Riding With LSP

Do you, so-called LSP, remember how to ride? To find out I went to the Heart ranch and made friends with Trace, again. And I tell you this.

Riding is good for mind, body and spirit and, in the bucolic Mesquite groves of Olde Texas, especially awesome.

Beat the Jihad.

Ride on,

LSP

On Guard

We're standing guard, here at the Compound, while the commentariat debates the latest Syria news. 

Was Trump making a power play to Chicom President Xi and the Norks, while temporarily sacrificing relations with Russia to win over the corrupt, lying, elite, hypocritical, venal, rude mainstream media and their establishment political patrons? 

Or was he simply shilling for the New World Order Globalists and their useful stooges in the Jihad? You be the judge. 

In related news, I'm pleased with the sofa I bought the other day in far, far north Dallas. It was cheap, easy to put together and it works. Good result and it replaces an ancient loveseat that had been taken over by Blue Upholstery.

Blue Sofa's not allowed on this couch, though he's welcome on the Moslem rugs. "Furniture's for humans, not for dogs," I tell him sternly, and he pads off to a large cushion in the dining room, where he bides his time. 

God bless,

LSP

World War Three? Buy a Sofa.

As everyone knows, President Assad's been accused, yet again, of using chemical weapons in Syria and the US is being urged to go to war in Syria to put an end to such atrocity. Or to put it another way, we're supposed to go to war with Russia which obstinately persists in backing Assad to the frustration of Saudi and Qatari oil and gas concerns.

How odd that a new example of heinous Russian perfidy emerges just as the faked-up hacking narrative seems to have died a death due to a near total lack of any evidence whatsoever. Except for evidence, that is, of Democratic Party wiretapping.

Regardless, some think the chemical weapons incident is a false flag:

Just five days before the attack, U.S. Secretary of State Rex Tillerson said, “The longer-term status of President Assad will be decided by the Syrian people,” implying a definite shift in U.S. foreign policy away from regime change in Syria.

Why would Assad put such assurances in jeopardy by launching a horrific chemical attack, allowing establishment news outlets like CNN to once against use children as props to push for yet another massive war in the Middle East?

Others smell a rat and offer helpful analysis here. Others again suggest that it's not logical to kill civilians in a town you're trying to liberate.

To escape from this foreign policy maelstrom, I drove to far, far North Dallas and bought a sofa. More on that exciting story as it develops.

God bless,

LSP

Storm, Art, Flag, Bishop

The three or four Russian hackers that read this mind blog keep asking, "Tovarich, LSP, there are no posts! What is happening? Explain." Alright, I will.

Things have been incredibly busy at the Compound, with Lent talks, Stations of the Cross, an Episcopal Visitation, storms, flying the flag and making art.

It's a simple installation; a plain color field whose center is an absence, a void inviting projection as we journey downwards and beneath the image. Is it a reflection, a mirror, an image of the other or none of these things? It's called "X Ring," serious inquiries only.

Great art aside,  our enemy the Weather has launched a ferocious offensive, unleashing thunder, lightning and torrential rain. Our bishop braved that this morning to visit the missions; well done, Jack Iker.

It will probably storm again tonight and the Compound, like the prow or bridge of a ship, will stand tall against the fury of the elements.

Be safe,

LSP

Out of Jail

It took a while but Blue Perpetrator finally got out of jail. In fact, the town's Animal Police Department (APD) dropped him off at the Compound yesterday morning. Thanks, APD, 'preciate it.

It must have felt good to be out of the cells and Blue Freedom leaped and bounded for joy on the porch before heading inside. 

He'd paid his debt and done his time, now he was enjoying the sweet air of freedom. We tested that this morning with a walk to the Pick 'n Steal. Would he nip at anyone's heels in a fit of overprotective loyalty?

No, he did not. He even ignored the bearded hipster in a ball cap and ironic shirt that went into the shop to buy whatever it is hipsters buy, "Sorry, fella, there's no artisanal coffee here in repurposed jute tumblers, and watch out for the dog."

