What You Say Is What You Are

 

With apologies to all concerned, but yes, exactly.

Heh, hippies, take a shower. As in, "see Austin."

Cheers,

LSP

This And That

 

Get a haircut, fool

Well yesterday was fun, all about a standing rib, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes and carrots, delicious gravy and all of that. A young soldier and his Canadian pal approved of the feast. 

But today struck with a dead battery and headlight bulb in the kid's car and I tell you, removing a battery and replacing a bulb in an '04 Chevy Trailblazer isn't as easy as you'd think. Canadian friend likened it to "heart surgery." He had a point.

Big Baby

Then the kids went fishing and drove off to Austin to hang out with some Polish people and, I guess, hippies, it being Austin and all. I did not go to Austin but stayed at the Compound, where it's safe, and RV'd with some Mexicans at the church.

What good people, who set up the church's "sound system" for the new Spanish Mass this coming Sunday. I do not use a "sound system" because I kinda hate them in church, but for them it's important. So hey, carry on and el Senor sea con ustedes.

That aside, I find this... hypnotic, perhaps you will too:

Cheers,

LSP

BURNING MAN CATASTROPHE

 

A terrible disaster's unfolding at a remote lake bed in Nevada where some 70,000 seriously rich hippies are trapped in a quagmire of toxic mud. The wealthy tech bro hippies expected a freak fayre of no-holds-barred hedonist fun but all they got was rain, which turned the alkaline dust of Burning Man's famous "Playa" lake bed into a poisonous wasteland.

Festival coordinators have shut down entrances and exits and advised "Burners" to "shelter in place," urging the hippies to conserve food and water. The White House itself has been advised of this impending disaster. Oh dear, plague.

Unafraid, the hippies plan to run naked through the mud tonight on their way to worship a burning man effigy, set up at the center of the desert, now swamp, art commune. Good luck, hippies, alkaline mud, lye, is a caustic agent which burns. Then there's fairy shrimp.

Rumors that Monkeypox, EColi, and Ebola have broken out among the Burners are entirely that, vicious rumors, as are reports that this year's Burning Man is about as successful as Fyre.

Cheers,

LSP

Austin

 

When people think Austin they mostly think "hippy" and keep on walking, totally understandable. But not so fast, punters. St. Francis Anglican Church on Oak Creek is definitely an exception to the rule, and I know this because I visited the church this morning for Mass and the institution of their new Rector.

What a friendly, warm hearted congregation and I was taken aback by the quality of the music, led by an excellent little schola cantorum (choir), really very good and, sadly, all too rare. Then, after an edifying 1928 BCP Mass, we retired to the church hall for a delicious lunch of several sorts of sandwiches and a good time was had by all, not least the church's many children.

Well done St. Francis, and congratulations on finding a faithful new priest and pastor. I feel the future is bright for this faithful parish and will pray to that end. Speaking of bright, it might be a good idea to compliment the church's beautiful Crucifix and Tabernacle with six tall Office Lights. Use existing candelabra for Benediction, sort of thing. Just a thought.

Then, uplifted by the experience, I drove back down murderous I35 to the buccolic rural haven of the Compound only to discover my dog eating a German Bible. "Take that, Luther," he seemed to say, chowing down contentedly on the "Paper Pope." He was suitably reprimanded.

Wicked Bible devouring dogs aside, if you're looking for a friendly, traditional, family oriented Anglo-Catholic church in Austin check out St. Francis. What good and faithful people.

God bless,

LSP

Hippies Build Wall Trash Land

 

Hippies love open borders because peace and love not raysism, which is why they built this mega fortress wall at this year's Glastonbury freak fayre. Have a look, it's got a watchtower and everything:

President Trump would be proud! Hippies also love the environment, they're very green, which is why they leave the land like this:

Message to market? What a gang of malfeasants, but maybe the wall and watchtower are a good thing. Contain them. In fact, why not build a wall around Austin, just a thought.

