Thunder Eshaton

 

Yeah, go right ahead and post on Thunderbirds and see where it mythically gets you. Good call, LSP, now you're right in the middle of a ferocious, apocalyptic thunder storm. No kidding, the heavens are crashing down with eschatalogical fury.

At first I thought it was shrapnel bouncing off the justified and ancient timbers of the house but no, it was hail. I know this because I went outside to look at the lightshow and an icy boulder clocked me in the eye. Dam painful, I can tell you.

Would the rig be alright along with the planet itself? Good questions, so go outside with a flashlight to find out. All OK, thank God, and the storm passed over with its massive and predatory birds. We live to fight again another day.

All Hail Texas,

LSP

ESCHATON

 

Thunder and lightning SMASH down upon this small asset-stripped Texan farming community, shaking the ancient wooden timbers (what?) of the Compound. Like no kidding, a ferocious storm, turning night into day with all the fury of an electric universe.

Yes indeed, the climate's changed with elemental, eschatological fury. And so we stand, undaunted, on the rain lashed porch, daring our adversary to do its worst. 

Seriously, this storm's pretty crazy, be safe out there.

Apocalypse,

LSP

Corpus Christi Storm

 

Thunder rumbled like a celestial artillery barrage as the heavens opened and rain lashed down with cascading fury. Seriously, climate change got real and I had to pull over to the side of the road on the way to Mass. Clearly Hill County had forgotten to pay its carbon tax.

But maybe Bosque had because it was clear skies and sunny southern weather once you got over the dam which blocks the mighty Brazos, creating Lake Whitney. A great place to fish, for sure, and a good place to celebrate the Mass to boot, not far from one of Belle Starr's hideouts.

A typical Texas Storm

I keep meaning to visit what's left of her small 100 acre ranch, which once played host to the James Gang and other bushwhackers turned outlaw. All in good time, but in the meanwhile it's Corpus Christi, so here's a prayer.

Deus, qui nobis sub Sacramento mirabili Passionis tuae memoriam reliquisti; tribue, quaesumus, ita nos Corporis et Sanguinis tui sacra mysteria venerari, ut redemptionis tuae fructum in nobis iugiter sentiamus: Qui vivis et regnas in saecula saeculorum. Amen.

 

And in English:

O God, who under a wonderful Sacrament hast left us a memorial of Thy Passion; grant us, we beseech Thee, so to venerate the sacred mysteries of Thy Body and Blood, that we may ever feel within ourselves the fruit of Thy Redemption: Thou who livest and reignest forever and ever. Amen.

 

Powerful prayers and do you think that a nation, people or persons who openly mock God will somehow escape the storm of his judgement?

O Salutaris,

LSP

Thunder Lightning Eschaton

 

Thunder roars and rumbles across the sky and lightning sears and cracks the heavens as rain lashes down with elemental fury. Yes, this is Texas, and the days of our small rural farming community may be numbered as assorted trash, needles, broken shoes, dime bags and weaves wash away in the flood.

A cleansing, perhaps. But on a practical note, as you look up from weapons cleaning, polishing Sam Brownes and ironing uniforms, it's said that enough rain falls in Texas to keep your compound irrigated throughout the year, if you collect the rain.

We have yet to build a cistern(s) and that's clearly overdue. You see, when the grid goes down how will you get lifegiving water to your home via electric pumps which don't work? 

You get the point. In the meanwhile, we're watching this storm in all its incandescent fury.

Eschaton,

LSP

Storm

 

What is it about Stations of the Cross on Thursday evenings which invites ferocious weather. I don't pretend to understand the mystic corollary between the Via Dolorosa, Golgotha and our ancient adversary the Weather, but there it is, the battle between Good and Evil played out in the cosmos itself.

It started with brisk wind and slight rain, which fast escalated into a beating tempest. A lull, a calm, a quiet point as birds sang thinking it was Spring. And then?  Clouds rolled in from the South, tornado watch, and it was time to capture the moment from the front porch.

Would this burgeoning storm blast our bucolic farming community or would Weather's wrath pass us by? Thank Gaia, our enemy the Weather chose to strike East and punish the Deep South, like Sherman's army. We pray our brothers and sisters survived.

Stand firm, resolute, and draw the moral of this story as you take it.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Cinco De Mayo Apocalypse

 

Rain lashed down as lightning cracked across a darkening sky and thunder rolled across the firmament like massed guns on the Donbas salient. Terrifying. Of course I set up on the porch and braved the elemental power of the storm while the Compound shook and shuddered with each blast of celestial fury. 

