Memorial Day Remembrance

Sirens, pounding rain, people driving their rigs off of I35 and up the verge of the highway onto service roads, a car on fire on the median, one pickup flipped over, an Escalade smashed all to hell, a couple of broken sedans, fire trucks, squad cars, mayhem. 

It was like Wiking's retreat to the Oder, but no, this was just the road into Dallas on Memorial Day weekend.

Highway to Hell notwithstanding, we had a good party at Ma LSP's in Dallas. Burgers, hot dogs, patriotic cake and all the rest.  Great fun, and I foolishly stayed up into the early hours talking with the aged P.

The next day dawned high and bright, a whole new world replete with tiny dragons, a Heeler, Glocks, flags, leftover burgers and various chores. It felt good and off we went, Blue Scout and LSP, back to the bucolic haven that is the Compound.

All this in mind, it was the first time since March that I'd been to a party, or even the Metrosprawl itself. What was it like? I'll tell you, way more fearful of the Red Death than anything I'd been used to in the country. 

Company at Ma LSP's house excepted, it's all about these weird little masks, shut shops and rules posted on filling station doors, Wear Your Dorky Mask! That said, no one was, at least at the local QT, and neither were we on Memorial Day, along with everyone else on their porches.

Were people dropping like flies with the plague? No, they were not, and my guess is that they won't any time soon. Unless of course we go to war with China, which changes everything. You might pray that doesn't happen.

In the meanwhile, hope you all had a great Memorial Day weekend and prayed for all who gave their lives that we can be vaguely free.  Hold that thought, how free are we? 

Free from the State recording all your calls and internet posts? Free to not get microchipped and wear a mask in some kind of dystopian neo-feudalism? Free to say anything that doesn't go against the will and power of your elite, multi-billionaire overlords? Such freedom. And note this, it hates Christianity.

Whatever, respect to those who gave their lives. May they rest in peace and rise in glory.

Your Friend,

LSP

Diocese of Fort Worth Wins Big - Libs Lose Hard

Perhaps you know the subtext of this frivolous, inconsequential mind blog. Viz. The Compound and its Missions have run the risk of being seized by the Episcopal Church (TEC) for over a decade. Long story very short, our diocese left the rainbow communion in 08/09 and the Dorothies proceeded to sue us for all our cash and property.

Dorothy

This, they exclaimed with a click of glittery heels, belongs to us! We disagreed and so too did the Texas Supreme Court. On Friday morning, the Texan Justices eviscerated the Episcopal Church and ordered a lower court to reverse its ruling, in our favor. 

In practical terms, this means that I get to keep the Compound and its missions, while the degenerates are forced, by order of the court, to wander furiously about with large Ls branded into their foreheads. 

Blue Heeler

We thank God for this outcome, and you can read about the whole thing here in a masterfully well written 30 page opinion.

That aside, the Episcopal Church has spent at least $12 million on this lawsuit, all funded from its "mission" budget. Think about that. Twelve million dollars for mission spent on lawyers, not one of which brought a single soul to Christ. Ponder the math.

Typical Texan Street Scene

And in the meanwhile, sing a Te Deum. 

Love,

LSP

Fishing Ascension

It's important to have a plan, and this one was elegant in its simplicity. It went like this, drive to the marina, catch small fish and then use those very same fish to catch large fish. Compelling, eh?

And it worked well, initially. Cast into the depths with a small hook, a chunk of worm and pull out a little perch. Circle hook the perch under its dorsal and cast it out into the wider deep, and while you wait for a monster strike have fun catching more perch as you look at all the boats you don't own.

So far, so good. But the monster never struck, except once, when the light rod bucked and jumped as some ferocious predator snatched at the hapless baitfish. Big excitement, drop your amusement rod and head over to the real deal, which I did, and foolishly in the heat of the moment tried to reel in too aggressively. The big fish sensibly dropped the little fish.

Still, I lost count of the bluegill and kept a few to use as bait. If they'd been a little bigger I'd have kept a few for dinner too; so tasty, fresh bluegill out of Lake Whitney. I like them beer battered and served with fries, but pan fried's good too. Delicious.

Well, that'll come in a week or two. In the meanwhile, every blessing for the Feast of the Ascension and remember, plans are all very well but as with the apprehension of truth itself, rise and fall to the extent they're in harmony with that which is. The equation of mind to thing, say the philosophers. In this case, Leviathan Bass, maybe stripers, striking small perch at the marina, or not.