Tickets for this year's Glastonbury Festival came in at a whopping £340 and you may have missed out on the UK's June hippie throw down, but not to worry. Burning Man's coming up, September 4, and tickets are only $667.

Never trust a hippy,

LSP

Hippies - Is There Hope?

 

Hippies, typically filthy, unwashed, misguided and now trans blasphemous parodies of men and women. Yes indeed, but is there hope for these misguided denizens of Austin, San Francisco and Portland? Perhaps, and here at the Compound we've worked with Beans to suggest a template.

Lure them to a pop festival, a "freak fayre" if you like. Secure the perimeter, set up in force with tents, safari rifles and all of that. Next step? Drop the boom, I won't go into detail. And then?

hippie

Issue the wretched hippies with fatigues and boots, shave their hair, start remedial PT, get that drill going (they don't get real rifles at this point, obvs), issue ironing boards and starch. And carry on, all conducted by LL, the RHSM (Regimental Horse Sergeant Major) who's taken over the SOUND STAGE, with its mighty amplification.

Hear it, punters, "By the left... QUICK MARCH!" And watch them move like clockwork across the desert expanse. Think yourselves lucky, hippies. And what can we say, problem? Solution. Yes, there is hope.

Peace And Unity,

LSP

A Cautionary Tale

 

Yes, readers, in song.

Your Buddy

LSP

All Hail Ladbroke Grove

 

Maybe space rock is the best rock, in the hall of the...

Mountain Grill,

LSP

Truth

 

As I read LL's excellent sermon on the nature of Truth and Mathematics, my mind went back to the good old days of the Church of England, the days before womyn priestesses. In fact, to the day of a "viva," OK, interview, with the suffragan bishop figure of Tewkesbury, which is a picturesque town in Gloucestershire noted for hippies, a battle and an abbey church, now a cathedral.

"Can we say," asked the grey-clad prelate in his unpleasantly low-ceilinged 'lounge,' "that there is such a thing as right and wrong?"

It was a genuine question and the fighting monkey was young in those days, so I answered, "Oh, I think there is. Say I took a baby and skinned it, alive. Would that be right or wrong?" 

He muttered something like, "Ahem, yes," and moved on, doubtless mentally oppressed by the stifling lowness of the ceiling above him, and the ferocity of the monkey. I apparently passed muster, curiously.

Point of the parable? That there is such a thing as Truth, with a capital T, that which is, and our minds are in conformity with it or not. And, ultimately, this Truth is God, He who is, I AM that I AM, self-existent being which speaks all things into being. Try saying no to that and see how far you get.

Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ λόγος, καὶ ὁ λόγος ἦν πρὸς τὸν θεόν, καὶ θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος, in the beginning was the word and the word was with God, and the word was God. Reflect on that and do not dare, unless you are a fool, to go against it, reality Himself.

Here endeth the Lesson,

LSP

War Memorials

Inspired by patriots on both sides of the Atlantic, I drove to the town square to protect our War Memorials from rampaging gangs of Maoists, hippies and savages chancing it out of Austin. Here's what happened.

There weren't any "protesters" in the Brookshire's car park, curiously.

No Anarcho-Marxist cadres behind the library either. Like, what gives?!?

The infamous Bond Alley wasn't a heaving mass of revolutionary Communists out to smash the system. Not even an ACAB. Huh.

And there weren't any autonomous zone armed guards at the Farmers Market, but it's a small market after all. Maybe there'd be some action around the corner, at the big War Memorial. 

Nothing, nada, zilch. Not a spray can, molotov cocktail, dreadlock or tofu burger in sight. Huh, strange. They're probably at the other corner of the courthouse, attacking the Confederate Soldier, I thought grimly to myself.

They weren't. The statue stood tall, a tribute to the men of this town who lost their lives in that hideous war. I paused and said a short prayer. Rest in peace.