Then it was time to head to the kitchen and make coffee, wondering at the day turned to night. Was this the apocalypse, the Eschaton, brought on by our Old Enemy the Weather? Will there be anything left of this small Texan farming community when the waters subside? Discarded weaves, tamale husks, meth bags? Such is the wake of the flood.

Blue Ahab didn't venture an opinion, being unable to speak as well as blind, but he looked in need of a treat or two, delicious Alpo Variety Snaps, which he loves with fierce abandon. "Have these delicious snaps, my furry Bulgakov," I uttered, giving the faithful protector a couple of irresistible chicken flavor dry biscuit things. Yum. 

Doggerland Utopia

At last the storm's subsided, and this part of Texas still stands firm above the waters of chaos. We have not sunk beneath the flood unlike the hapless DOGGERLAND.

Stay Safe,

LSP

STORMFRONT

 

Lightning cracks across the sky, turning night to day as thunder crashes down like a barrage of guns on the Oder, shaking the house with elemental fury. Our Old Enemy the Weather is at it again. Dauntless, I stood on the porch, braving the lashing rain to do its worst. 

"Do your worst, Weather!" I thundered from the safety of the Compound's spacious, safe, historic and well constructed porch, "Monetize all the debt you like, you green mountebank, but we're not falling for your corporate Bolshevik ponzi."

Ferox, but our enemy ignored me entirely and continued to bombard this once prosperous farming community with a deluge of rain, sky water. What will tomorrow bring? Discarded weaves, needles, cast off Dicky's BBQ beakers, the broken fragments of a child's toy, all that and more floating in a poisonous backflow effluent of broken drains. 

Witch

A parable? Perhaps. In the meanwhile, smart people are sharpening kukris, loading mags, laying in supplies and praying hard for angelic and divine aid. My feeling is that we'll need it in the coming years.

Your Friend,

LSP

Lightning!

 

No sooner had Stations of the Cross and the obligatory Lenten meal and class finished than it began to rain. Not heavily, but the drops were big, Texan style. Then the wind picked up and ominous rumbling filled the air. Thunder, like the sound of guns along the Oder Front, or Deep Purple.

Lightning began to arc, illuminating clouds which scudded across the firmament of heaven as night turned to electric day. It was easy, at that moment, to believe in the Electric Universe. Roll on, Nicola Tesla.

In other news, it's the Feast of the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary tomorrow. Here's the Collect:

WE beseech thee, O Lord, pour thy grace into our hearts; that, as we have known the incarnation of thy Son Jesus Christ by the message of an angel, so by his cross and passion we may be brought into the glory of his resurrection; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

 

Somehow this seems apt in the storm and my mind goes to  I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven.

God bless,

LSP

Dove Hunt Fail - Rule of 666

The plan was elegant in its simplicity. Load up the rig with a CZ SxS 20, ammo and decoys, then head out to the country, set up in a tree line and shoot dove. What a good plan, but it fell apart when a storm blew in from the East.

Wind and ferocious rain put an end to today's pleasant vision of avian acrobats falling under a flak barrage of birdshot and ending up as jalapeno poppers on the grill, so I took refuge in Walmart. A lesser thing, for sure, but interesting nonetheless. Why?

Because around a quarter of the shoppers weren't wearing masks. They weren't into them at all and strolled around the store without a seeming care in the world. This seemed pleasant to me, so I took off my stupid election mask of fear and bought some steak and wine, MAGA style.

All good, unlike Great Britain which has just told everyone that gatherings of more than six people are illegal as of Monday. Offenders will be fined and possibly arrested, who knows, perhaps they'll be sent to special camps. Churches, pubs and restaurants are exempt though, and it's a fair bet that mass gatherings of  BLM, dinghies full of POCs and Extinction Rebellion art commies are too.

In England, from Monday, we are introducing the rule of 6. You must not meet socially in groups of more than 6 - and if you do, you will be breaking the law.

We must do what is necessary to stop the spread of the virus and save lives. pic.twitter.com/tKWa9sK1wr

— Boris Johnson (@BorisJohnson) September 9, 2020

What's this all about? Here in the US Democrat virus panic's understandable, after all, it's an election year and the disloyal opposition want to ride the pandemic to a win they wouldn't achieve normally. Mail in voting, stopping Trump rallies, crashing the economy and all of that. OK, fine, but what's in it for the UK's so-called Conservative government? A government with a massive 80 seat majority in the Commons.