Fish on,

LSP

Dindu Almost Gets Himself Shot - or a True Tale of Fatal Consequence in the Old Dominion

Several weeks ago an old friend was in a Lowes car park outside of Richmond, Virginia. As he was about to enter his vehicle he was charged by a crazed, shirtless Dindu, screaming "I'm gonna f*ck you up, mothaf*cka cracka!" My friend produces a pistol, a Tokarev of all things, and there it is, "Stop or I will shoot."

The Dindu swerves away and charges another man getting into his rig, same scenario but this man's more formidably armed with a .45, which he levels at the attacker who again runs off. So no harm done, though my pal was pretty rattled.

Some Dindus in Georgia. Angel Ahmaud Center

"LSP, I've shot at people from a distance but never up close. One more second, or less, and I would've fired."

Imagine the result if he had. Headlines, protests, perhaps a show trial, and all because yet another holy, innocent angel was sent across the glittering rainbow bridge. Perhaps you're tempted to say Ahmaud Arbery, and we'll wait and see how the case of that utterly innocent jogga works itself out.

A Busted Dindu

In the meanwhile, I advised my pistoleer colleague to upgrade to a .45 carry. "Think about it, old chap. Stopping power, important, and picture the trial, 'Crazed white gunman fires six shots into unarmed black bystander' versus two shots. Do the math."

Speaking of math, 13.5% of the population commit over 50% of the crime and what, 85% of violent crime in this country. We're not allowed to draw attention to this curious statistic for some reason.

Gun rights,

LSP

Dragons - True and Wonderfull

Dragons are typically held to be figments of medieval imagination, mythical creatures illustrating the rapacious, reptilian nature of evil. Maybe so, but in seventeenth century England they were apparently very much alive.

We learn from a 1614 pamphlet, True and Wonderfull, that a dragon or serpent was making a menace of itself in Sussex, attacking men and cattle. It lived in St. Leonard's Forest near Horsham and looked like this:

The serpent, or dragon, as some call it, is reputed to be nine feet, or rather more, in length, and shaped almost in the form of an axletree of a cart, a quantity of thickness in the midst, and somewhat smaller at both ends. The former part, which he shoots forth as a neck, is supposed to be an ell long, with a white ring, as it were, of scales about it. The scales along his back seem to be blackish, and so much as is discovered under his belly appeareth to be red; for I speak of no nearer description than of a reasonable occular distance. 

The dragon was evidently proud and arrogant of aspect and had what appeared to be nascent wings. It also spat deadly venom, killing those unfortunate enough to get too close to the beast, including two dogs that were used to hunt it:

Likewise a man going to chase it and, as he imagined, to destroy it, with two mastiff dogs, as yet not knowing the great danger of it, his dogs were both killed, and he himself glad to return with haste to preserve his own life. Yet this is to be noted, that the dogs were not preyed upon, but slain and left whole; for his food is thought to be, for the most part, in a cony-warren, which he much frequents, and it is found much scanted and impaired in the increase it had wont to afford.

Some fifty years later, in 1669, another dragon was reported, the famous Flying Serpent of Henham, Essex. This beast had wings and was around the same size as its Sussex cousin, it was:

8 or 9 foot long, the smallest part of him about the bigness of a Man’s leg, on the middle as big as a Mans Thigh, his eyes were very large and piercing, about the bigness of a Sheep’s eye, in his mouth he had two rows of Teeth which appeared to their sight very white and sharp, and on his back h e had two wings indifferent large but not proportionable to the rest of his body, they judging them not to be above two hand fulls long, and w hen spreaded, not to extend from the top of one wing to the utmost end of the other above two foot at the most, and therefore altogether too weak to carry such an unwieldly body.

Curiously, stories of dragons or flying serpents persisted well into the nineteenth century, with one colony reportedly living in the woods near Penllyne Castle, in Wales. One elderly resident described them:

They were coiled when in repose, and "looked as if they were covered with jewels of all sorts. Some of them had crests sparkling with all the colours of the rainbow". When disturbed they glided swiftly, "sparkling all over," to their hiding places. When angry, they "flew over people's heads, with outspread wings, bright, and sometimes with eyes too, like the feathers in a peacock's tail". He said it was "no old story invented to frighten children", but a real fact. His father and uncle had killed some of them, for they were as bad as foxes for poultry. The old man attributed the extinction of the winged serpents to the fact that they were "terrors in the farmyards and coverts"

Interesting, but are these accounts real or fictional? And if real, were these now extinct creatures living dinosaurs? 

Noxia serpentum est admixto sanguine pestis

As you reflect on this mystery, remember that venomous dragons are all too bizarrely alive today, right here in America. It's strange; how can they be alive, and yet they are.

