Dog Run!

 

So how's Blue's pension fund performing, cryptically named 'LSP'? Good question. Short answer? Really well. DOGE$ surged to record highs this week, climbing from .07 to .20 at time of writing.

This week's astounding dog run started Tuesday after two months consolidation in .05 land rising to .07. Expert techs saw a bull pennant with breakout potential if the People's Crypto broke through resistance in the upper .07s, or something like that.

Lo and behold, it did. Ma LSP was resting upstairs after implant surgery in her upper jaw when I checked Shiba value. Huh, .086, not bad. A scyfy short story later I checked again, not being obsessive, and what? .09. Time for a glass of wine.

That poured, check again, .010. Wow. Bear in mind experts were saying that'd be year end price. And the next thing you know, the pup's charging through .11, .12, and .13, hitting an all time high of  >.14. What?!? Reddit seemed stunned. I went to sleep expecting the popular dog-faced crypto to crash. But it didn't.

Wednesday saw consolidation at .13 and the promise of another run with higher highs and higher lows as the pup rose between parallel lines to reach the point of an ascending triangle. Would it break above and repeat Tuesday's stellar performance? Sure enough it did. 

The playful Shiba was clearly bored with .13, unlucky number, and decided to run again, maybe just for the fun of it. Boom. .14, .15, .16 in a matter of minutes. I looked at my handheld computing device in shock and awe, what's going on? 

Then boom again, as the pup leaped past .17, .18 and into .19, nipping at the heels of .20. Much wow. So what got the Peoples Coin up and running?

It didn't hurt to have massive PR in the form of big celebrity endorsement from Elon Musk, Mark Cuban, Guy Restaurant Person, the Kiss dude, Snoop Dogg and the media, see WSJ, Forbes and all the rest. 

Also, COIN (Coinbase crypto exchange) had a good IPO on Wednesday, lifting crypto credibility. Add that to the growing and fanatically loyal meme coin following and you've got growth. In this case explosively. Think GME but affordable and at minimal risk.

So Blue's happy his retirement fund's at .20 and rising. If it crashes and burns like a Focke Wulf going down on Prinz Albrecht Strasse? Well, he won't know the difference.

Ad Lunam,

LSP

Musical Interlude

I don't care about Willie's bizarro hindoo theology. Drop of rain, again and again and again? Really? I just like the tune.

Cheers,

LSP

A Short Sunday Sermon

 

Then saith he to Thomas, (in the upper room) Reach hither thy finger, and behold my hands; and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side: and be not faithless, but believing. Jn. 20:27

Thomas wanted physical proof of the resurrection and got it, the risen Christ was touchable, tangible. He had risen bodily from the tomb and, on reflection, anything less doesn't cut it.

What dies when we die, the spirit? Hardly, it doesn't have any physical parts to decay and return to the dust from which they came. The body, notoriously, does; we don't bounce like we used to, to put it mildly. So what has to be resurrected? The body, rejoined to the spirit, between them both making up the whole person.

Without this, we're left with spirit only or in other words, a shade or ghost, and the rising becomes a haunting. This is not the case in the upper room on the 8th day, the Sunday following the Resurrection. On the contrary, Jesus stands before Thomas, the whole man, body and spirit, risen from the grave.

In an explosion of divine power, Christ had taken humanity to a new dimension of existence, a new mode of imperishable, glorified being. No wonder Thomas fell down and worshiped, he touched the Glory, "My Lord and my God." And note this.

When Christ appeared to the disciples on Easter Sunday, the "doors were shut" for fear of the same people who'd crucified Jesus crucifying them. For fear of death. With the reality of the resurrection upon them, made concrete on the 8th day, the fear was gone. And so they went out and died in the proclamation of the Faith, knowing they would rise in and with their Lord. 

What hope! As opposed to the dismal, wretched, con-trick despair of our disbelieving age. God grant us the faith, hope and love of the disciples in the upper room, and with Thomas the grace to fall down and believe, "My Lord and my God."