One last stop, the library. Wow, its brazen statue to patriarchal oppression still stood. Far out. And that was that. 

It seems, my friends, that the heritage of this small farming community remains intact. Good, let's keep it that way.

Deo Vindice,

LSP

WINTER SOLSTICE!

Yes readers, it's that time of year again, the WINTER SOLSTICE. You heard that right, time to get down to the Stones and party down. Or not, but hey, your call.

Maybe you don't want to get down and dirty with a crew of thieving hippies in the English countryside, maybe you don't want to worship the Moon Goddess with a cocktail of cheap red wine, fake hallucinogens and Special Brew. Then again, maybe you do.

Here at the Compound we don't judge, knock yourselves out, just don't be surprised when you wake up in a ditch and your wallet's been ripped off by an unwashed emissary of Giaia.

Selene,

LSP

A Curious Tale To Mark The Anniversary Of Woodstock

Here's a short and curious tale to mark the 50th anniversary of Woodstock, the greatest hippy gathering the world has ever known.

It was a hot night in Dallas and the whisky flowed freely on my friend's back porch as we talked of guns, religion, Sergeant Majors, wars and hippies. 

Then the conversation turned personal. TH fixed me in the eye, he'd been a combat diver in Vietnam, a kind of proto SEAL.

"I'd just returned from a mission, it'd been," he paused, "difficult. And got orders to go on leave, so off I went without changing uniform. Out of the jungle and onto the plane.

"Landed in LA, and went outside to get a cab. It was right after Woodstock, and there was this hippy woman, staring, I must have looked a mess. She jabs her finger and calls me a 'baby killer.' What? I couldn't take that at all so I knocked her out, bang. 

"A cop comes over, he'd seen it, and asks, 'Do you want me to book her for assault?' I thought for a moment, no, let it be."

Here endeth the Lesson.

Rest in peace, TH.

LSP

Hippies, Cause Or Symptom

Why are we in the mess we're in today, and it is a mess. A super athlete bloke is hailed as woman of the year. We're told that a country without borders is patriotic, that abortion's healthcare and the more you're taxed the richer you will be.

For that matter, we're supposed to believe that it's somehow OK for a duly elected president to live under a 2 year+ investigation for "Russian Collusion" without a shred of evidence, and all at taxpayer expense. Well, don't say Deep State and they never thought she'd lose.

But regardless, throw a dart at the board and get a nasty story. From Syria to Abolish ICE to trans bathrooms as the new sacrament of civil liberty, the whole edifice of Western Civ seems to be going down the pan. Whose fault is it? Hippies?

Some say yes, the hippies are responsible. They're thieves, liars and mountebanks, just look what they did to Joni! And, at the drop of a dreadlock they'll rip off your sailboat and trash your land.

Still, are hippies the cause, the symptom or both?

Your call,

LSP

The Hippies Went Down To Portland

Well, well, well, the hippies went down to Portland. Some of them were going to abolish ICE and the nation's borders because, you know, without a border there'll be an anarcho-syndicalist revolution that's gonna overthrow the Man.

Grace Slick With Some Deadbeat

So the hippies set up a camp outside the ICE house and stayed there forever because Portland's Democrat Mayor wouldn't let the police arrest the filthy, thieving, unclean, aggressive, reeking hippies. Then the Man told them to go and off they went but they left this, en lieu of overthrowing the State.

A Typical Hippie Encampment

Here's the Wall Street Journal:

Along the trolley tracks behind the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement field office, a biohazard cleanup crew works under police protection. It finds used needles and buckets of human waste simmering in nearly 100-degree heat. The smell of urine and feces fills the block. For more than five weeks, as many as 200 people had occupied the site to demand ICE’s immediate abolition. They’re gone now, but a community is left reeling. Thirty-eight days of government-sanctioned anarchy will do that.

