STORM FRONT

 

Yesterday was beautiful and sunny, but it was just a ruse, a cunning device to deceive brought on by the Old Adversary. Today is different. Our Enemy the Climate has changed. Thunder rolls, while rain lashes down against the weathered timbers of the Compound's HQ with elemental, enraged fury. Not unlike Hillary on hearing the news of Trump's victory in 2016.

Are we deterred, thrown into wailing, weeping, tariff induced panic as we hunker down in our hardened bomb/tornado shelter? Hardly. First step: Stand on the porch like Ahab, braving the elements. Second Step: Gather the faithful for Evening Prayer at Mission #1, 1928 BCP thank you very much. Then say that important act of communal worship as thunder rolls like an artillery barrage and rain crashes down.

My soul doth magnify the Lord, regardless of climactic opposition. Speaking of which, do any of you pray the Roman Breviary? I used to and liked it, but its hideous English translations of psalms and canticles became too much to bear and I jettisoned the thing. For all I know there's a better variant out there but I haven't seen it.

Speaking of which, I remember talking with some senior Roman priests somewhere in Gloucestershire, years ago. They scorned the new liturgical texts, "All they had to do, Father, was use the language already worked out by the Church of England. But no, they wouldn't do that, thought they were clever. But they weren't, utterly useless." I loved those old boys.

Regardless, the Texan sky has turned that shade of green which may or may not presage a further storm. Does this mean we should pay the Weather moar tax, like some kind of Dane Geld? I say no, you might say yes. Your call.

No Rule,

LSP

STORM FRONT

 

No, not the ancient skinhead movement in what used to be Great Britain, but a literal storm in North Central Texas. Seriously, it woke me up in the middle of the night as rain lashed against the wooden frame of the Compound, while thunder rolled and lightning arced down from heaven.

Exciting. Yet again, the climate had changed, which prompted me to venture out onto the back deck and behold the fury of our Ancient Adversary, the Weather. It was ferocious, no doubt angered by a tragic decrease in funding from USAID and the EPA. Or perhaps it was elemental rage at Tulsi becoming DNI Suprematrix? 

Possibly so. We do, says the Good Book, fight against "powers of the air." Not unlike, when you think on it, Britain during the Blitz. In related news, I feel it's important to join this club. It's called REFORM, and sits on Pall Mall in Whigish splendour. Call it, if you will, a long march through the institutions.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Storm Front

 

Evening Prayer was no sooner said than clouds rolled in from the West, the temperature dropped, and it began to rain. What a blessed relief and as I type this letter from the trenches of the War on Weather, lightning flickers across the sky and thunder rumbles like a lazy barrage on Ost Front.

Meanwhile, Eduardo's exotic ducks sit nonchalantly on the tim roof of a shed across from the Compound's perimeter, they enjoy the rain, they're ducks and like water. Lately they've taken to rebelliously flying over LSP airspace to the front yard of a local petty drug dealer. There they sit, doing duck stuff, until Eduardo chases them back home.

In related avian news, green parakeets have arrived in this part of the NCTEZ (North Central Texas Exclusion Zone) and I've seen several. They're attractive birds and lend a tropical flavor to the place, perhaps they spread from Dallas where they're well established.

Birds aside, the storm rolls on with a kind of elemental fury and the landline's rung, yes, we still have one. It announces "Code Red." I take this to mean some kind of CorpCom Rainbow Maoist offensive's been launched against our commonwealth and the great state of Texas.

As always, we stand firm, resolute.

Never surrender,

LSP

Changes

 

typical Texas street scene

Changes, I won't link to the Bowie song, but that's what this small aspect of rural North Central Texas is all about. Yep, changes. For example, the hideous yellow Queen Anne house is no longer yellow, its siding's been ripped off and new and remarkably ugly plastic windows face the public from its historic visage. 

why is this even called "Queen Anne"?

Hey, maybe this is better than the crack house it's been for the last 15 years, likewise our old favorite, the Meth Shack. Alas, the Meth Shack's no longer home to tack-heads in their underwear, wife beaters and pajama bottoms lolling around onna porch with lotto tickets and heads fulla meth.

Meth Shack

No, it's been bought by Jose, who's fixing the place up, well done. But who will buy the Disciples of Christ? Good question, ask the realtor; I liked that little congregation and it's sad to see it go down. But what can we say, so many little conventicles within a several block radius, all of them in competition.

for sale, alas

I tell you, if this town had been set up by Christians its central monument and focus would have been a collegiate church, surrounded by cafes, restaurants, fountains, gun shops, bakers, Confederate monuments and everything civilized. But no, we put up a courthouse.  There, in the very center of town lies a monument to secularism. Reflect, drill down on such wickedness.

pick 'n steal

Too harsh? Perhaps, but even so, it speaks to the hierarchy of Law and Faith in our country. The former clearly pulls rank on the latter. Westphalia aside, look at the result, Faith is trampled on by secular Law.

the Compound

But not at the Compound, and some things don't change. The Pick 'n Steal stands steady in the ferocious crosswinds of our present culture war and so does the Manse. Yes, accidents may very well change but substance remains the same.

It's raining now, a storm's blown in, we thank God for that.

Your Friend,

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