Go To Town

 

The Anglo-Catholic Society of the Holy Cross (SSC) was founded on February 28, 1855, and to celebrate the anniversary I drove to St. Andrew's, Grand Prairie for Mass, lunch and an excellent talk by a faithful priest.

"Cult, sacred order," he advised, "transliterates into culture." Well said, and the "culture war," in his opinion, is a misnomer. More a matter of those without the sacral and therefore without culture fighting against those who do. 

Better then, thought our speaker, to say we're in a war of anti or no culture versus its opposite. Good call, and it speaks to the nihilist, destructive aspect of our secular orthodoxy.

But I won't preach. It was good to meet with faithful priests and bishops today. A breath of fresh air and Blue enjoyed it too, though he became confused and worried by the unfamiliar expanse of St. Andrew's church garden. So he went back to the truck, where he slept soundly.

In the meanwhile, war drums beat louder.

God Bless You All,

LSP

Merry Christmas!

 

There's such beauty to Christmas Eve, anticipation of the Feast with all the intimacy of the thing itself; presents, family, friends, glittering lights on the tree and on, and joy seems to fill the air. Quite right too, we're celebrating the most miraculous and glorious of things, the birth of Christ, the Word made Flesh, and with it the advent of salvation.

What can we do but bow down in adoration, praise and wonder before the mystery and the Missions did just that, celebrating in fine style. Then it was back to the Compound with the specialist who opened a "tactical stocking" and something called a "gaming laptop." Apparently these are important for today's troops. 

Blue took it in stride and may have got a Christmas special himself. Hmmmm. And so we advanced to contact, in  good way.

Merry Christmas!

LSP

I Love The Country

If you'd said, twenty years ago or so, "LSP, you'll be living in a small asset-stripped town in North Central Texas," I'd have laughed. But the joke would've been on me, just think of the benefits.

Clean air, friendliness, people wave to you on the back roads; a sense, even now, of community. And guess what, most are Christian, they worship God as opposed to Moloch. OK, I'd like to see a few mass conversions from the Methodees, but you get the point.

All this to say nothing of the freedom to walk the fields and brush, gun in hand, under the free sky of Texas. Even better when you can ride it, which I haven't done in a few years because of a mad Arab and a busted hip. But still, it's there.

And guess what. No one, hardly, feels the need to wear weird masks and go full panic, follow the, ahem, science, obey your rulers autism, unlike in the cities. Why? Because no one's actually dying any more than they usually do. There's a degree of common sense running around in the country and people sense a lying, powerplay Democrat snake. They say no to it. Will they crush its heel?

Possibly, and the Left hates this and fears the country. Quite right too, how will their cities feed themselves if the hateful two gender extremists stop hauling food? Just a thought.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Random

 

Cars and strip malls. You can smell it when you park up in front of the credit union, Margeritas To Go, Chipotle, Sonic, Taco Bell and on. There they are, spewing out fast food exhaust as you park in front of the bank. Hey, I'm not judging but it was weird to venture into suburban DFW metrosprawl today.

This, I thought to myself, is how most people live here. Good, bad, indifferent? I don't know, but what I do know is that all it'd take would be one big tornado to strip it all to the ground. Great would be the faux adobe of its fall. But the wind didn't rise, much, and I35 back to the Compound was mercifully clear, result.

Now, food for thought. When everything gets nasty and money, water and food don't work, how are you going to get out of the cities? Will FEMA or the Army help you? Perhaps the apocalypse elves will spring into action and save everyone. Or not.

Here in this rural haven we're cleaning weapons, throwing last year's furniture in the fire, banking crypto and loading mags.

Your Pal,

LSP

Labor Day

 

Labor Day started off well, on the porch and armed with a strong survivalist 20 oz. tumbler of coffee. Well, you can't be too prepared for the apocalypse. Bacon and eggs followed because workers have to eat and eat well, which we did before heading out to Killeen and the home of Phantom Lethal!

I won't lie, it was a nasty drive, especially through Waco where the road becomes a bumper to bumper, Armageddon car Hell. "Can't you hitch a ride on a passing Blackhawk, kid? Heck, they're giving 'em away. Or what about an autogyro or a Fiesler Storch, it'd be easier than this." He didn't think it'd be possible, annoyingly.