Christus Surrexit,

LSP

First Chaplain Of The Confederacy

 

Did you know that the Confederacy's first military chaplain was a Jesuit priest, Fr. Darius Hubert? I didn't until recently, thanks to Katherine Jeffrey's excellent biography, First Chaplain Of The Confederacy. Hubert served with the Army of Northern Virginia throughout the war and was present at the major battles in the eastern theater as well as, curiously, seeing chaplaincy aboard the ironclad Merrimac.

He was known for outstanding pastoral devotion to the men he served and rose above denominational differences to work alongside protestant chaplains as "brothers in Christ." A remarkable man who bravely followed the call of God regardless of danger to himself, whether on the battlefield or in the hospital wards of those dying with Yellow Fever.

Hubert was a believer in the Cause but graciously so, urging reconciliation and healing after the conflict. He carried a Yankee bullet on his person, which had failed to kill him, as a sign of God's providence and protection. He died in 1893 at the age of 70.

We need more priests like him.

God bless,

LSP

Rest in Peace Prince Philip

 

Here in the States we woke up to the tragic news that Prince Philip had died, at the age of 99. He fought in the titanic war against Fascism and the Nazis, serving honorably as a decorated officer in the Royal Navy, with a final rank of Commander in 1953.

The same people who believe gender's divorced from biology believe Philip was a Fascist, despite fighting against Fascists in the war. Perhaps it was an internicene feud? Then again, the Prince's detractors may be suffering from dropped on head as infant syndrome.

I vote for the latter, but regardless, his death surely marks the closing of an age, an age in many respects better than our own.

Rest in Peace and Rise in Glory,

LSP

Dallas - The Way of The Ninja

 

A leader is best when people barely know he exists, when his work is done, his aim fulfilled, they will say: we did it ourselves.

It's Easter Week and you're in Dallas, so what do you do? Grill, go to Hunky's for delicious burgers, help out with yard work, and then ride into the great Metrosprawl. Which is what I did, arriving at the Preston Center in an unmarked white F150. Comms are important, so I texted GWB in Georgia.

"Sometimes what I do is I go to the Orvis store then stop at Half Price Books before strolling over to REI."

"What?!? The way of the Ninja."

"Exactly. I'm outside the Rolex store right now."

"I wouldn't mind a stainless sport Rolex."

"Same. It'll go with the Lambo."

A typical dog scene in the Preston Center Orvis

 

But this wasn't about buying watches, it was about getting a tin of Barbour's "Wax Thornproof Dressing" to refinish a coat. That meant going into Orvis via the car park entrance, because Covid. You see, you're a lot less likely to catch the plague if you go into the hideously expensive country sports store from the rear entrance.

Waxy mission accomplished, I drove down Northwest Highway to Half price Books, a great barn of a place, full of books and empty of people. A kindly old gentleman told me to put a mask on as I entered the warehouse of cut price books, and I did, not wanting to cause a scene, "Oh, thank you! I forgot!" Whatever, no one was there because Covid, and I walked unseen, ninja style, to the scyfy shelves and bought some books. Result.

Next stop REI, which is conveniently next to HPB. There was a special Covid decontamination unit in front the great outdoors industry co-op, and I ignored that because a. it's stupid and b. ninjas don't do that. Speaking of Lao Tse, I bought an REI shirt, which is white and made in Thailand. Yes, it was expensive, but shaolin doesn't come cheap.

Then back to Dallas HQ and the important task of re-waxing my wax coat. It's not hard, just rub the wax into the cloth and let the beast bake in the sun for a few hours. You can and probably should make your own wax mixture, which I've done, but I bought convenience. Ma LSP looked at the refurbed coat and remarked, "That's pretty old timey," And so it is, I like that.

Back in the country now, and I like that too.

God bless,

LSP

Jesus Christ is Risen Today

God bless and happy Easter,

LSP

What Have We Here?

 

You know what it's like. Roll up to the familial homestead for Easter festivity and there it is, one of the guests has a "prays well together" sticker on their car. Really? When was the last time you offered one up at the local mosque while sacrificing to Kali?

