A Lament

 

Like all true patriots I was going to post memes of Harambe tonight, along with not so subtle references to the UK's NHS screening men for pregnancy, Two-Tier Kier locking people up for mean tweets, and the bizarre apotheosis of Kackling Kamala. Or "La," as she's now known on Joy to the World Leftist agitprop media like the View. Yes, that's what I was going to do, but we're in the Octave of the Assumption so here's something altogether more serious, a Lament:

In the wrackes of Walsingam
Whom should I chuse
But the Queene of Walsingam
To be guide to my muse?

Then, thou Prince of Walsingam
Graunt me to frame
Bitter plaintes to rewe thy wronge
Bitter wo for thy name.

Bitter was it, oh to see
The sely sheepe
Murdred by the raveninge wolves
While the sheepharde did sleep.

Bitter was it, oh, to viewe
The sacred vyne
Whiles the gardiners plaied all close
Rooted up by the swine.

Bitter, bitter oh to behoulde
The grasse to growe
Where the walles of Walsingam
So stately did shewe.

Such were the worth of Walsingam
While she did stand
Such are the wrackes as now do shewe
Of that so holy lande.

Levell, levell with the ground
The Towres doe lye
Which with their golden, glitt'ring tops
Pearsed oute to the skye.

Where weare gates noe gates are nowe,
The waies unknowen,
Where the presse of freares did passe
While her fame far was blowen.

Oules do scrike where the sweetest himnes
Lately wear songe,
Toades and serpents hold their dennes
Where the palmers did throng.

Weep, weep O Walsingam,
Whose dayes are nightes,
Blessings turned to blasphemies,
Holy deedes to dispites.

Sinne is where our Ladye sate,
Heaven turned is to helle;
Sathan sitte where our Lord did swaye,
Walsingam, oh, farewell!

 

What pain in those lines. The purity and innocency of the Faith, exemplified by Our Lady; think Piers Plowman and Urban, the first Crusade, and the Lament itself, this had been trampled underfoot by evil men. 

You see, what had happened was that a syphilitic despot needed money, he was short of cash, both for himself and to pay off and create an aristocracy loyal to him. Problem. Solution? Sack the church, not least the holy shrine of Walsingham, England's Nazareth, and rake in the loot. Which is exactly what he did, and make no mistake, there was plenty to loot, over half a millennium of continuous giving and associated endowments. Rich pickings.

So, well done, Henry, you got your Field of the Cloth of Gold and created a whole new class of millionaire who waxed fat off of Church lands and went on in the next generation to cut of Charles' head. Bad enough, to say nothing of the catastrophic effect on England's piety. 

England's piety, consider that. A country which had been known as Mary's Dowry, the most Marian realm in Europe, became a place where even the Rosary was illegal. Imagine, a land whose people had the greatest devotion to Mary, the Mother of God, Theotokos, were banned from asking, publicly, for her intercession. As in, how dare you, traitor. Now we're going to draw out your entrails, and burn them as you hang. Traitor to the State.

Yes indeed, Sathan sitte where our Lord did swaye.

Fast forward. We're reaping the rewards of Henrician blasphemy now, Godless despotism and Satanic degeneracy masquerading as tolerance and love; endless deceit barely covering bestial profiteering, see Ukraine and everywhere else. But surely, LSP, you go too far, how can Walsingham's ruin count as our own?

In every way. One of the civilized, Catholic provinces of the Western Empire gave itself over to ruining the Church for profit, and from there to giving its weight to a Reformation which without her would've been still-born, a confusion of Eastern Germans. With her, it became a powerhouse as England expanded on her late Medieval genius and went on to rule the world.

Industrial Revolution, anyone? And with that, what Vigo Demant called "the greatest disaster ever to befall the world," (I remember him intoning the Angelus at the end of Mass at S. Mary Mag's, Oxford) exported her disbelief around the globe. And you will note that the same country whose Puritan army smashed the monasteries, convents, iconography, altars and windows of its churches, which banned devotion to the Mother of God, doesn't believe in Him anymore. The whole Reformation experiment, powered by the great Catholic Medieval Power, England, poisoned Christendom with disbelief and every kind of vice. And all, at root, for cash.