Good question and I don't have an answer. It's almost as though some strange force is driving BoJo to set himself up as the most unpopular Prime Minister in the history of ever. Is he being blackmailed, is he a puppet shill of the sinister New World Order, are evil spirits involved? Who knows, but he looked demented in today's bizarre "Rule of 666" broadcast.

We must hope it has nothing to do with demons.

Cheers,

LSP

RAIN

Thunder rolled across the sky like the opening barrage on the Kursk salient as lightning cracked and exploded, shaking the Compound's ancient timbers with primal sound and fury. Then it began to rain.

A typical Aberystwyth Street Scene

No, not Aberystwyth or Oxford drizzle, but real rain, big rain, Texan rain. And with it the temperature plummeted from high 90s to low 70s in a matter of minutes. Lone cowboys caught in the open froze instantly, "snuff" still their mouths, half drunk cans of Coors Lite turned to ice.

Well look at that, it's Oxford and it's raining

The storm's subsided now and this small rural farming community rejoices in the newfound cool of the morning. Thank you, God, for sending us rain and a respite from living in an oven. And yes, it may be a small victory in our bitter war against The Weather, but every advance counts.

From the Front,

LSP

DEMTANIC

Here at the Compound we're playing Demtanic on continuous loop. Why? Because awesome, obviously. 

In other news, it's dark, thunder rumbles across the sky and rain pours down on the streets of this rural Texan haven with Aberystwyth Pier ferocity. Such is the penalty for not paying the weather tax, but more on this exciting story later.

Deluged,

LSP

Crazy Storm

Texas is big and so is its weather. When it's hot it's really hot, like an oven. When it storms it really storms and that's what happened tonight. We were at the Four Seasons, no, not that one, this is a different place, the one next to Internet, Sweepstakes, Fun Time, then crash, down came the rain. 

You could hear it pounding on the roof above the stained acoustic tile drop ceiling while sheet lightning lit up the sky beyond the Seasons' barred windows. There it was, our Old Enemy the Weather venting its fury like a thwarted Presidential Candidate falling on Mook with outstretched talons. 

The ride home down a black ribbon of half-submerged asphalt was dramatic enough but uneventful, I took it slow and so did everyone else. Smart, who wants to hydroplane in a near zero viz stormfront?

Still, it was good to get back to the Compound. I set up on the porch as lightning arced across the sky, rain sheeted down and tornado warnings flashed on the phone screen. Thunder's rocking the house now, Elite Hotel's playing on the jukebox.

Will anything be left of this town tomorrow, will it be washed away like so many futile Bloomberg millions in Virginia? Only time, and a new dawn, will tell. 

For now, we stand to, cleaning weapons, sharpening kukris, loading magazines and throwing last year's broken furniture on the fire.

#2A,

LSP

A Savage Twist

The ongoing War Against the Weather (WAW) took a sudden and savage twist last night. Yes, we'd been lulled into a false sense of security by warm sunny skies, and no rain, what was that, skywater? It was like being in California but without the weird gun laws, the needles, the freaks and the mosques, an Indian Summer we thought would never end. Then Boom.

Around 19:00 a fierce, chill wind kicked in from the east, thunder began to rumble and the first drops of rain fell on the Compound. The opening salvo, a foretaste of things to come, and followed all too soon by barrage after barrage of increasingly elemental fury 'til the house shook with the roar of it.

Blue Eschaton took it all in stride and laid down on a Moslem rug in the living room while I watched the celestial fireworks through the glass of the front door, listening to rain lash against the wooden walls of the house. 

It was like being in Aberystwyth, except this is Texas and accordingly larger, wilder, more ominous. Will the Compound survive, I wondered, idly gazing at a handy shotgun propped up next to a couple of obviously useful fishing rods.

Good question, so I went out on the front porch and stood there, resolute, Ahab against the storm. "Thank God I'm armed," I muttered grimly while lightning arced across the sky and flags whipped in the wind.

This continued well into morning, while our Old Enemy the Weather launched assault after assault on the freedom loving people of North Central Texas. Were we defeated? No, we were not, the Compound stands to fight again another day.

And this message is for you, Irish Bob, Beto O'Rourke. You will never be President and you and your millionaire socialist friends will not succeed in taking our guns and erasing our faith. Freedom to bear arms and freedom of religion is written into the DNA of this country, not least Texas. Mess with that and take your choice.

Aggressively yours,

LSP

Fathers Day Washout

It was a simple plan, elegant even. Say Mass at the Missions, expound on the Trinity and then drive back to the Compound for an afternoon's Fathers Day grillout with the Recruit. What a great plan, then it fell apart.

