Showing posts with label eschaton. Show all posts
Showing posts with label eschaton. Show all posts

Friday, April 3, 2020

Walking The Eschaton

It was like a midsummer day in Borth on the Welsh Riviera. Overcast, a drizzling rain, not too cold, not too hot but no, this was North Central Texas and time to take Blue Eschaton for a walk.

The streets were empty, because of the Chinese Virus or because they always are? A mystery, and so was our old friend the Meth Shack. The Shack's under new management, who've been busy gutting the place with a view, presumably, to newer and better renters. Good luck with that worthy project.

Mourning the passing of an age, we advanced to the Pick 'n Steal. It still stands, essential business in the midst of lockdown. I tethered the Eschaton to an empty newspaper vending machine and went inside for a coffee "refill" in an invincible Yeti mug. 

The store's Owl Idol looked down with unflinching eyes on its supplicants, the usual crew of pajama wearin', slipper shufflin', lottery playin', blunt buyin' punters. There they were and there it was. Reassured that some things never change, I walked the furry apocalypse back to the Compound, mission accomplished. And then a curious thing happened.

Within a space of minutes, clouds rolled in from the north and with them a fierce wind. The temperature dropped like a stone in seconds, taking us from Borth in August to Borth in April. Fearing a Polar Vortex, I showed the Eschaton inside to warmth and safety.

Poor dog. You can imagine, centuries later, explorers discovering an elderly Heeler encased in ice, the remains of a fried cherry pie in his mouth, frozen where he stood on the awful day the Climate Changed.

That aside, I hope you've all managed to recover your firearms from the lakes and rivers and sensibly saved on SCUBA by use of powerful magnets and sturdy ropes.

God bless,


Saturday, February 22, 2020

Apocalypse China And Everywhere Else

By now we all know the Coronavirus has reached Europe, with some 50,000 people quarantined in Northern Italy. Good luck Lombardy, to say nothing of Iran, Lebanon, South Korea, Japan and everywhere else. This thing obviously isn't contained, but what about here in the US?

Rod Dreher writing at American Conservative quotes, at length, an American doctor whose Chinese wife is keyed into apocalyptic conditions in her homeland, where they're running out of medicine. The doctor slams the "elites" of "both parties" who've "failed and betrayed" us. Read on:

Now: to what is going on in the USA...
And as a physician, the first instances of medication shortages are now happening in earnest. A memo from the hospital’s pharmacy committee arrived yesterday. It specifically named the following drugs – IV antibiotics such as gentamicin, tobramycin and streptomycin – IV drips from the ICU dobutamine, dopamine, and norepinephrine – and the following pill medications – diltiazem, verapamil, amlodipine, losartan, valsartan and irbesartan. Also mentioned were all of the usual narcotic opioids used for pain – morphine, dilaudid, hydrocodone and fentanyl among others. The memo stated that while there was stock in the hospital on all of these at this moment — the intermediate suppliers had sent warnings that supplies were quickly diminishing — and that further supplies from the manufacturer were not going to be reliable into the foreseeable future. Therefore, we were strongly urged to immediately begin making sure that every prescription was appropriate — and to replace it with something else if possible.

Well, some of these things are not replaceable. Some of them are — but with much more dangerous alternatives. And just try doing surgery without morphine — I dare you. All I can say is you have been warned. This is here — this is now and this is real and very likely to get much worse. Shipping all your critical drug manufacturing to another very unreliable country is so dumb that only the elites could have thought of it. And all you snowflakes thinking that we can just magically build factories here immediately — well you are oh so wrong. First of all — manufacturing drugs on a large scale takes immense engineering, and will not be done on a whim. Secondly, when we exported all our manufacturing away, all the jobs went away as well. There is a human know-how that is critical to this kind of enterprise, and that went away when the factories went to China. And it takes years — maybe decades — to get that back. MY FELLOW AMERICANS — YOU HAVE BEEN FAILED AND BETRAYED BY THE ELITES IN BOTH PARTIES – PLEASE KEEP THAT IN MIND IN THE COMING MONTHS.


You can and should read the whole thing here. Perhaps our traitorous, transnational, Illuminati, tasseled-loafer, club-chair-sitting, Mammon worshiping asset-strippers need to be brought to account. Did I say "nooses down the Mall"? No, you must've imagined it.

