Vade Retro Satana

 

Inspired by WSF and on the eve of a New Year, I offer this, from the St. Benedict medal, whose initials signify:

CRUX SACRA SIT MIHI LUX! 

NUNQUAM DRACO SIT MIHI DUX!

VADE RETRO SATANA!

NUNQUAM SUADE MIHI VANA!

SUNT MALA QUAE LIBAS. 

IPSE VENENA BIBAS!

And roughly translated:

The holy Cross shall be my light!

The Dragon shall never be my leader!

Get behind me Satan!

Never tempt me with vain conceit!

What you offer is evil.

Drink your own poison!

There's great power in the Latin verse, which is more than verse, an exorcism. We're in need of that, right about now.

Vade Retro,

LSP

Utter, Total, Tyrannical Insanity

Via Zero:

"Not merely the validity of experience, but the very existence of external reality was tacitly denied by their philosophy. The heresy of heresies was common sense.”

George Orwell, 1984

The “Covid pandemic” narrative is insane. That is long-established at this point, we don’t really need to go into how or why here. Read our back catalogue.

The rules are meaningless and arbitrary, the messaging contradictory, the very premise nonsensical.

Every day some new insanity is launched out into the world, and while many of us roll our eyes, raise our voices, or just laugh…many more accept it, believe it, allow it to continue.

Take the situation in Canada right now, where the government has enforced a vaccine mandate on healthcare workers, meaning in British Columbia alone over 3000 hospital staff were on unpaid leave by November 1st.

How have local governments responded to staff shortages?

They are asking vaccinated employees who have tested positive for Covid to work.

Whether or not you believe the test means anything, they notionally do. In the reality they try to sell us every day, testing positive means you are carrying a dangerous disease.

So they are requesting people allegedly carrying a “deadly virus” work, rather than letting perfectly healthy unvaccinated people simply have their jobs back.

This is insanity.

Yes it is. People who have rebelled against truth, ultimately against God, insist you must too. Therein lies power, the exercise of arbitrary will enforced by strength, and the more the demonic merrier. This rule makes no sense at all, but you must obey it to the erasure of your god-given reason and ultimately his image itself. To put it another way, all that makes you human.

And that's the goal, to turn you, the serf, into a slave beast. Beyond that, to destroy. Culture, art, literature, the family, architecture, music, gender itself, who we are as human beings in the image of God, all this has to go, borne down in a torrent of lies.

Lies? We know their Father and we also know that the gates of Hell shall not prevail. My advice? Get on the winning team.

Your Friend,

LSP

You Miserable Offender

It started off well, no doubt about it. Morning Prayer on the porch, a stroll to the Pick 'n Steal for coffee, get back on the porch, scan the news, answer emails and then? Stride purposefully to the rig with a view to taking care of business. Turn that key in the ignition and... disaster. The wretched beast wouldn't turn over. Useless.

I knew why, a badly eroded battery terminal connector which I'd been too lazy distracted to replace. So up goes the hood, jig that thing around, turn the key and hope for the best. Fail. Next step. Stare malevolently at the offender, maybe I could scare it into function.

Just then a neighbor pulled up in his daughter's Chevy 1500 Z71, "Need a jump?" No, "Here's the problem." He looked at the malefactor, "You need a new one, I'll drive to Autozone, get the part and hook you up." Which he did, for free, because "you let me park here, least I can do, man."

Good call. He gets to park his monster lifted rigs in the church lot, which is fine by me but offensive to D, another neighbor, who shouts at me from his car, "That dude's panhandln! God will strike him down! Come Lord Jesus and hurry up."

Rural Eschaton aside, I'd say there's a virtue in neighborliness, peace on earth good will towards men, sort of thing. And you never know, they might turn up and fix your truck. Would that happen in the Metrosprawl? 

