Rehab - Another Triumph Of The Will

People often tell me, they say, "LSP, do the rehab." And I do, it goes like this. Look at your sturdy wooden cane and thank God it's not some flimsy piece of tariff-ridden aluminium rubbish that's made in China. Perhaps this cane is a badge of rank. 

Buoyed up by the positive thought, use the thing to navigate across the Compound's attractive front porch and into the waiting rig. Then drive to one of the Missions for Sunday Mass, reflecting on the weaponlike aspect of the stick at your side. Too bad it doesn't conceal a sword or a Derringer. Reverie over, use it to nav from the car park to the sacristy, where the lights are mysteriously off.

Non Illuminatio

Struck by the lack of illumination, observe your MC sitting in the dark and greet him with a sunny "Hello Dracula" while waving the stick about, Bram Stoker style. He was trying to sleep, the MC, not Mr. Stoker, because "a dog got me up at 4.00 a.m." Bless him.

Commiserate over the furry alarm clock issue, vest, pray and make your way to the back of the church for the "entrance procession," stick in hand. Use it to lean on, point it at people, practice drill movements with it, whatever, a useful prop. But Bronc Dracula has other ideas.

Bronc

"You're not using that for Mass," he says with steely cowboy resolve. You can't argue with that, so I hung the wretched thing up on a coat rack as if a testimony to a miraculous cure, and the Mass began. 

No cane, no walker, and there it was, genuflections to boot. First time I'd genuflected since I was kicked off the horse, and it felt good, a veritable triumph of the will or more precisely, modern medicine.

Thanks, MC, sometimes it doesn't hurt to be pushed and if it does, so be it. Now in fairness, my friend's been thrown off more horses than I've ridden, and I've ridden a few. You can see, perhaps, why I wasn't about to argue the stick. Respect, and don't look or be weak in front of the team, especially when one of them's a Bronc Dracula.

Leni

And that, vast international readership, is the story of that. A short tale of God, Church, Rehab and Country Life in Texas.

Ride on,

LSP

The Gender Construct

In the bad old days of biological fascism people were indoctrinated into thinking their gender was a given, something dictated by the body they were born with. "Two XX chromosomes?" said the gender Nazis, "You're a woman!" So intolerant, now we know biology and gender are two very different things. 

Yes, you may well be born with the body of a woman or a man, such are the sexes, but don't let this trample like some kind of jack-booted Brownshirt all over your identity. That's something for you to decide, because gender's fluid and flexible.

That's right, a construct, a complex matrix of societal, mental and emotional forces which play together to create you, the gendered self. Biology may say one thing, but who you are is entirely up to you. At last we've found liberation in the transhumanist phase of the liberal project, a true triumph of the will.

Leaving aside uncomfortable NSDAP irony, and with apologies to Leni, here at the Compound we have to ask. If gender's a construct, divorced from the tyranny of the body, why is it that transsexuals spend so much money getting their body changed. Seriously, if biology and gender are unrelated, why spend all that cash to mess with your body? 

Why? Because everyone knows in reality that gender's determined by flesh and blood. Per GaGa, you were born that way, and we get it despite all the agitprop. It's not difficult, in fact it's readily apparent to the senses. Look, there's a woman, there's a man and... then there's that, some kind of hybrid. You can see it.

So, the unfortunate woman that wants to be a man or the sad man that wants to be a woman invests heavily in chemicals and scalpel to make it appear so. And what an appearance it mostly is, blasphemous Frankenstein parodies of the two sexes.

But my question is this. Why are we allowing our children to be abused by this self-evidently dysfunctional, sorry, dysphoric, illness? OK, perhaps that's too mild, let's call it as it is, Satanic degeneracy. 

As you doubtless know, Arlington schools have gone full trans. Far-sighted readers will remember Hungary threw the Bolshevik demons off their backs in reaction to Dukacs' program of sex-ed in schools.

Peace and Love,

LSP