In the meanwhile, you are a fool if you haven't at least begun to lay in a month's worth of food, water, and necessary supplies. Look at it this way, if worst comes to worst and the escaped ChiCom bioweapon hits, say, Dallas in the next month you'll be able to eat. If it doesn't, well and good, you can cook up the food and shoot the ammo at leisure.

Pray this doesn't get any more out of hand, more on prepping for the Eschaton as the spirit moves.

Stay safe,



Via Zero:

*South Korea reports 123 new cases, 1 new death
*Italy announces 79 cases, declares "national emergency"; Nothern  Italy put on lockdown.
*Japan cases triple in a week to 121
*Japan confirms "seriously ill" patient in Tokyo
*Hubei reports daily numbers
*Chinese scientists find virus in urine
*Experts propose 27 day quarantine, say 14 days likely not long enough
*Cases outside China go exponential
*32 UK and European citizens arrive back in UK on evac flight
*Outbreak reported in South Korean psychiatric ward
*WHO team visits Wuhan; will give Monday press conference
*Iran reports 10 new cases, deaths climb to 6
*San Diego says 200 under 'medical observation'
*Young woman infected five relatives without ever showing symptoms

*South Korea cases surge 8-fold in 4 days to 433; country reports third death

Sunday, April 14, 2019

Palm Sunday 2019

I love Palm Sunday, the gateway to Holy Week and with it the opportunity to follow Christ ever more deeply on his way to the cross and resurrection. Beautiful, and it forces two things upon us, discernment and choice.

Who and what do we love, what leads us, who do we follow? Bread and power, the world, the flesh and the devil who hovers over all, or Christ? Discernment achieved, choose wisely.

That said, half of one of the Missions was missing in action today. Why? Because they'd gone to a rabbit show. That's right, a bunny display.

Well, there's nothing quite like anticipating Easter.

Antenicene Fathers forever,


Saturday, April 13, 2019

The Deluge

It started off like one of Michael Avenatti's clients, misty rain, but this is Texas not the Cotswolds, so fine April spray soon turned to fierce downpour followed by wind-whipped, cataclysmic deluge. No kidding, the elemental weather spirits were clearly displeased with preparations for Holy Week.

Or perhaps the explanation's natural. As the earth's magnetic field weakens prior to pole flip, so too does our old enemy, the Weather, strengthen. Regardless, the roads into town were on their way to being flooded and having a rig came in handy.

Safely back at the Compound, we stand resolute while lightning cracks overhead and rain crashes down, watching the flotsam and jetsam of a once prosperous farming community sweep by in the rising waters. Discarded weaves, dead blunt packets, broken toys, malt liquor bottles, carrion and other trash, all the usual offscouring of rural life. 

Is this the Eschaton? The dogs certainly think so, howling above the thunder and the sirens which fill the air. But no, surely this is just a harbinger of things to come. 

Speaking of which, top level bi-coastal elite Democrats don't seem too pleased with the President's plan to ship illegal immigrants to sanctuary cities like San Francisco. It's like MAGA's somehow, haha, rained on their MillSoc parade.

Didn't you get the memo, commies? Open borders begin at home.

Shelter from the storm,


Sunday, November 18, 2018

When The Man Comes Around, Apocalypse

Listen up, you heathen.

God bless and thanks, LL, for the reminder.



Apoclypse, that was today's Gospel from Mark 13, the famous mini apocalypse or condensed version of the final wrap we see in the Revelation to St. John the Divine. It's powerful.

Wars and rumours of wars, earthquakes and famine, persecution mounting to a crescendo in the great tribulation, the abomination of desolation in the Temple. 

Antichrist with supernatural, diabolic power to deceive the very elect, the light of the sun and moon darkened and at the climax of the battle, the Son of Man returning as He left, in clouds of glory; all within "this generation." And we have to ask, has any of this been fulfilled and will it be? The answer is yes, and yes.

Jerusalem and its temple were utterly destroyed by Titus and Vespasian in 70 AD, within the generation of Christ's prophecy. And what are the crown of thorns, scourging, mocking, betrayal and crucifixion but the desecration of the temple of Christ's body?

The ultimate sacrilege, Daniel's abomination of desolation waged against the Messiah who rose from the dead to lead His elect through tribulation to the restoration of Israel in His Mystical Body, the Church.

So yes, the prophecy has been fulfilled, partially, but this points towards a greater fulfillment. The sack of Jerusalem and Christ's Passion are moments or gears in the apocalyptic clock which was set in motion at the moment of the Incarnation.