We're suffering from it here, when you think for half a second on it. Problem. Solution? Pray for the powerful intercession of the Immaculate, Ever Virgin Mother of God. Her seed, you'll recall, will crush the serpent's head.

END.

LSP

Choktaw Bingo

 

Per Wild, "It's a stone-cold miracle that Ray Wylie Hubbard has lived as long as he has." Good call, Mr. Wild. Me? Go, RWH, even if you are a nasty old hippie and a Dallas boy to boot. So how, like RWH, did Waylon get to live? Mirabile dictu or in other words, I dunno know, miracle.

Still, serious question; many of my pals didn't make it and they were fractions of all the above. Maybe they simply lacked the strength. Whatever, rest in peace kids, and may the blessed Ever Virgin Mary intercede for you, ad aeternum.

Then there's Oklahoma.

Salve,

LSP

The Feast Of The Assumption

 

It's the great Feast of the Assumption today, in which we honor Mary, the Ever Virgin Mother of God. Now, some people think that's idolatry, others don't think about it at all, but exorcists tell us with unerring consistency that the demons hate, fear and loathe Mary. For them, an Ave (Hail Mary) is like a "blow to the face." No wonder, her purity and faith stand diametrically opposed to demonic filth and disbelief.

No wonder, again, that she is Our Lady of Victories, not just at Lepanto but against all evil. Ask for her powerful intercession as we fight, and the fight is increasingly simple if not easy; it's Good v. Evil, Light v. Dark, Heaven v. Hell. A ferocious, heavenly struggle and Our Lady is our ally, and the Christ whom she bears to us is Life, Light, Good and Truth.

If you stand against that, which you're free to do, you will be relentlessly destroyed, like the Moors in Spain. Mark my words.

Ave,

LSP

Devil Went Down To Georgia

 

But, dear readers, perhaps you're not convinced? Here's a musical infovideo, check it out:

Well ain't that the case. You'll be curious to know Brian Kemp's net worth is an estimated 8MNUSD$. Hey now. Get. It. On. All hail the Rainbow path to unlimited Uniparty wealth. What an utter traitor.

Your Pal,

LSP

The Devil Lives In Dallas

 

Yes, we do requests. Thank you, Wild. Does the Devil live in Dallas? Not at my Mother's Compound, there is that, but elsewhere? Sure he does, aplenty. Perhaps you doubt me, and that's fine, just go out yourself and see if Rusty Wier ain't right.

Your Old Buddy,

LSP

Utter Disaster Averted

 

You drive back from the mighty DFW Metrosprawl and get to the Compound a little after noon, and what do you see? A veritable river heading down to the street by the side of the house. What? Is the AC exhaust going turbo, is there some kind of mains leak? 

Good questions, so you exfil the rig to have a recce. Sure enough, water is bubbling up outta the ground, right where the boys installed a couple of clean outs. You stare at this, entranced by the cool water flowing up to water the earth. How beautiful, but this isn't some blessed, newfound aquifer, no, it's an aquatic disaster. Just picture, if you will, the mains meter spinning out of control, as if USGOV debt. 

Problem. Solution? A neighbor drives up in his lifted Chevy, "What's up, man?" and you point to the watery adversary. He takes this in, a plumber, and says, "I'll dig that up and fix it. First I'll turn off the water at the mains with my cut off," which he did.

Some 30 or 40 minutes later we'd located a burst pipe, hose attached to PVC and split at the joint, and D produced some relevant SHARK BITE fittings, right sized PVC tube, and fixed the line. Utter disaster averted, and I asked, "How much do we owe you?" He replied, "Nothing." I shook his hand, "Appreciate you, brother," and that I do; you'll be glad to know I let him park his rigs in the church car park, gratis.

At the time of writing, this line holds. And there is a moral in this short story of country life in Texas, if you care to draw it.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Listen Up

There you go,

LSP

Extradition To Blighty?

 

Well it's all very snackbar, let's find out.

Cheers,

LSP

Dallas Reflections

 

When you think of Dallas do you think of the ancient TV show featuring JR Ewing? Perhaps, but regardless, one of the things you get to do in LSPland is drive there, down the murder expressway called I35. I did so today, bumper to bumper tailgating crazy at 85/90 mph. Whatev, same old.