Noxia Serpentum,

LSP

Fishing Aquila Dam Spillway

A dirt road under an already fiercely hot Texan sky, and this is only mid May, a foretaste of the blast furnace to come. The heat and light bring an intensity, throwing everything into high relief. Not dissimilar, when you think of it, to one of those annoying filters on your cell phone camera, Satanbook or Instagram.

Well, this art blog's banned from Instagram and Satanbook, but not from the Aquila dam spillway and there it was, ready for action. I say action, I've never dialed this spot in to any great extent, but figured it'd make a change from Lake Whitney. So off I went in search of Catfish, Gar and anything else that came along in the midday heat.

Thanks to the pythonic wisdom of our latter day Delphi, Youtube, I came armed with frozen shad, worms, tiny baitholder hooks and small circle hooks. Idea being that you cast for catfish with the small circles, weightless and baited with worms, and send out shad fixed to a perch hook tied to a bobber for Gar.

Gar philosophy's interesting, at least to me, because they're an incredible game fish and well worth the sport - minutes, it seems like hours, of subterfuge, patience, false starts, new beginnings,  and then BAM, set the hook and off you go. A thrashing, jumping, prehistoric monster's on your line and it's game on. Tiny hooks seem one way to go, as they'll pass unnoticed by the fish who gleefully swallows your shad, allowing you to go for a hookset in the corner of Gar's mouth when it goes for its second run.

OK, fine, but before all of this excellence, the fish has to actually go for the bait. Normally this isn't an issue, Gar are notoriously ready biters, but not today at Aquila spillway. I had a few bites and a coupe of halfhearted runs, but the fish dropped the shad in boredom and disgust before I could even think of closing the deal. Huh. I put it it down to heavy fishing pressure, and maybe the rig needs rethinking.

A few bites on the worms though, with a small catfish coming ashore and a larger one who slipped the hook at the bank, annoyingly. Still, good fight. Should I have hooked the small cat with a big circle hook and used it as live bait for Leviathan Cats? Certainly thought about it, but the little fella went back to fight again another day.

So there you have it. A good day out in the sun and a fair amount of action, if little catching. Did the fish win this this round? Yes, they did, but watch out underwater adversaries, this isn't over, not by a long chalk.

Moral? Don't sit at home, staring blank-faced at a screen when you can get outdoors and fish. In other news, all the commies are mad because our President's taking hydroxy and zinc and isn't sick.

Fish on, or not,

LSP

Are They Possessed? By Satan?

One of the tenets of this influential mind blog is that extraterrestrials, yes, space aliens, are alive and well and living among us. Hidden, if you like, in plain sight, often at the very top of Church and State. But tonight I'm inviting you to consider another possibility. Namely this.

Look at the above infographic featuring three important health experts, people in charge of the well-being of millions of US citizens, and ask yourself, are they possessed by Satan?

One's a transsexual, Pennsylvania's Health Minister, another, the Mayor of Chicago, is a lesbian, so they're obviously in good mental health, the third, from LA County, is a social worker. Now look closely at their faces, into their eyes, the very window of the soul, and ask if they're run, operated by the Enemy. Go ahead, you decide.

Then there's Carol Baker, CDC Chair of the Advisory Committee on Immunizations. She's on record as saying "we'll just get rid of all whites in the United States." A Satanist? Sounds that way, why would you say such a thing unless possessed by the Murderer.

Here's another one, Cecile Richards. She used to run Planned Parenthood, the giant, baby parts selling, abortion mill and was touted by something called Net-A-Porter as "woman of the week." Still, she's only worth a paltry $5 million, not much for the weight of all those murdered babies on your mind.

But maybe her mind isn't really hers, maybe it belongs to something else, like Moloch. Again, look into her eyes and face and ask yourself if she radiates love, mercy, compassion and peace. Or something else, something hard and demonic, the defiance, ambition, insanity and grisly, desperate pride of the Pit.

Then there's these goons. They say, see CS Lewis' Great Divorce, that the damned can't stand one another and so they "socially distance," each inside their own circle of judgement. Such is the logic of Hell.

Out, Demons, Out,

LSP

Birds And Fish

It was like a scene from a Hitchcock movie, walk outside into the overcast light of a Texan spring morning and what happens, a bird screeches defiance. 

No matter, just a bird, then it swoops down on your head like a feathered Stuka in the skies of Crete. I somehow made it to the rig and back again, dive bombed by the avian terrorist.

And good thing too, because I had to load up for a trip to the dam and  fish, winged predators notwithstanding.