Not so much,

LSP

Marley's Ghost - Conversion

 

Have you read Chesterton's remarkable biography of Dickens? If not, you should and must. Regardless, here's a snapshot, via Lifesite:

The moment of Scrooge’s conversion is of course legendary, and is the closest depiction I have ever read of what happens in a man’s soul when he accepts the logical justice of damnation and undeserved privilege to repent. I could not describe the culmination of A Christmas Carol any better than the author who knew him best:  

“The beauty and the real blessing of the story do not lie in the mechanical plot of it, the repentance of Scrooge, probable or improbable; they lie in the great furnace of real happiness that glows through Scrooge and everything around him; that great furnace, the heart of Dickens. Whether the Christmas visions would or would not convert Scrooge, they convert us. Whether or not the visions were evoked by real Spirits of the Past, Present, and Future, they were evoked by that truly exalted order of angels who are correctly called High Spirits. They are impelled and sustained by a quality which our contemporary artists ignore or almost deny, but which in a life decently lived is as normal and attainable as sleep, positive, passionate, conscious joy. The story sings from end to end like a happy man going home; and, like a happy and good man, when it cannot sing it yells. It is lyric and exclamatory, from the first exclamatory words of it. It is strictly a Christmas carol.” 

 

Right on, eh? 

God bless,

LSP

Fighting Patrol

 

This photo comes via Every Blade of Grass who reminds us to "remember all those who are busy doing other things, and can't be home for the Holidays." What good counsel, but where's the photo taken. Not Texas, obviously, maybe Calgary?

Note Claw Marks

Brrrrr,

LSP

Masked Fool

 

Behold the face of brave, fearless, visionary, speaking truth to power Anglicanism today. There it is, mask up, serfs, from Archbishop on down, otherwise you too might live free from fear of a deadly virus which kills maybe 0.27% of the people it infects.

"Man," I told C the HVAC guy this morning, "It's like we've been driven collectively insane. By Satan." He pondered this as we looked out at the Compound's perimeter (Abbott St.). 

"You know, I was at a funeral a few months back, at the Methodist church, 1st Methodist, and the pastor wouldn't even shake my sister's hand, even give her a hug. 'I'm sorry, CDC guidelines, I cannot come any closer to you.' I told that worthless POS if he even spoke to her again there'd be hell to pay."

 

I thought about this, "You mean the skinny little Methodee? I know him."

"Yeah, that's him. Red haired streak of..."

"He's lib, they believe this garbage. They really do. The Church should provide leadership, fearless leadership."

"Right on, brother. Shot some black powder yesterday, felt good."

 

C fixed me with camo-rimmed glasses and Realtree shirt, that much of him was invisible, and we grinned. "Black powder, stick it to the Man. And while we're at it, come on in and help out at the Missions, we don't wear masks."

Unlike Welby, whose pathetic ASA (average Sunday Attendance) is plummeting. Is this Providence in action?

#2A,

LSP

So Not a Tranny

 

Brigitte Macron, adorable, chic, wife /husband of the premiere of France is not, and a I repeat not a transsexual. Birgitte's even gone to law about it, "Don't you dare say I'm trans or my lawyers will destroy you."

Totally Not a Tranny, at all

Quite right. After all, there's no way anyone in their right mind would think Brigitte a... tranny. But isn't there a law against underage sex? Perhaps, in the NWO way of things, that's been neatly forgotten.

So Never Had a Sex Change

In the meanwhile, what's it to be. Is Brigitte a man turned woman or something else again? 

Your call,

LSP

Triomphe! - Just For Kix

Triopmphe! Most Boxing Day, don't you think? Charge weapons and do not, for a second, trust the French. See Tiny Napoleon Macron (TNM) and her ancienne husband.

Yuck, try not to throw up in your mouth

Vivat,

LSP

Boxing Day

 

It's Boxing Day and the sun shines with balmy light as dogs bark, roosters crow and sparrows and squirrels fight with animal intensity, a feathered, furred apocalypse. All the while Navidad fills the air. I like that and so does Eduardo, who tips up massively felix, asking for a blessing.