Well done, Blue Jailbreak. Now you are free. In other exciting news, Compound HQ's about to get a repaint. About time!

God bless,

LSP

Check Out This Piece Of Trash

Trash

Check it out, a piece of trash I found in the street as I was walking Blue Steak Eater. There it was, lying in the gutter, along with the cast-off weaves, rusting needles and associated curbside debris which is all that remains of the Democrats' wanton lust for power.

A Typical Texas Street Scene

In associated news, President Putin has sen a cordial letter to President Trump, sensibly implying an entente between our two powers. Note that the Russian strongman and former KGB Colonel signs off his missive by referring to President Trump as "His Excellency." 

Obama had a rather different treatment at the hands of the Russians, but that's another story again.

Your Friend,

LSP

Gun Henge

Behold the power of the Mysticke Stones.

Will their earth energy deflect the power of .45 ACP and 5.56? Will Gaia shield the black silhouette from the evil pistols and deadly assault rifle? No, it will not.

Smoldering rubble.

Moral of the story, don't hide behind a cinderblock wall. The stones won't save you.

Gun rights,

LSP

Thanks a Lot, "Rig."

It being the Feast of St. George, I rose with the sun, got everything squared away, said Morning Prayer, walked the dog and put some rods in the back of the rig; the plan being to go fishing. Good plan, eh? Simple, clear, realistic, doable. But you know what they say, as soon as you make contact the plan goes all to hell. That's what happened to me.

Everything was fine until I got to Whitney and picked up some bait. Then, as I pulled away from the bait shop filling station, the dash pinged me with a check radiator warning and the gauge went into the red like a voracious Bass on a juicy worm.

The Plan

Sure enough, the radiator was leaking coolant like a good 'un and the reservoir was empty. I filled it up and drove home, hoping that, as if by magic, the leak would stop when I got back to the compound. It hadn't, and I resisted the temptation to get a quick fix with Stop Leak and folk remedies like black pepper, eggs etc.

St. George Makes Contact. Note: Princess, Humpback Hill, Your 9 O' Clock.

It can go to the shop on Monday, and in the meanwhile I console myself with the thought that the fish will still be there when we get back in the fight.

All for Texas and St. George,

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

Come Hell or High Water

What do you do when the lightning fills the sky and thunder crashes like the guns of Kursk, as a mighty deluge of rain pours down from the sky? You can sit at home like some kind of pajama boy in a onesie and cower in your parents' basement sipping lattes and hot chocolate. Sure, you can do that, that's one option. Or you can climb into your rig, crank up the jukebox, and drive through the storm to Mass.

I chose to avoid Hell and brave the high water, which isn't as amusing as it sounds when you're hydroplaning across a flooded country two lane. Slow down, you're of no liturgical use, in this world, if you wipe out and die in the wilds of Hill County.

Slow Down, Fool.

The storm raged throughout the Mass, like Hillary Clinton thwarted of a speaking fee, or Satan, falling to earth like lightning.

Wake of the flood,

LSP

Spot The Snake

Can you see the snake? Tricky, isn't it, because it's well camouflaged. But look closely, with the aid of a helpful red circle, and you'll see a few inches of the serpent slithering into a metal pipe.

You can just pick it out between the box spring and the pipe. Of course other snakes are far easier to spot.

One of them's running for President.

LSP

Tack Up

It's all very well to spend your life on the water in search of fish, but sometimes it makes sense to change things up a bit. With that in mind, I went for a ride.

There we were, horse and rider all alone under the big Texan sky, a sky that was growing ominously dark with low, stormy clouds. Then the wind started to pick up and I got in the saddle, daring the elements to bring it on.

They didn't, fortunately, but it was neat to gallop out like a stormchaser, and I was pleased with the horse. We're getting to know each other and she's fast, responsive and wants to please, as opposed to being a crazy, dangerous, mutineer. Good horse.