A clock that's racing to its end in the final battle, the apex of the conflict between good and evil. We know the result, victory's assured, but beware the Dragon as its chains are unloosed and the Church, like ore in the fire, is refined to precious metal through tribulation.

Watch, pray and stand fast against the rising tide of evil which would destroy all that's good, true and holy. 

Sermon over, as you were,


Friday, November 16, 2018

The Restoration

There they are, three family heirlooms sitting in the back yard of your compound, rusting. And you look at the metal chairs which belonged to your Great Great Grandmother and think, it's high time these relics of a better age were brought back to life, restored.


The next thing you know you're at Walmart, getting a haircut, taking care of business at the 1st Inconvenience Bank and buying sandpaper, primer and white enamel Rustoleum spray paint. Then what?


Sand the chairs. I used 100 grit paper and a couple of sanding sponges, and wish I'd bought more; they're efficient. When the grit's gone, deploy them as blocks and that works too.

The Watcher

A hour or so later congratulate yourself, well done, you've finished sanding. Stand back and behold the improvement, a promise of things to come.

Apocalyptic reverie over, wash the beasts down with some kind of spirit and spray. Three coats took around two cans per chair and I think they looked sharp, but the third chair needed special treatment. 


That's because it'd managed to get itself especially filthy and had to be cleaned before sanding. An old abrasive kitchen sponge did the trick and neatly removed flaking paint to boot. Result.


Chair #3 gets a sanding and spray tomorrow. In the meanwhile, #1 and #2 rest on the porch, looking good and ready for action. They'll be joined by a swing and #3 as time moves inexorably on towards its end.

Blue Eschaton

We'll watch that play out, on the porch.

God bless,


Friday, April 13, 2018

Prep For The Eschaton

Rain's lashing down, thunder rumbles, lightning flashes and we're listening to Waylon while loading magazines and cleaning actions. Be prepared, right?

For what? The Eschaton. That's getting mighty close, lately, and I ask you, have you seen the doomsday clock tick-tocking more dangerously?

Pray, please, that we don't go to war. Again. Especially as Al-Qaeda's air force and the army of Saudi Arabia.

Lock up the pedo globalists instead.

Your Pal,


Tuesday, January 16, 2018


Was it celestial outrage over the British Army's new ad campaign, heavenly anger at the MillSoc antics of Moby and Sean Penn or just our old enemy, the weather, getting back at Texas for failing to pay a tribute tax? Who knows but for whatever reason, ice began to fall from the sky last night.


It started off as freezing rain, driven by icy blasts of bonesplitting wind that swept the porch as though it were the open bridge of a ship in a winter gale. Then the rain turned to ice, followed by tiny shards of snow. 

Sure, if this was Calgary everyone would be heaving a sigh of relief at the warmth of it all but this is Texas and -9+ is something to be conjured with, to say nothing of Sky Ice.


The day dawned to a scene of frozen stasis. Nothing moved except a man and a blue dog on their way to the Pick 'n Steal, which was miraculously open. Then it hit me, an epiphany or eureka moment. Go to Walmart and buy a butt roast and slow cook that porcine beast until it's fall off the bone tender. And that's what I did.

The End of The World

Walmart was empty, you could fire off a canon and not hit anyone, but the pork was there. It's rubbed and ready for the Compound's oven, while we clean weapons, load magazines and dare the Weather to do its worst.



Sunday, December 31, 2017

New Years Eve Ice Age Eschaton

Thanks a lot, so-called General "Flynn," if that's your real name, which we doubt. Thanks to you and the Russians we're entering a new Ice Age and no, this isn't Oymyakon, it's rural Texas and there's ice on the rig.

In fact there's snow, drifting wildly against Blue Icebreaker's leash on the front office porch. I know, it's badly in need of paint and that should have happened by now; who knows, maybe it'll all be over by Spring. In the meanwhile, c'mon, Lupe, finish the job.

Ice, paint and snow aside, there's a roast in the oven and Yorkshire Pudding batter chilling in the fridge. Our plan is to eat like warriors. But in the meanwhile, where's that good old Global Warming?

Have a blessed and happy New Year.

Rave on,


Saturday, December 9, 2017

Clear The Brush

It was a day much like any other day, the objective being to clear brush from the church. So I drove Sleeping Beauty and his pal, Funboy 2, to one of the missions after the usual exercise of Morning Prayer, walk the Shadow Wolf and all of that.

