Memories of Irishness: Green is My Favorite Color

Andrew Anglin Nov 01 2023

This article is part of a series on my memories of Irish identity, which are themselves a part of a series of articles called “The Illness Revelations.” This particular article is low-tier, low energy, and garbled. The next one will be much better and more interesting. Interesting opening, then it flops. I really need to catch up on my sleep so that I can continue the true revelations, which have hardly even begun. 

I have very limited memories of my childhood. I think this is not normal, but it’s not rare either. I will talk about it in an upcoming “damn, Anglin, this is a bit too much sharing, bro” article.

When I review my memory, I view myself in the third person. The camera angle, I mean. It’s not first person. The memories are very clear after childhood. It’s like watching video of a staggeringly handsome paddy twat running around causing problems, thinking it’s funny. The funniness of the chaos is the only thing that keeps away the looming sense of existential dread.

One of the memories I do have from childhood is being asked what my favorite color is, and answering “green.” For whatever reason, the lady asking me followed up with “why green?”

I replied: “because the grass is green.”

This, I am now convinced, was a subconscious manifestation of longing for the Motherland, The Eire. It is a longing I was tragically born with while being held captive by heathens in a foreign land.

Ireland is literally “the green grass country.”

The color associated with the Irish is green because the land is green. It’s why you wear green for Saint Patrick. It’s why they have green hats and so on. It’s the green country. Furthermore: the emotional and psychological states associated with the color green are also associated with the Irish, so there is a kind of “spiritual greenness” as well. [Editor’s Note: That’s the best part of the article. My brain tumor started fidgeting and making a buzzing noise and things fell apart after this point. The next “memories” article will be much better.]

The Eire is all grassy fields that end on cliffs. No variety, save for some mountains, which are just reverse-cliffs. This is the origin of the term I created for my unfortunate non-diaspora cousins: “field Irish.”

There is a distinction between field Irish and diaspora Irish, the latter having experienced true captivity among the heathen, while the former have only experienced the heathen coming in to mess with them and try to tell them to do things they didn’t want to do.

When the Great Reunification happens, and much of the US East Coast is annexed by Greater Ireland, the field Irish will be known by post-captivity Irish as “fieldies.”

When I was a small child, whose favorite color was green because the grass is green, these fields were the reason. The memory of this place is written into my DNA. It may sound absurd. I don’t think it is. One thing you see of the Irish is that they are filled with an obsession with the Motherland. Even though they fight each other constantly, this is nothing compared to the way they fight against people coming to their land and trying to tell them what to do.

Historically.

I have no idea why these field Irish accept an Indian Prime Minister (Tow-Shiek) telling them what to do. I have no idea why they accept the immigrants, analism, vaginalism, all of it. I guess it’s because they abandoned Jesus and his Mother with that over-hyped priest abuse scandal in the 1990s, and because money talks, and they were sick of being poor.

I don’t know if they were sick of being poor. It seems that they kind of liked being poor.

But when you’ve been poor and not poor, I’m sure it’s hard to pick “poor” over “not poor.”

After all: it’s just as easy to be miserable with money as it is without. Right?

I’d like to know what exactly is happening in Ireland, with the mass abortion, faggotry, immigration, and all the rest, because I now feel I have a responsibility to look after these people. But I don’t know.

What I do know is that we seized control once before.

The Kennedys were defined by Irishness. It wasn’t incidental. Neither Jack nor Bobby were problem drinkers. (That fat titty-bitch Teddy sure was. He killed a hooker by driving his car into the sea. He was like the bloated corpse of the Kennedys, walking around. Zombie Kennedy. He looked like a corpse.) Jack *allegedly* had this thing with women. But they were all good Catholic boys. Most importantly, there was a consciousness that they were both outsiders to the establishment, as well as people who had a fundamental love for America and the American identity.

Joe had a vision of the Irish serving as the Catholic moral compass of America, and dominating politics in the way Jews dominate politics now – but acting as the reverse Jews, enforcing patriotism, Christianity, and family values.

Not all of Jack’s policies were perfect, but he was just getting started when his top got popped off. The Jews clearly viewed clannish, religious, moral, patriotic Irishmen as a threat – the natural heirs to the throne.

If belligerent Irish Catholics were running this place, it would look a lot different. I can promise you that.

I am an American patriot who has never been to Ireland. But the understanding of the Irish identity, in relation to the American experience, clears up so much.

Irishness fits comfortably into Americanism. We’ve done very well. But we could do a lot better. We should be focused on revenge for the Kennedy assassinations.