"Padre! Bendición!" which is exactly what he gets, miraculously failing to fall off the porch. Brandy?, perhaps, and I ask myself, "What is this, some kind of comedy Tijuana problem farm?" But I can't complain.

Christmas day was easy, fun and came complete with a delicious prime rib. Man that was tasty and cooked just right, to medium rare awesomeness. Beef for Christmas? Yes please, and what great leftovers for a Boxing Day feast.

That in mind,  why aren't unmasked revelers dropping dead here? Is this bucolic fraction of Texan country  immune from the killer Bat Bug? Maybe so, but the Diocese of Quebec clearly isn't, which is why they shut down Christmas worship, along with the ACoC Diocese of Niagara and many more. 

 

Why, we have to ask, is the deadly virus so much much deadly in these places than it is in Texas or Florida or, for that matter, in our migrating guests. They, you understand, can enter the country without mask, vax or anything else, unlike us. It's the same with postal workers, they're immune and don't have to get vaxxed, but soldiers do, because they're so much more clearly at risk than posties.

In the spirit of Boxing Day, I call BS on this freakish, pugnacious medico-mengele, tyranno-fest of lies chicanery, corruption, greed, smuggery, deceit, vote-dogging skulduggery and malfeasance. Enough, when you think on it, to confuse the very elect.

Stand Fast,

LSP

Merry Christmas!

 

There's such beauty to Christmas Eve, anticipation of the Feast with all the intimacy of the thing itself; presents, family, friends, glittering lights on the tree and on, and joy seems to fill the air. Quite right too, we're celebrating the most miraculous and glorious of things, the birth of Christ, the Word made Flesh, and with it the advent of salvation.

What can we do but bow down in adoration, praise and wonder before the mystery and the Missions did just that, celebrating in fine style. Then it was back to the Compound with the specialist who opened a "tactical stocking" and something called a "gaming laptop." Apparently these are important for today's troops. 

Blue took it in stride and may have got a Christmas special himself. Hmmmm. And so we advanced to contact, in  good way.

Merry Christmas!

LSP

Christmas Comes Early!

 

Well, for the Compound, which got the Christmas gift of a band new Luxaire HVAC system. The old unit, a Carrier, had soldiered on for thirty years and then died. "No big deal," said Craig the camouflaged air tech, "You can always wrap up in a blanket, right?" 

Good Dog

"Yes," I replied with a grin, "or a space heater." We laughed and for a fact, Climate Change is weighing in at a Californian *80, so it's not mission critical. Still, what will tomorrow bring? It may bring rain or it may bring snow. That in mind, it's good to know we've got it covered. In the meanwhile, Blue takes it easy, as an old gentleman should.

In other news, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Justsin Welby, is telling the world that not getting jabbed with an experimental gene serum is anti-Christian because getting the vax is an act of love and concern for your fellow persyns.

Archbishop Vigano calls this ecclesial kowtowing to secular power Deep Church, a willing accomplice to the Deep State. Note that both are apparently godless, the one apostate and the other professedly atheist, they believe "the science."

But who's behind the strangely deceitful science of vaccines which don't vaccinate you and the sheer lie that biology has nothing whatsoever to do with whether you're a woman or a man.

Don't say Baphomet.

Crux Sacra Sit Mihi Lux,

LSP

Wolves

 

There we were, in some kind of biker go-down in 1996 and it was New Years Eve, high spirits, right? And there I was in a blazer and regimental tie, pretty snappy. So one thing leads to another, "Happy New Year fella!" And enormous 8' tall biker bloke replies, "Is it, fkr!"

We look each other in the eye, me staring upwards, obviously, and there's a moment of, what can we say, friction. Will this end well or not? And it does. "Errrr, leave 'im alone, he's called Adolf, he's alright." And so I was. Curiously, I was the last man standing at that party, tie and all. Can't let the regiment down, what?

Cheers,

LSP