Before long you get to the outer reaches of the massive DFW connurb, but keep on, foot on the pedal, and then there it is, rising like a gunmetal OZ, Dallas' skyline. No small thing and especially emerald impressive at night.

Don't be fooled, though. Get in amongst those gleaming glass and steel towers, which rise Babel to the sky, and what do you find? Beggars, indigents, homeless encampments and associated ne'er do wells chancing it in triple digit climate change. We've moved, you see, into SUMMER. It's like this ineluctable climatic progression.

That in mind, take the Illinois exit, head south on Zang past old and new ghetto housing and ride on 'til you hit Davies and Bishops Arts. Marvel at the throngs hanging out at various bars and eateries, wonder at multiple apartment blocks which have sprung up in the last couple of years, and mourn the tragic passing of Ten Bells and Hattie's, two BA stalwarts which went under post COVID.

Oh well. Hang a right opposite the appalling PHD Pourhouse sports bar and into this neat wine shop. Buy a bot and get into a convo with the staff. Like this: 

"Hey, man, I saw you went into here by the door." You pause and reply, "Yeah, that's what I did."

"But why did you do it that way, was there, like, a METHOD?"

"Say again?"

"A method?"

"Sure there was. I walked in the door and spotted some kind of white zin on offer and wanted to look further, that's why I ended up by your fridge and this great bottle of Malbec."

"Wow, man, you sound like Elon Musk!"

"Is that a good thing, brother?"

"Yeah it it is, all good, man."

 

I looked at my tattooed counterparts, what were they, extras for Pirates of the Caribbean?, and gave both boys a sunny hello goodbye. Yeah, they'll be laughing when they're extradited to England. Good luck with that, stoneheads.

Vinter's done, fall back to Ma LSP, who's watching a neat show called, "Why Does Everyone Hate Meghan Markle?" What a good show. Surely not because she's a D-List, simpering, fraudulent, delta minus semi moron, social climber, gold digging Hollywood fool. Surely not, and a witch who ensorcelled Harry with her witch power. He, of course, is obviously an idiot.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Tay Tay!

 

Back to Tay Tay. Is she an icon of the far right, a National Socialist heroine or just a vapid pop singer? Photo evidence proves the former. Here, have a look:

Well that's pretty Das Reich, Tay Tay. Maybe the UK needs to extradite her, and just look at this:

Proof positive, see what I'm sayn'? Looks pretty NSDAP to me, which is obviously a problem. So what's the solution?

EXTRADITION.

Cheers,

LSP

For Goodness Sake Simmer Down LSP

 

OK, there's only so much Taylor Swift Jihad, Rwandan savagery, Big Brother Rainbow Stasi, US Clownshow politics a man can take. So what to do? Go fishing, that's right, in the heat of a Texan day in August. Would the fish bite or would they be in some kind of piscine climate change shock, immobile like their human counterparts. I drove to the lake to find out.

Sure enough, it was mighty hot, right there on the tortured limestone of what had once been part of a fibrous reef in a vast inland sea, and's now Soldier's Bluff. So it's hot, that's a given, would the fish bite, not a given, but undaunted by prehistoric reverie and the searing light of the Sun, I cast off.

Whoa, tugs and bites at the first cast, probably a small, ferocious perch. And that's exactly what it was, a perch. I tell you, even if they're small they're big fun to catch on a light rod, they fight you see. Some five or six fish later it was time to head for home and Evening Prayer, 1928 BCP style. I just prefer it, the language is worshipful, liturgical and beautiful. Here's a link.

So that was that, an hour or so catching fish at the lake in the sun and clean air of the so far Free State of Texas. What a lot of fun and a good antidote against the appalling wickedness which surrounds us.

Das Boot

That in mind, I find fishing brings you right down to earth and calms the soul, or excites it when the catch is on. Not unlike shooting and riding, when you think on it.

Fish on,

LSP

Take Note Heathen

 

Well it's all going on in the UK. Here in the US we're looking towards the Bosphorus.

That's right, Hagia Sophia, let's have it back. In the meanwhile, apologies to Stella Gibbons.

Your Best Pal,

LSP