Ride over, I looked at the strangely green water meadows of Texas and their cows. A pastoral scene that reminded me of England, but that illusion vanishes with the Mesquite, dirt roads, larger sky and the newness of the settlement. 

It was all being pioneered not too long ago. There's a sense of freedom in that.

Stay on the horse,

LSP

This Is Not The Cotswolds

With the racket of a trees going down around the Compound, I figured it'd be a good idea to drive off in search of Texas. And I found a bit of it, in Irene, Hill County.

The Post Office, Irene

Irene, named after a prominent townsman's daughter in 1878, was originally known as Zollicoffer's Mill, in honor of Edwin Zollicoffer, who settled there in 1848. At it's peak in the first two decades of the last century, the town boasted some 400 souls, the railway, a post office, a school, a store and as many as 10 businesses.

2nd Street, Irene

Today the railway is gone, along with the store, the businesses and most of the people, but the post office remains. You get the feeling, as you explore Irene, that it's really a farm which happens to have several houses on it. 

No Trespassing in Irene

Sheep graze across the road from an abandoned store, and round bales lay in lines in the sun behind the post office, which faces what looks like a cattle operation of some sort.

1st Street, Irene

That's not to say that the town's dead, or especially ruinous, despite the abandoned trailer home next to the Windstream junction shed. No, it's just very small and right there in the middle of the farms. Perhaps it is a farm, to all intents and purposes.

There's a small cemetery outside of town. It was sad to see the children's graves and I reflected on the character of the people who lived through the death of their infants. I feel they were made of stern stuff; I doubt that they had much choice in that.

I like Irene, even though it doesn't have a pub or a store.

God bless Texas,

LSP

Night Patrol, in Texas

Are we entering a new dark night of political and cultural devolution in America? To find out, I went for a night recce patrol with  Blue Destroyer.

I didn't see any riots, weirdly, but I did see a flag.

Still, the streets were pretty deserted. Everyone was probably inside, cleaning weapons, loading magazines, and making sure their kit was silent.

The air was full of the smell of burning mesquite. Was it smoke from a burn pile, blowing in from the fields, or people throwing the most immediate fuel source on their fires to keep warm? Who knows, that intel is being passed up to higher command for in-depth analysis.

Less happily, there was some skunk in the air too. I didn't see the skunk.

And then we were back at the Compound, recce over.

Mind how you go,

LSP

Ride Like The Wind

I won't lie, we pretty much flew along over the fields and trails after Mass today. But when not going full tilt hell for leather and Devil take the hindmost, I worked on collection, posting trot and basic horsemanship.

Go on, Run at That Tree

Running at a tree and then galloping around it was pretty good fun; working on serpentines with minimal use of reins was maybe less so, but probably a more valuable exercise. And I won't discount the importance of galloping through the bucolic Mesquite trails of Olde Texas. Careful there, fella, don't get your eye gouged out!

See, That's What Happens

Thorns aside, it was good to simply explore the land on horseback, I find that relaxing, it clears the head. And think, not too long ago, almost within living memory, this county was only just settled, and even that might be stretching a point. But for all its lawlessness, and there was plenty, there weren't many Indian raids. In neighboring counties, sure, but not here. 

A Fairly Typical Tree

As I understand it, people think it was a kind of neutral zone, or "treaty area," which made it comparatively peaceful, as far as the tribes were concerned. Different story of course, if you were John Wesley Hardin.

Spot Hardin. Note, none of these people are in "The Band."

Harding shot and killed somewhere between 20 and 40 people, maybe more, before he was shot in an El Paso Saloon by lawman John Selman. Hardin had killed 8 men by the time he was 16 and I mentioned that to my friend who kindly lets me ride on his ranch. "The thing about him," he said, "is that he just wasn't sane."

It's more than conceivable, in fact it is likely, that Hardin rode through or very near the land I was riding on today. 

Mind how you go,

LSP