But speaking of Hell, have you noticed how the satanists are furiously in favor of killing more Texan babies? The same applies to Democrats at large, who've made abortion a kind of anti-sacrament, an outward and visible sign of Promethean, demonic, lethal pride hiding under the pretense of compassion. See LL's foray into the leftist mind.

In related news, the despicable Fauci's worried about a "Mu Variant." You can imagine the fabled lost continent rising from Pacific depths to afflict us with its wickedness. And why not, surely anything's possible at this point, from arming the Taliban to one of our political party's being in open alliance with satanists.

Workers of the world unite against our evil, elite, transnational, rainbow oligarch overlords.

Your Pal,

LSP

A Short Sermon

 

 For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. (Eph. 6:12)

My eldest's back in town on a weekend pass from the rigors of III Corps signals, which means we're grilling. What a great result, just hamburgers, nice and easy. Blue wishes he had a burger too, but he doesn't. He's done nothing to deserve such a thing, much less pay for it. Then again, he is a dog and a socialist.

And tomorrow we consider, in the Epistle, the armor of God, truth, righteousness, salvation, peace and faith. What are these but the qualities of Christ himself? In urging us to arm up, the Apostle is saying "put on Christ." Therein lies invincible protection against all the "fiery darts of the enemy."

Strong in this divine armament, take up the sword of the spirit, the fiery love of the Word of God and advance to contact, steadfast, sure, firm, resolute in the victory which is Christ's.

Sermon over. As you were,

LSP

Back in Dallas

 

Here we are, back in Dallas, and Blue's taking it easy. I was worried a couple of days ago because he seemed disoriented and lost. Perhaps he'd had a stroke, a dog stroke. But he's better now, and cheerfully begs for treats.

Dogs aside, Dallas is worse now that it's removed statues of famous generals and replaced them with nothing. Has that made one single POC better off? No, it has not. Speaking of which, Leonidas Polk said this:

"I believe most solemnly that it is for Constitutional liberty... for our hearthstones, and for our altars that we strike."

Amen to that. The South fought for freedom against what they saw as central government tyranny. Maybe they were wrong, but here we are, not allowed to leave the country or, you know, have a job unless you do what you're told. So mask up, serf, and don't even think of travelling past your home town, much less having a job. Because science. 

In the meanwhile, our millionaire socialist overlords fly private jets around the world to whoop it up at parties on Martha's Vineyard.

Cheers,

LSP

Shoot The Guns

 

A new day, a new opportunity to shoot, so off we went to the range with a few guns, a 20 SxS, a 12 OU and a Marlin .22 WMR. Idea being to get some remedial shotgunnery in, and then a little plinking with the Marlin.

The range was overgrown and semi-flooded but we made it through, get a 4x4, LSP, and set up on dry ground next to a field, baking under a big Texan sky. The erstwhile Cadet went first, on the 12, and started smoking clays like a good 'un.

I followed up on the 20 and was more or less on, unlike the Specialist who specially smoked the clays with the same gun. Hmmm, improve your game, so-called "LSP." I did, and got in the zone, shooting far better to the right than left, curiously. Perhaps there's a moral in that.

A box of  orange "White Flyer" over, we moved on to the little magnum, shooting off the bed of the truck. Take that, fifty yard adversary, and the kid's offhand was impressive, right in the zone. Nice work. Then it was time to head back to the Compound, a good morning well spent.

I love shooting and file this tale under guns and country life in Texas.

Shoot straight,

LSP

Good Evening

 

God smiled upon us this evening and sent calming rain, relaxing thunder and enough lightning to keep things exciting, and way cooler than the preheating oven weather effect that is North Central Texas in July. So I went on the porch and texted LL.

"I call this installation "White Privilege."

"It does have that country club Illuminati vibe. Is JEB! around?"

"No, he's not. I had to ban him for bringing our members down and being utterly useless. JEB! can't yell, one of the reasons he's banned."

"He only yelled 'Mama!'"

"And 'waiter!' Regardless, the DLC Mess doesn't mix with people like that. But we do like a good dish of Beef Chow Mein."