The kid got roped into working for an elderly churchperson. Well done, charity is key, and there went the lunch component, but not to worry, adapt and move the grilling forward to the evening. Pleased with the evolving genius of the plan I watched clouds move in from the West, storm clouds, dark and ominous.

Boom, deluge, and that was the end of that. We consoled ourselves by sitting on the porch as lightning cracked, thunder rolled and rain poured down with all the fury of an enraged god, the Weather God, our ancient enemy.

Still, it was neat to watch the storm from the safety of the compound's porch. Like being on the bridge of a ship, I always think.

Try Not to Lose Your Lunch

In other exciting news, Groper Biden's apparently well ahead of 45 in the polls which is why the toothy politician's attracting such, ahem, massive crowds. Who knows, maybe Michelle will lurch out of left field and boost the Party's fortune. Think, what chance would Old White Privilege himself have against a transsexual woman of color? 

Candace For Press Secretary

Perhaps Trump would do well to counter this not inconsiderable threat by taking on Candace Owens as Press Secretary, as opposed to Stephanie Grisham. Just a thought.

Cheers,

LSP

Apocalyptic Storm

I had barely settled in for a relaxing evening after the Sunday Masses and visiting the sick and dying, when a worried churchperson called, "There's a big storm blowing in. The weather people are saying there'll be hailstones the size of golf balls!" Undaunted, I stepped onto the porch to see the action.

Sure enough, lightning was flashing across the sky, filling the still sky with its sudden glare, as yet noiseless, but promising greater things. A good cue to get an umbrella and go on patrol. Half way to the town square it began to rain, slowly at first then in great, pounding sheets. Thunder ripped and crashed from the heavens, like the wrath of God itself.

I took shelter at the Shamrock Pick 'N Steal and watched the rain before wading through flooded streets to the safety of the Compound and its porch. Would the town survive?

It did, but only just and by the grace of God. You can watch an exciting video of this exciting tempest here.

Weather the storm,

LSP

It's Dark and Stormy, on the Edge of Time

Driving on the Edge, on the Edge of Time

Lightning, rain, darkness. Just another typical day on the edge of time, except for thunder, which was weirdly missing. One cup of hot tea later and the power went down, which meant shaving by flashlight before climbing into a storm-tossed rig to the eerie cries of terrified peacocks and the forlorn howling of Blue Raskolnikov. 

The Wire

Thirty minutes of apocalyptic driving later I reached my objective, the Cowboy Church's men's prayer breakfast. And I was glad I went, because the cowboys are alright and you always, in my experience, get a good "message." This morning's was on forgiveness; don't hold bitterness, anger and resentment in your heart or it'll chew you up and spit you out. The Gospel's pretty emphatic on that theme.

A Typical Day in Wales

It was light by the time breakfast was over, and I looked out across the wire at rain-soaked Texas. It was like Wales, in August.

Be safe,

LSP

Another Storm

Thunder shakes the house as lightning sheets across the sky and rain lashes down; another storm. I watch the enraged fury of the elements from the comparative safety of the front porch. 

And such is the new normal, here in Texas. Storms, rain, flooding, the Eschaton. Speaking of which, here's an apocalyptic prophecy from Sr. Lucia, one of the Fatima children. She wrote to Cardinal Carlo Caffara of Bologna:

The final battle between the Lord and the reign of Satan will be about marriage and the family. Don’t be afraid, because anyone who operates for the sanctity of marriage and the family will always be contended and opposed in every way, because this is the decisive issue. However, Our Lady has already crushed its (Satan's) head.

The storm is intensifying. Whether and to what extent anything will be left of this bucolic farming community in the wake of the flood remains to be seen

LSP

Rainbow, Where's The Gold?

In a stunning display of cosmic irony, a rainbow appeared in LSPland, facing Stores, affectionately known on the depot as "Walmart." And not just any old rainbow, no, this one was double.

There it was, hanging in the sky, so I joined the smartphone frenzy and took a picture of it, along with everyone else. There weren't any unicorns frolicking on its graceful curves and I couldn't find the crock of gold, either. 

So Where's The Unicorn?

That, the mythical pot of wealth that comes with the rainbow, is apparently an illusion. Follow the rainbow, they say, and you'll find riches and happiness beyond your wildest dreams. But it's not there, so much for State agitprop.

Stores

After a time the rainbow faded, giving way to torrential rain, house-shaking thunder and ferocious lightning, which I watched from the safety of the porch.

There's a moral in this, if you care to draw it.

LSP