Countless others lost their lives in similarly senseless ways, sacrificed to a war that was as despicable in its aims as it was devastating in its consequences.
Some past lives seem to carry an unrelenting karmic toll on the body and mind, suspended in a cycle of redemption, resolution, self-forgiveness, and self-loathing. This is my story, and the past life I am still trying to reconcile.
I live in a house filled with the spirits of German soldiers who have chosen to accompany me—not just to guide my journey, but to help me confront my once-upon-a-time life in Germany. They share their stories with me—tales of bloodshed and the horrors they committed. But some, like Hermann—or Ernst, as he asked me to call him—share more than just the atrocities of war. They speak of the lives they left behind when the war began: families, dreams, and futures stolen by a conflict they couldn’t escape.
Like many of the spirits who gather here, Ernst’s life ended in battle. Countless others lost their lives in similarly senseless ways, sacrificed to a war that was as despicable in its aims as it was devastating in its consequences. The echoes of that war continue to reverberate, leaving a lasting scar of hatred, racism, and fascism that the world is still struggling to heal.
Semantics & Propaganda: A Synergistic Blend of Hate
To understand this more clearly, we must examine certain areas, including semantics. Semantics refers to the way words carry multiple meanings and implications. For example, before the rise of the Third Reich—and excluding synonyms—terms like hatred, racism, and fascism were not commonly associated with alternative names.
Since World War II, these words have often been used interchangeably with Nazism, a testament to the pervasive influence of the Nazi propaganda machine, orchestrated by Joseph Goebbels. The Nazis applied such an extensive form of ideological branding that, even today, most people who see a swastika immediately associate it with Nazism rather than its older cultural and religious meanings.
Like Nazism, the swastika remains unwaveringly tied to these associations. In this sense, Hitler continues to achieve what he always sought—a thousand-year reign. World War II may have ended, and the Nazi killing machine may have been dismantled, but the ideological fallout of the fascist regime still reverberates today.
1990s Goth Culture & the Fascist Haircut
I won’t deny it—I’m a fan of the undercut hairstyle. Unfortunately, it has recently been rebranded as the “Hitler Youth” or “fascist” haircut, thanks in part to the alt-right. However, the clean-cut style, especially when worn by flaxen-haired young men, had already been appropriated by the Nazis and prominently featured in their propaganda to embody the ideal Aryan look.
Yet, the hairstyle predates the Nazis. Variations of it reemerged in Western culture during the 1920s—though it had been popular in earlier periods as well—and by the time Hitler rose to power, it became closely associated with the Aryan aesthetic. The original photos I’ve posted here illustrate just how widespread this style once was.
Growing up in the 1990s and immersed in the Goth subculture, the undercut hairstyle was everywhere. For a time, I wore it myself—though with a longer top, dyed jet black. Back then, especially for young women like me, the haircut symbolized irreverence and nonconformity. I also found the style on men undeniably attractive, and, admittedly, that preference hasn’t changed over the years.
So when neo-Nazis and white supremacists dominated the Unite the Right rally in Charlottesville in 2017, the press was quick to highlight certain details in the footage, including the resurgence of the so-called “fascist haircut.” Once a hallmark of 2010s hipsters, it had now been co-opted by "nipsters"—neo-Nazi hipsters—further entangling the style with far-right imagery.
Taboo Ephemera: My Photo Collection & Why
I collect these items not out of allegiance to any ideology but because they are tethered to an unspeakable past.
I’ve previously written about how this dark photo collection began, which you can read about in an earlier post. Initially, World War II photos—especially those from Germany—weren’t an area of interest. But when Hans reappeared in 2010, after spending 17 years mostly under the radar with little paranormal activity, his presence ignited my fascination with antique photography.
What began as a passing interest quickly became an obsession. I started by collecting daguerreotypes, ambrotypes, tintypes, carte de visites, and cabinet cards—specifically of young blond men.
"Normandy": The Luftwaffe Ghost & the Portal
"Normandy," said the Luftwaffe paratrooper in the middle of the night, two summers ago, thrusting me into a level of paranormal events I was entirely unprepared for. "Normandy," he repeated—a word I later took as a directive, a place to begin.
So I did. And the deeper I plunged into history—into their pasts—the more the ghosts took a cosmic detour into my home. Some stayed. Others drifted in and out, appearing the moment I thought of them. Visitors who came and went as they pleased—soldiers in uniform, civilians in forgotten attire. The more they appeared, the deeper my obsession with collecting these photographs became.
History teaches us nothing. We shelve its lessons again and again. Or perhaps we’re simply doomed to repeat it, too hardwired in our reptilian minds to break the cycle.
I collect these items not out of allegiance to any ideology but because they are tethered to an unspeakable past. They serve as artifacts of history, allowing me to grasp its weight in a way that is both visceral and psychic. Each time my fingers pass over an energetically charged photograph or object, I feel the lingering consequences of fascism, the echoes of lives entangled in its machinery.
What unsettles me most about Nazi military portraits are the unblemished faces of youth—men unaware of what lay ahead, of the brutality they would inflict. Evidence suggests that for many in the Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe, killing became a source of exhilaration. Transcripts capture bomber pilots speaking of “mowing down” soldiers and civilians alike, describing indiscriminate bombing as “great fun.” The word fun surfaces repeatedly in archived transcripts, a haunting reminder of how war warps morality into something unrecognizable.
Back to the portraits. For me, it’s about studying the faces, searching for traces of the young men beneath the uniforms. Were these taken before they saw battle? Some expressions suggest as much. Most don’t yet bear the gauntness of hunger or the telltale signs of Pervitin—Pilot’s Salt, Panzerschokolade. Their youthful faces often contradict the severity of their uniforms, like boys unknowingly auditioning for the roles of villains. But some look the part—killers with rigid composure, their eyes betraying them, their smirks barely restrained.
Through these photographs, I try to see not just them, but myself. Each time I regress into that past life, I search for fragments of the person I was—someone long gone yet still haunted, still ashamed.
And now, as the president-elect methodically unravels what little progress this country has made, I feel the echoes of 1933. His name sickens me to even say. I want no part of this hatred, this homophobic, white supremacist rot. Not after having lived through it once before, in a country that tore itself apart.
History teaches us nothing. We shelve its lessons again and again. Or perhaps we’re simply doomed to repeat it, too hardwired in our reptilian minds to break the cycle. For me, confronting the past—directly accessing the stories of the dead—is not just cathartic. It reveals how easily civilization spirals into destruction. History, as it unfolds in the present, is difficult to grasp. Civilians and soldiers who lived through Nazi Germany often spoke in terms of denial, an inability to believe their country was capable of such horrors. And yet, it happened. And it can happen again.
Comments