Being a polite and hospitable LSP, I didn't say that and resisted the urge to sharpie in some runes on the offensive signage. Still, you can imagine the scene, "What, you don't pray pray well with Armanen worshippers of the Victorious Sun? Maybe you need to be more inclusive." You get the point, but she wouldn't have done, because all religions same. Like, we all pray! And I want world peace! 

So let's test the theory out, here's some Aztec worship. Have a look:

Cortez and the gang felt they had come across a nation of devil worshippers and perhaps they had, the walls of Mexico City's great pyramid dripped with the blood of an estimated 20,000 human sacrifices, annually. They ate the victims too, coexist with that.

Point being, all religions are not the same and given that everyone has one, better choose wisely as opposed to pretending that none of it really matters.

Christus Surrexit,

LSP

Happy Easter!

 

I know, a day late and a dollar short, but Happy Easter!

Christ has risen,

LSP

Holy Saturday

 

Here we are, on Holy Saturday, and the body of our Savior lies in the tomb, the fourteenth station. Consider this, by George Herbert:

Oh blessed body!  Whither art thou thrown? 

No lodging for thee, but a cold hard stone?

So many hearts on earth, and yet not one

Receive thee?

Sure there is room within our hearts good store;

For they can lodge transgressions by the score:

Thousands of toys dwell there, yet out of door

They leave thee.

But that which shows them large, shows them unfit.

Whatever sin did this pure rock commit,

Which holds thee now? Who hath indicted it

Of murder?

Where our hard hearts have took up stones to brain thee,

And missing this, most falsely did arraign thee;

Only these stones in quiet entertain thee,

And order.

And as of old, the law by heav’nly art,

Was writ in stone;  so thou, which also art

The letter of the word, find’st no fit heart

To hold thee.

Yet do we still persist as we began,

And so should perish, but that nothing can,

Though it be cold, hard, foul, from loving man

Withhold thee.

Where our hard hearts have took up stones to brain thee. 

Herbert was a country parson,  as am I. There's clearly a lot to live up to, eh? 

Light v. Dark,

LSP

Good Friday

 

The Tabernacles are empty, the Altars are stripped, and Christ lays in the tomb. It seems as though Satan has won, and he must have thought so. You can imagine the infernal ecstasy. Imagine, too, the horror of the Adversary as Christ rises from the dead, demolishing the calculus of the Pit.

Consummatum est. It is finished, the perfect sacrifice is made, man is reconciled to God and the powers of Hell cast down, only to rage in fury as they descend into the Lake of Fire. 

They take their followers with them, the followers of the False Prophet Caiaphas, who on the sixth hour of the sixth day stamp their foreheads with the mark of the Beast crying out, "We have no king but Caesar!"

We follow a different King, the Lord of Life, who reigns victorious on the hard wood of the Cross. Satan and death have no power over us.

Rejoice in that and stand firm.

God bless,

LSP

Maundy Thursday Pistol

 

One of the things which happens on Maundy Thursday is that the priest gets to wash peoples' feet, as Christ washed his disciples' feet. My MC doesn't like it because he thinks it's "hokey," which perhaps it is. That in mind, most definitely a lesson in humility.

Regardless, there I was, about to wash a rancher's right foot, and there on a sock next to his boot was a compact S&W(?), a 9 or 40 I think. So I looked at the pistol, looked at the foot and did some quick math.

Should I bless the pistol and make it part of the rite or not? I chose the latter path, deciding to store up value for a later a date, a churchwide blessing of guns. Go long and hold, went the arithmetic.

Later, at the Pax, I told  my friend, "That was the safest footwashing I've ever seen." He replied, embarrassed, "Padre, I just forgot it was there, in my boot!" He needn't have worried, "Brother, next year we'll make it mandatory."

And that, all five of you readers, is the story of that. A short tale of God, country life and guns in Texas.

God bless,

LSP

Holy Wednesday

 

In between cleaning all the guns that I don't have and watching scenes from Tombstone on continuous loop, I look forward to Maundy Thursday with it's double mandate, do this and love one another as I have loved you, the former realized in the Eucharist, was ever a command so obeyed?, and the latter signified by Christ washing the feet of his disciples.

