’s a thing too horrible to be contemplated! But violence? Deep down, even the bloodless know that violence is a path to glory and so they long for victimhood. Heroism, of course, is not an option for these spineless spiderlings, but a victim can scream, ‘I was right! They are monsters’… and finally, ‘we must rid our society of them’. Such are the ignoble goals of the bloodless.

Rachel Summers
Known as the Dropout Philosopher, Rachel Summers walked away from the Ivory Tower, spent a year in a motorcycle mechanics program, and started research for her first novel, CondAmnation, in a local Harley Davidson shop. Her novels are what some have called a journey into antinomian mysteriosophy, where socially sanctioned morality is turned on its head in order to shake out just a few drops of enlightenment.

Summers holds degrees in History, Comparative Religions, English Literature, and Philosophy but ran afoul of academia when her dissertation proposal was rejected as something that might cause a scandal or, worse yet, cause the check-signing alumni to sign fewer checks. Welcomed to stay and write if she accepted a pre-approved project, she chose to leave and vowed to cause a scandal indeed, whether with pen or sword. She is currently writing her fifth novel as well as articles for the Revolutionary Conservative and Europa Sun Magazine; thus far, the sword remains sheathed. You can buy her books at