Bit of This a Bit of That

 

GWB fired up his SatPhone and fired off an encrypted message from Georgia: 

Remember when Trump focused on jobs for American workers? WHAT. A. NAZI. And he wanted to make America great, like some kind of unhinged Fascist Mussolini. And maybe you remember how he had the lowest black unemployment in US history. RACIST.

 

I ran the key, decoded the message and remembered. Yes, Nazi, Fascist, Racist, that was 45 and, lest we forget, he was also a RUSSIAN SPY! Like a Nazi agent in the pay of the KGB, which would make him a double agent, no! A triple agent. Huh, far out, and Putin's Chief of CHAOS.

Seriously, was there ever such garbage spewed out by the gesticulating, smug, pugnacious, wealthy, corrupt, lying, malfeasant, smug Media? The same "press" which assures us that we're all going to die unless we obey the mandates of a doddering old crook who's the most popular president in all of the nation's history. Let's go Brandon.

In related news, the Anglican Diocese of Niagara's shut its doors for fear of the Omicron variant of the coronavirus. Why, we have to ask, are churches in Texas and Florida so much more immune to this deadly plague than their equivalents in Ontario. Is it because the further north you are the weaker you become, or some other thing?

Cheers,

LSP

Skywatchers & Poets

By way of a Sunday Sermon, a former Provost of *x sent this in:

Warned of brigands, we did the last leg up from the Jordan ford at night.
It wasn’t just the star we followed; the trail is marked by past myriad feet
Trudging through history, theirs and ours. To Babylon enchained, the plight
Of captives, they first came to us; we sent most back long years ago. To meet
Again at Zion’s gate their offspring thus seemed strange. ‘We come in peace,’
I said, and our Chaldean speech was close enough. A coin was further grease;

They let us in. ‘What do you seek?’ an elder spokesman asked. ‘We seek a King,” A soldier heard and laughed: ‘They have a ‘king’—Caesar’s joke—proceed this way.”

The palace, unremarkable save for the surly guards, had a courtyard, something
Like a water trough, yet no one offered to stable our camels, even give them hay.
‘King’ Herod professed no knowledge of a royal birth, just arched his brow
And said his priests told him of Bethlehem the prophecy, urged us to go now

And seek the child there, then bear him directions so he could worship too.
We did not tell him all we knew, that long before the mystery star appeared
In our old library one of us had found a scroll, “God saves” by name. Through
Its tattered pages were mentions of a coming Jewish king, less to be feared
Than welcomed, “a light to lighten the Gentiles,” as they call us. Now light
Is what we scholars seek, wisdom, not merely order in the skies at night.

We read the texts and pondered much, and then one night a light arose
Such as we had never seen. Rotating not, it stayed; then grew and glowed
In the Western sky, brighter to our eyes each night. Balthasar proposed
We take it as the portent of a great event, even as their prophet showed
Would come to Israel. After a year to gaze and think we gathered gear, set
Out along the road and came slowly to that backward land. There we met

With such a contradiction, so it seemed, to everything one might expect.
But lo, the star grew brighter still, and once we were along the winding road
To Bethlehem, it slipped down the sky and waited there. You may reject
Our tale, and few would blame you, but hear the rest: the camel load
Of gifts we brought were suitable to a royal babe, but when we found
The very place it was a simple house and shop. We stopped. Around

Was not a single noble dwelling, yet compelled to look within we asked
The carpenter outside if he knew of an unusual birth nearby. He raised
His eyes aloft, and palms upraised spoke words we couldn’t catch,
Then paused as if to hear some far-off distant sound. Somewhat fazed,
We waited till at last he turned to us and softly said,“ The house is small.
I’ll bring Mary and the child outside. It will be better then for all.”

And so she came, her little one beside her, hand in hand; she smiled
But did not speak. “Many have come,” said the carpenter, “but none
So far away as you.” Immediately we were struck by her manner, mild
But assured as one accustomed to a noble state. She sat next her son
While Joseph fetched hay and water for our camels, bid us also rest.
He looked as any other child might look—except his steady gaze, lest

I forget, which made his face seem wiser than his years. After an hour,
With simple food and drink sufficed, we knew without a doubt some power
Was here, deeper than speech. I nodded to Melchior; he brought the sacks
And we than laid before them gifts, gold, frankincense and myrrh. “Lacks

You may have, but these should help,” I said. Mary was overcome with tears,
Joseph astounded-- grateful. The little child himself then spoke. Our ears

Distinctly heard the word “todah,” and then he smiled. We rose and went
Our way, but in a dream were warned, so bypassed that city on a hill, sent

Eastward by another way. Little was as we expected; much more was lent
In wisdom, grace and gratitude. Something great was coming yet, meant
To save the world, not as we would expect it, but in a mystery deeper far,
The weak and helpless shall achieve it. We were led to see it by a star.

 

We were led to see it by a star.

Ad Astra,

LSP

New Year's Day - What Will Tomorrow Bring?

 

A friend sent this, what does it mean?!?

So here we are at the beginning of a new year, it's rolled around yet again and we're still standing, for the most part. All well and good, but what will tomorrow bring? Good question.

It may bring rain or it may bring snow or any old thing, such is our old enemy, the Weather. Perhaps it will bring stagflation, Weimar style and we'll all be hauling our crypto  home in wheelbarrows as one bullet = >1000 USD$. Maybe there'll be war because, after all, too much peace ain't good for the bottom line and, of course, there'll be plague, we know this. Wear your masks, serfs, and don't you dare question a rigged midterm, you hate extremists. Mirror of Illusion? Cubed.

Whatever, welcome to the hideous new normal, but think on this. At Christmas we celebrated the advent of Christ into the world, the Word made Flesh, and the eternal light which shines in the darkness becoming flesh, a man, for our salvation. The Light has come down to earth to be the Light of the World and we behold, through the eyes of faith, his glory, full of grace and truth.

Stand fast to him, our redeemer, in this new year. Flee from sin, from the Herods who would destroy him and be filled with confident, joyful hope. All the raging, insane powers of Hell, to say nothing of the world and the flesh cannot defeat the divine life present within us. If, and that's just it, if we remain faithful.

Adeste,

LSP

Happy New Year!

God bless you all. Have the most joyous New Year!

Your Best Pal,

LSP

Truck Poetry

 

Here's some awesome truck poetry, via Wild Wild West:

For Whom the Truck Does Not Crank

(certainly not) by John Donne.

No battery cable is an island,

Entire of itself.

Each is a piece of the truck,

A part of the DMV registration records.

If a truck be washed away by the flooded low-water crossing,

Texas is the less.

As well as if a one-ton bro-dozer were.

As well as if a Kenworth of thine own

Or of thine friend's were.

Each battery cable's failure diminishes me,

For I am involved in truck ownership.

Therefore, send not to know

For whom the truck does not crank,

It does not crank for thee.

Texas is the less. I love that, but Each battery cable's failure diminishes me. Whoa, now we're talking.

Metaphysical poetry forever,

LSP

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