The connection is clear and lies in the Cross, from which Jesus washes away our sins in his supreme act of love. And it's precisely this sacrifice that's made present to us in the Sacrament of the Altar. The extent to which we receive the grace offered, think Parable of the Sower, depends on our obedience to the commandment to love. 

Benedict XVI reflects:

In it (Confession), the Lord continually rewashes our dirty feet, and we are able to sit at table with Him.

But in this way, the word takes on yet another meaning, in which the Lord extends the "sacramentum" by making it the "exemplum," a gift, a service for our brother: "If I, therefore, the master and teacher, have washed your feet, you ought to wash one another's feet" (John 13:14). We must wash each other's feet in the daily mutual service of love. But we must also wash our feet in the sense of constantly forgiving one another. The debt that the Lord has forgiven us is always infinitely greater than all of the debts that others could owe to us (cf. Mt. 18:21-35). It is to this that Holy Thursday exhorts us: not to allow rancor toward others to become, in its depths, a poisoning of the soul. It exhorts us to constantly purify our memory, forgiving one another from the heart, washing each other's feet, thus being able to join together in the banquet of God.

Holy Thursday is a day of gratitude and of joy for the great gift of love to the end that the Lord has given to us. We want to pray to the Lord at this time, so that gratitude and joy may become in us the power of loving together with his love. Amen.

Amen to that. We must and should hunger and thirst for righteousness, swords about the Cross. But by the same token, there is no place for the poisonous serpent of hatred within our hearts. It is the hallmark of our Adversary, Satan. And remember, though it seems counter-intuitive, the enemy's lost and lost hard.

Be on the side of Light,

LSP

A Typical Night At The Compound

 

Just another typical day in North Central Texas. Make of it what you will.

Wild West,

LSP

You Dirty Beasts!

 

If you lost all your guns when the canoe capsized on the Brazos you don't need to worry about cleaning them because they're gone, lost to the waters of the deep. But say, hypothetically, you were able to retrieve some of the firearms, perhaps with rope and magnets. Well then, you'd clean them.

Light and Fast

Otherwise they'd be filthy, dirty, beasts and wouldn't work properly, and what's the point of a gun if it doesn't work? Speaking of dirty, I like gas guns a lot, they're fun to shoot, but they do get fouled up and take time to clean.

7.62 Weightlifting, anyone?

Thanks a lot, "gas impingement." Still, it works, and I like the low recoil of the .308/7.62 AR as much as I dislike the weight of the thing. Is it a deadly assault rifle? Good question, it's certainly black, so perhaps it is. Who knows, maybe it'll learn to take a thermal and assault the nocturnal porcuswine.

Typical Street Scene in Biden's America

But that's in the future. In the meanwhile, I'm waiting for ammo prices to drop from their currently obscene heights; 50 cents per round for .22LR, really? Over a buck for a round of 5.56, what? And that's if you can find it.

Not that it matters, I lost all my guns when the skiff hit a reef in Lake Whitney and sank beneath the waves. What. A. Catastrophe.

#2A,

LSP 

Juke Box Monday

 

Shoot some pool, fire off a few darts, have a pint or several and spin some tunes on the juke. Yes, it's Jukebox Monday and here's Juliette's choice, Copperhead Road. Great choice.

Infidel takes us to a contemplative space, with Stella Blue. Let's hear it for the Dead:

RHT recommends Stevie boy.

And here's some country from Jim.

Me? I just like Thunderstruck, because it's awesome. Check it out:

Rock on,

LSP

Wolf Pack

 

It's been a busy time here at the Compound, so we're catching up. This short infovid's for our nautical friend LL; we managed to get some video footage, so check it out. And if you don't like the "Metal"? Too bad, no one ever said life'd be easy (click "watch on Youtube" and widescreen):

Mind how you go,

LSP

Death Metal

 

Sometimes the old tunes are the best tunes, and this one's for WSF, who knows Death Metal when he hears it. Enter Sandman:

Well, there's genius and there's genius.