1st Battalion Garbage Cans

In related news, violent hippies tried to stop Patriot Prayer in Portland and deployed the 1st Battalion Garbage Cans. 1 BGC failed to live up to promise and ran away in the face of "flash bangs." 

Trash

Whether they duct taped their garbage cans together for waste disposal is currently unclear.

Spartacus,

LSP

Owl Magic, A Short Tale Of The Occult

The heat came down like the beating of giant wings, suffocating, intense, taking the air right out of your lungs  and sucking it up into whatever was beyond the bonewhite glare of the sun.

So deal with it. Not easy, but I strode into the furnace and somehow made it to the Shamrock filling station pick 'n steal. A short walk across the anteroom of Hell.

"How's it going?" I asked across cracked formica in the cooling blast of air conditioning. She rose up from checking cheap cigars, Swisher Sweets, in all their lurid 99 cent, bluntish glory.

"OK. That it, coffee?" 

"And a pack of cigarettes, Marlboro Light, short, box."

She had the cigarettes ready. It was a morning ritual, regular and repeated but something was different.

"You like the smell?"

Stick incense wafted on the AC, familiar enough; like the odor of tipis in Wales, Austin or San Francisco.

"I smell it," I replied, "It smells like hippies."

She giggled, suddenly coy.

"But hey, better than a toilet, right?"

"So true, better than a toilet. But what's with the owl?"

She paused, laughter most definitely over, and looked at the plastic bird glaring round-eyed from the top of a glass counter and its  sign for burned offerings. 

We gazed in silence, while darkness flickered in and out at the edge of vision, barely perceptible shadowmen, closing in. I ended the spell.

"So what's with the owl. Guarding against evil spirits?"

Liquid brown Aztec Inca eyes met mine and stayed there before another giggle. "No, he's just an owl, you know, like some stupid bird."

I walked out into the heat, coffee in hand, to return the next day; rituals bear repetition.

The owl looked down from his perch and darkness clustered, sharp and flitting, almost out of sight.

"Coffee and cigarettes?"

"That's right, same again."

"You remember the owl?

"Yes."

"You're right. He stops the evil."

"I know."

I looked at Mictecacihuatl and she at me, impassive, empty, a void, this was just the way it was. 

Vade retro, I walked into the searing light of the day, "God bless."

Behind me came a rustle of feathers and the sound of tearing, plucking, ripping and pulling at flesh. I didn't look back.

All Gods, readers, are not the same.

God bless,

LSP

Get A Haircut, Hippy

Joni, stay clear of that lecherous deadbeat

Life is full of challenges and we rise or fall on them as we move down the fast flowing stream of life. Here's a snapshot. 

You look deep into the black depths of the scrying glass and see a monstrous reflection staring back at you, some kind of long haired freak. 

Hippies

Who is that? you ask the polished obsidian and realise, in shock, that it's you. And the challenge is on, getting a haircut in this rural Texan haven. No, you're not scared, so you hit the road in your rig.

First stop, Quality Cutz but Quality Cutz is shut, unsurprisingly, because Cutz couldn't cut hair. It wasn't his strength, I hope he moved on to better pastures. I liked Cutz.

Cutz is Gone. He Couldn't Cut

Next stop, Creative Designs, all holed up in a half abandoned strip mall. No. Every chair was full of elderly women with tinfoil in their hair. Do you give up? On the contrary, you face the challenge and meet it head on.

This meant ending up at something called Salon 110 and that's trying because all I'm really asking for is an old fashioned barber. But they're gone in this farming community so you adapt and survive.

Polling

A pleasant young woman with pink hair got to work; cutting hair was her "passion" she told me and more power to her. About half way through she asked, "Did you go to Woodstock?" I resisted the temptation to say damn your impudence, "No, I missed that one."

Reckoning

Did I miss the teaching challenge and forget to tell her that "hippy" is synonymous with dirty, thieving, lying beggar? And that Joni Mitchell is a Devil Witch?

You be the judge,

LSP