"From Lee Ho Fooks?"

"Exactly."

 

 

The rain's stopped now, leaving this part of Texas beautifully cool while the cicadas susurrate into the night. Calming, but don't be fooled. We stand guard, vigilant.

Your Pal,

LSP

Out And About

Redivivus

 

Blue needed a flea pill and I needed to go to the range for remedial off-hand rifle practice. But how could two such very different goals meet as one? Easy, the vet's on the way to the range. So, yummy pill administered, off we went to the shooting gallery. Straight shot, as it were.

To be honest, I hadn't been there in some time, mostly because of the ammo shortage and because I've been able to shoot at JF's setup, which is far more awesome. Still, I like this little 100 yard shoot 'em up. Just you, the guns and the big Texan sky.

A Happy Blue

Blue liked it too, big time, and grinned away as I let a couple of steel turkeys know who was boss with a gas gun, aka deadly assault rifle. Take that, steel enemy. Then, after searching the shooting house for precious brass, we headed back to the Compound via a dolla cheeseburger at McDonalds. Yum, if nothing like a hamburger.

Big Sky. Note Battered Steel

That last bit's tradition. Love it, like it, scorn it, whatever, it's just the way it is. And I tell you this, readers, it felt good to get out in the clean country air of Texas and shoot. Blue agreed, as you can see.

Gun rights,

LSP

Life Is Good

 

You never quite know what you'll find at the local country Made-in-China-Mart in these uncertain times, apart from everyone having a tattoo regardless of age. It's like some kind of convention of extras from Pirates of the Caribbean.

Buccaneers aside, I checked out the ammo aisle by force of habit. Lo and behold, there were Valu-Paks of .22LR, 20 gauge 8 shot, and a few lonesome boxes of .22 WMR; and all at normal prices. Result. I bought a box of each, per store limit, and drove back to the Compound in high spirits. 

Inspired by this not inconsiderable victory, it seemed right to clean some guns, one gun in particular, a Ruger American .17 HMR. Clean that bolt, LSP, lest the dirty little beast seizes up and fails to fire. Which is a bit of an issue with Ruger's American rimfire line because the manufacturer in its wisdom packed the bolts in grease, which solidifies over time and stops the rifle from working as it should. So sort it out; here's a helpful video, if you're interested. 

That said, let's see how the little beast performs at JF's range tomorrow. We'll be shooting from the 200 yard line, and there's nothing wrong with that. At all.

In the meanwhile, ribs are on the grill and life is good.

Your Friend,

LSP

Trinity Sunday

 

It's Trinity Sunday and here in the far flung Missions of rural Texas we worshiped the Triune God without dividing the substance or confounding the persons.Good stuff, and I'll spare you the sermon but I did quote Benedict XVI:

The Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit are one because God is love and love is an absolute life-giving force; the unity created by love is a unity greater than a purely physical unity. The Father gives everything to the Son; the Son receives everything from the Father with gratitude; and the Holy Spirit is the fruit of this mutual love of the Father and the Son.

 

Well said, B16, an infinitely loving communion of persons, which is infinitely better than its opposite. And to celebrate the glory of revealed truth, I'm grilling jalapeno poppers and ribs. 

Blue Socialist thinks he's entitled to these, and I tell him he's not, "Because you're just a dog." The furry little Leveler replies, "But your Eminence, even the dogs get to eat the scraps which fall from the master's table." Well, you can see why the Medieval Church frowned upon the laity's access to Holy Writ.

Lollardy aside, word to the Dojo. Don't rub your eyes after prepping jalapeno poppers.

Your Pal,

LSP

Dallas - The Way of The Ninja

 

A leader is best when people barely know he exists, when his work is done, his aim fulfilled, they will say: we did it ourselves.

It's Easter Week and you're in Dallas, so what do you do? Grill, go to Hunky's for delicious burgers, help out with yard work, and then ride into the great Metrosprawl. Which is what I did, arriving at the Preston Center in an unmarked white F150. Comms are important, so I texted GWB in Georgia.

"Sometimes what I do is I go to the Orvis store then stop at Half Price Books before strolling over to REI."

"What?!? The way of the Ninja."