Your Pal,

LSP

A Short Palm Sunday Sermon

 

Here we are on Palm Sunday, the "gateway to Holy Week," and the liturgy of the Mass seems strange or jarring. One minute we're hailing Jesus as the Messiah while singing All Glory Laud and Honour and the next shouting out Crucify Him!, as we hear the Passion. It's as though we've been catapulted, in mood, from Easter to Good Friday. But of course we understand the connection.

Christ's kingship as the anointed holy one of God rests upon the Cross, his throne from which he establishes sovereignty over sin and death. He could, in that week leading up to his death, have chosen worldly power; the temptations in the wilderness surely returned with demonic intensity.

Stones to bread? Yes indeed, literal bread for himself and the world, to say nothing of spiritual bread in the form of the righteous wisdom he could have given from the gleaming, thunderstruck fastness  of Mount Zion. 

Instead of being scourged and nailed to a cross by Roman soldiers he could have ordered the angelic host to his defense, lest he dash his foot against a stone. And the kingdoms of the world? His for the asking, with all the glories therein.

Christ says no to this and by extension to the Devil himself. He follows a different path, the way of the Cross. What qualities took him there? Humility, for sure. He emptied himself, taking the form of a servant or slave, even to an agonizing, shameful death. Likewise obedience. 

Recall the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus prays that the chalice of suffering and death would be taken from him, but he continues, "My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass away from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as Thou willest." (Matt. 26:39) This utterly faithful submission to the Father's will takes him to Golgotha, where he lays down his life in a perfect act of love for the forgiveness of our sin.

Humble, obedient, loving faith. The way of the Cross and the way to the empty tomb and everlasting life. It comes at a cost, obviously, but consider the reward, the green pastures of paradise.

I pray we're given the courage, by the grace of God, to acknowledge Christ as our King and follow him through the "grave and gate of death" to eternal life.

God Bless,

LSP

Stations of the Cross and Benediction

 

"It's almost that time of year, LSP, can you you help out?" asked the Rector of St. Matthias. I zeroed in, like a thermal on a hog, "You'd like me to give a Lent talk? Sure, count me in," and took the last Friday of the course.

My job was to drive to the Metrosprawl yesterday and comment on the last sentence of the Apostles Creed after assisting at Stations of the Cross. Which I did, contrasting the fear, uncertainty and deceit of the world with the boldly asserted truth of the Creed. 

Thurifer, get down!

Then came Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament,  Therefore we, before him bending, this great Sacrament revere; types and shadows have their ending, for the newer rite is here; faith, our outward sense befriending, makes our inward vision clear.

A blessing, and it was good to be back at St. Matthias and its people. The Metrosprawl? Fun to visit Ma LSP's HQ and have dinner with her and BW. Less fun to see all the mask zombies wandering about with their made in China talismans covering their faces, voluntarily. 

"I say, what's that?" "We call it a 'laptop' LSP."

They proudly "follow the science" even though the scientific language on the Chinese mask boxes says, quite specifically, that the facial wares enclosed don't protect the wearer from viruses. You'll remember Goebbels:

If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it. The lie can be maintained only for such time as the State can shield the people from the political, economic and/or military consequences of the lie. It thus becomes vitally important for the State to use all of its powers to repress dissent, for the truth is the mortal enemy of the lie, and thus by extension, the truth is the greatest enemy of the State.

 

He and Magda poisoned their beautiful young children, and then killed themselves as the truth caught up with their lie at the end of the war. Death and destruction, perhaps especially of children, are the hallmarks of the People of the Lie and their Father, who was a murderer from the beginning.

The Ninth Station, Jesus falls for the third time

Compare and contrast that to the God-given truth and life of the Creed.