Work Harder!

The men of the mission were already hard at work, chainsaws in hand, and we stuck right in. Clear that brush! was the prime directive.

A Smoker

Then a political philosopher turned up with a smoker and the fun began as mesquite met heat and the delicious aroma of hot links and other delicacies spread over the work site. Next time it'll be Elk and Boar but Rome wasn't built in a day.

Typical Brush Pile

Several hours later the work was done and we'd gotten off light; imagine the settlers of the last century, clearing and working the land. Put yourself in Montana or Alberta during the winters of the 19th C or for that matter, Texas in the summer before air conditioning. 

They were tough, no doubt about it, and rainbow riding didn't loom large on their radar. Doubtless they had other things to think about.

Funboy 2

We will too, when everything comes crashing down under a mountain of irreparable debt and our money's exposed for the rotten fish head that it is. Good luck with that, all you who live in a city and just about anywhere else.


Speaking of which, smart people are building compounds and learning to ride, shoot, fish and hunt if they haven't already mastered these forward looking skills.

Yours truly,


Saturday, December 2, 2017

We Are Standing On The Edge

What, the edge of time? Of civil war and the Eschaton itself? No, just the edge of Walmart and the fields in this small slice of rural Texan paradise. But does the Golden Void speak to me? Not really but I won't deny it's not a bad place to be.

The rig's oil is refreshed, its engine will live again to fight another day, and all's well with the world as the sun sets over the fields on the outskirts of town.

Saying that, our lying, corrupt, pernicious, venal, smug, self-serving, mendacious, aggressive mainstream media have been busy accusing President Trump of being a Russian spy. Here's Alex Jones.

Make of it what you will but word to the wise, don't put up with being a serf dupe of the globalist New World Order and its Illuminati overlords. And remember, it's all a conspiracy until it isn't.

All best for Advent,


Sunday, November 12, 2017

Sutherland Springs, Apocalyptic Reflection

Last Sunday we walked out of Mass uplifted, at least I did, refreshed in mind, body and spirit and then on arriving back at the Compound, pouring a glass of the right stuff and clicking on Drudge, things didn't seem so good.

There it was, Devin Kelley had killed 26 people and wounded at least 20 in an act of murderous, irrational, rage. "Why," asked one hardened LE Officer, "was it Satan?" Good question. Try phrasing the act another way. "A man of iniquity, full of bestial wrath, blasphemously profaned the Temple with the blood of the martyrs."


Put that way, Kelley's massacre sounds apocalyptic and it was, quite literally, for his victims; they met their last day. As such, Sutherland Springs serves as a partial type or prefigurement of the Apocalypse. What does this look like? We know the broad outline because Christ tells us, in Matthew 24.

Wars and rumours of war, earthquakes and false Messiahs. Here we find the birth-pains of the second Advent. Then follows the birth-crisis, the triumph of paganism and the setting up of idolatrous cult, the abomination of desolation on Mount Zion, accompanied by ferocious, such as the world has not yet seen, persecution of the Church. 

Virgins Wise And Foolish

The Apostle Paul and St. John The Divine  add to the mystery, telling us that this phase of blasphemous ascendance is led by a man, the son of perdition, or Antichrist, who is endowed with supernatural ability to "deceive the very elect." At this time there will be a great "falling away" or apostasy.

Then after the travail comes birth itself, the second Advent of the Son of Man, presaged by cosmic upheaval, who appears on clouds of divine glory to vanquish evil and vindicate the faithful. At last the Bridegroom returns. In the onrushing face of this, where do we stand?

A Typical Wise Virgin

Hopefully like the wise virgins who had the sense to stock their lamps with oil.  Herein lies a symbol. The lamps represent faith, which holds the light of good works, of mercy, love, forgiveness and compassion, all fueled by the oil of love and the indwelling presence of the Spirit who is the personification of love.

The message, then, is simple. We must be filled with the fire of divine love, as light shining in the darkness and then, when the Bridegroom finally appears, we will see Him and He us, granting us admittance into the marriage feast of the Lamb.

Bad Virgins!

To return to Sutherland Springs; those people, knowingly or not, were prepared for their apocalypse. They were loving God in worship. 

May God grant us grace to do the same. And, not to put too fine a point on it, if you're licensed, carry.

Your Old Pal,