"Exactly. I'm outside the Rolex store right now."

"I wouldn't mind a stainless sport Rolex."

"Same. It'll go with the Lambo."

A typical dog scene in the Preston Center Orvis

 

But this wasn't about buying watches, it was about getting a tin of Barbour's "Wax Thornproof Dressing" to refinish a coat. That meant going into Orvis via the car park entrance, because Covid. You see, you're a lot less likely to catch the plague if you go into the hideously expensive country sports store from the rear entrance.

Waxy mission accomplished, I drove down Northwest Highway to Half price Books, a great barn of a place, full of books and empty of people. A kindly old gentleman told me to put a mask on as I entered the warehouse of cut price books, and I did, not wanting to cause a scene, "Oh, thank you! I forgot!" Whatever, no one was there because Covid, and I walked unseen, ninja style, to the scyfy shelves and bought some books. Result.

Next stop REI, which is conveniently next to HPB. There was a special Covid decontamination unit in front the great outdoors industry co-op, and I ignored that because a. it's stupid and b. ninjas don't do that. Speaking of Lao Tse, I bought an REI shirt, which is white and made in Thailand. Yes, it was expensive, but shaolin doesn't come cheap.

Then back to Dallas HQ and the important task of re-waxing my wax coat. It's not hard, just rub the wax into the cloth and let the beast bake in the sun for a few hours. You can and probably should make your own wax mixture, which I've done, but I bought convenience. Ma LSP looked at the refurbed coat and remarked, "That's pretty old timey," And so it is, I like that.

Back in the country now, and I like that too.

God bless,

LSP

Happy Valentine's From The Ice

 

Global Warming slammed North Central Texas this morning like a T34 opening fire on the Unter Den Linden or maybe the Tiergarten. Not that it looked like much to start with, just a light dusting of snow; Calgary in April sort of thing. But not so fast, scorners. Beneath the snow lay ice.

Blue Kodiak was eager to get out and off we stepped, skidding across the frozen tundra that was once a furnacelike temperate Texan town. Undaunted by biting, subzero wind we made it to the Shamrock, an Irish filling station owned by Nepalese and staffed by Mexicans. I like it because it's near, has an owl deity idol and good coffee, perhaps the best of its kind in town.

Shamrock complete, back into the icy blast and deserted streets of a farming settlement  blasted by the scourge of Climate Change. It was colder, if that were possible, on the way back to the Compound, but we powered through, thank Gaia.

After Morning Prayer I called on an elderly member of the flock to see if she needed anything. Yes, ground beef, beef broth, an onion and a bottle of wine. She was fixing to make soup. A short and very slow drive to the supermarket later, she had her supplies. Without charity, you see, everything else is but a noisy gong and a clanging cymbal.

SovCom Armor in Berlin

Priests, and everyone else, take note. It's very easy and very enjoyable to get behind a cause, to pick up Martel's warhammer and lay waste to heretics, malfeasants and apostates. And quite right too, it's a target rich environment and the Faith needs defending. But the exercise becomes a hollow, white-washed sepulcher of a  pharisaical sham  unless grounded in divine love.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for the warhammer, especially against the Bolshevik devil. But remember, the substance of the Faith is God Himself, and He is love. Evil cannot withstand its, His, inexhaustible fire, I am that I am. Of course I preach to myself.

Happy Valentines!

LSP

The Dog's Gambit

 

Note, our dog's holding, diamond paws, as the rocket lifts off. Rocket? Let's zoom in.

And why not? Let's face it, Blue's trust fund isn't going to build itself.

So, time for a treat? I think we all know the answer.

In related news, the Peoples Crypto is surging into .08 territory with a view to a new floor and a further rise through the atmosphere to .09. From there? 1$ and into orbit. But what if the lovable and popular currency crashes like some failed Space X experiment?

Good question, you're down a few pizzas and... in a great position to buy the dip. But, to this financial expert's fiduciary eyes, it looks like $DOGE is on a steady rise to orbit instead of an ME 163 Komet style PnD spike.

Week on week return? 75% here, much WOW. Let's see this puppy escape the atmosphere and SOAR.

Your Pal,

LSP