Your Friend,

LSP

Obey Your Rulers

 

Are we a Constitutional Republic or a degenerate freakshow, a kleptocracy run by a crew of power lusting oligarchs and their bought and paid for shills inside and outside the Beltway? I present to you the new normal. This is a woman:

Yes, the first ever womyn of its kind elected by the Senate to public office, HHS Assistant Secretary, no less. And this is the most popular President in the long history of popularity. He ascended to power on the strength of not campaigning. He didn't have to, such is the natural charism of the Corpse:

Our aptly named Vice President is popular too, that's why she got so many votes in the Democrat primaries. Kamala, aka the Whore, is famous for keeping POCs in California jails, and here she is:

Scary, isn't it. And don't forget Nancy "Blow Dry" Pelosi and the Baltimore mafia. Let them eat $20 tubs of handcrafted ice cream is her motto. Which is perhaps why she feels the need to surround the Capitol with razor wire and National Guardsmen. Well, there's nothing like popularity. Have a look at this octogenarian advert for plastic surgery:

Reassuring, isn't it, that our nation's in such capable, honest, selfless Millionaire Socialist hands. But that's enough visual torture for now, what gets me is that people are still framing the debate in the language of the past.

Evil top hat, right wing capitalists v. good, for the people socialists. Republican v. Democrat, Left v. Right, Tory v. Labour, when the reality, across the board, is a Uniparty led by gang of voracious psychopaths in suits, hiding behind a thin, faked up veneer of PC driven tolerance. 

To paraphrase a famous author, Winston, I have seen the future, a rainbow colored wellington boot, stamping on a human face forever. A terrifying vision, let's hope it doesn't come to pass. In the meanwhile, obey your rulers.

Cheers,

LSP

Lightning!

 

No sooner had Stations of the Cross and the obligatory Lenten meal and class finished than it began to rain. Not heavily, but the drops were big, Texan style. Then the wind picked up and ominous rumbling filled the air. Thunder, like the sound of guns along the Oder Front, or Deep Purple.

Lightning began to arc, illuminating clouds which scudded across the firmament of heaven as night turned to electric day. It was easy, at that moment, to believe in the Electric Universe. Roll on, Nicola Tesla.

In other news, it's the Feast of the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary tomorrow. Here's the Collect:

WE beseech thee, O Lord, pour thy grace into our hearts; that, as we have known the incarnation of thy Son Jesus Christ by the message of an angel, so by his cross and passion we may be brought into the glory of his resurrection; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

 

Somehow this seems apt in the storm and my mind goes to  I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven.

God bless,

LSP

Well Shoot - Another Foray Into The Heart of Southern Darkness

 

Birds sang and the sun shone in the big Texan sky. Yes, it was time to head out to the countryside yet again as part of our ongoing investigation into the scourge of rural systemic racism. And before you could whistle Dixie there I was, in a ranch shop, talking guns.

You know how it is, one thing led to another, a couple of Polaris quads revved up and there we were, slinging skeet and shooting plates. Racist? Well, the guns were black and brown, the plates white and the skeet orange. The quads were green. Hmmm. 

It was hard to stop myself admiring a WWII trophy Luger as I reflected on this knotty indigenous peoples justice conundrum, to say nothing of a canned Enhanced Remington 1911. The latter shot well, scoring hits on a plate at around 75 yards, big fun.

Then it was time to visit the Confederate Air Force at an aerodrome not too far from my friend's ranch, DD has a hanger there where he builds and restores airplanes. 

There was a CAF trainer on the tarmac about to get ready for take off. Some of you'll know the make/model but I forget the details.

Regardless, DD was working on a Cessna and the wings of another plane, which he showed us after a delicious snack of poppers, smoked sausage and ice cold beer. What a gentleman, I do not say that lightly. And he still flies, though in his '80s. He'd been in the US Aerobatics team. 

Then it was time to head back to the bucolic haven that is this small farming community in North Central Texas to hear someone's confession. Was this whole experience irredeemably, incurably, insufferably racist?

I can't answer that but I do say this, it was big fun.

Your Pal,

LSP

Monday Night Juke Box

 

So here we are and let's not forget, requests are on.  Like Jules' Holiday, by the Skorps. Here it is:

Adrienne's Two-Step, or something like that:

To say nothing of GWB's white supremacy. Behold the Eurythmics. Well done, Miss Annie Borman Lennox, let's hear it for white supremacism:

Warning. White supremacy

In the meanwhile, it's thundering down with rain. Who knows, maybe this rustic, erstwhile cotton town will be washed away in the wake of the flood. Not dissimilar to our Christian culture, when you think of it.

Cheers,

LPP