Now, some of you fish for relaxation and quiet reflection on the water. I do too but more so for action, which means catching, otherwise I grow bored. That in mind, I tend to put out a static line, perhaps on a bobber, and keep myself occupied with a casting rod, armed, usually, with worms.

The combo can produce great results.There's that Gar bait doing its thing on the one line and there you are, casting for opportunity. Than BAM, rod #1 goes double and so does rod #2.  Makes you leap about. Big fun and there was a bit of that at the dam spillway, fast action.

Several drum, bass, junior striper and perch later, I was back at the Compound, and so was the bird. It screeched, enraged, as I got back home, mission accomplished. Moral? Fishing's better than staring in boneheaded, slack-jawed, blank-faced consternation at your screen.

Tight lines,

LSP

What Next - UFO Invasion?

The NWO, transnational, ultra rich elite, their puppet political satraps and the entrenched bureaucracy of the Deep State, to say nothing of their agitprop media hate and fear Trump. They hate him so much that they launched a Coup, an Impeachment, and a Plague against Orange Man Bad. 

But nothing's worked. 45 wasn't and isn't a Russian spy, I know, try not to laugh, and he isn't a Ukrainian crime lord like, say, one of the Bidens. Even a nation-destroying Chinese Plague can't seem to stop him, despite the best efforts of WHO, Democrat Governors, bizarro doctors and that great globalist engine, the Chinese Communist Party itself, with all its slave labor.

So what next? Aliens, of course. Maybe they'll put an end to the one who dared to try and make America great again. On topic, you'll note the commander of the 21st Space Wing, Col. Thomas Falzarano, was found dead Tuesday at his home on Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado. May he rest in peace.

Stay tuned and on your guard.

Ad Astra,

LSP

Justified?

Justified? No, not 32 top level Democrats including VP Biden using the intelligence apparatus of the state to spy on an American citizen(s), frame and set up an American patriot then launch a soft-power coup against an elected president.

No, not that kind of justice, we're talking about something else. And while we're at it, who told Judge Sullivan to go down the "perjury" route. Hint, "perjury," a word which wasn't used in the Flynn trial, was used by someone else the other day. 

Guess who that was. While you're at it, ask yourself what real justice might look like.

Like this?

Here's hoping.

LSP

A Sign

Sometimes a picture's worth a thousand words. So here's a visual aid for Morning Prayer.

Out demons, out!

LSP

Fishing & Antedeluvia

It was an overcast Spring morning in rural Texas and Soldiers Bluff looked beckoning, "Come on down and fish," it seemed to say. Which is what I did, but the fish weren't having any of it, they were lying low and didn't want the juicy, tempting, delicious worms I was throwing in. 

Still, there were a few fossils, rocky remains of ancient crustaceans embedded in the limestone and clay bluff above the lake. To be honest, there's fossils everywhere here, a tangled  mix of roots, branches, shells, and who knows what else, the set in stone remains of ancient cataclysm. I always hope I'll spot something useful, like a T Rex tooth, but not today, just a couple of shells.

Now, some who read this lighthearted mind blog believe fossils like these are at most 6000 years old. If that's the case, what about structures like Gobekli Tepe, which date back to at least 9000 BC? Remarkably ancient and advanced to boot, all at a time when humans were supposed to be grubbing about for nuts, berries and the occasional bit of unfortunate wildlife. 

Two things don't add up here. Firstly, the Word of God in Scripture isn't supposed to be read with a kind of boneheaded, blank-faced literalism. Read it for its truth, for sure, but know this involves poetry, symbol and metaphor as well as literal reckoning. Note, to think this doesn't make you a useless, pathetic, scornworthy, lib heretic. 

Secondly, mankind is very old, with Homo Sapiens appearing earlier and earlier in the fossil record as new discoveries are found. All this in our own century, to say nothing of ignored and anomalous finds in the last two hundred years or so, and the witness of ancient records.

It would be odd, don't you think, if people as intelligent as us remained at the hunter gather stage for several hundreds of thousands of years. Which is exactly what orthodox archeo-anthropology teaches; finds like Gobekli, water erosion on the Sphinx, and on, challenge the narrative. 

That in mind, I decided to challenge the piscine narrative of "no catching" by moving over to the other side of the dam. At first nothing, so I changed rigs in hope of having some sport with the Gar, who were gliding about the pool like deadly, prehistoric submarines.

Good call, LSP, but no Gar. Instead, a fierce  Crappie followed by a ferocious Bass, and a large Bluegill. Result. Then it began to rain and it was time to head for home, mission accomplished.

Fish on,

LSP