A real man only has 3 options. He can run. He can weather the storm. Or he can fight. Which he chooses will determine which type of woman is a good fit:
The Runner Wife: …she’ll have a knack for languages. Homeschooling isn’t questioned. She’ll need to have strong racial integrity and ability to trust her husband’s sense of boundaries. Twenty-year-old Pedro may have a cute grin and helpful demeanor, but if her husband says Pedro’s bad-news, she accepts that Pedro’s bad news. She’ll have to accept a reduced status and social life. Open to hard work and potential poverty, at least until the family is situated. Nerdy and adventurous…
The Foul Weather Wife: …homeschooling, again, isn’t questioned. She’ll have to be crafty like a serpent – knowing acceptable social norms so she can help her husband secretly defy them while maintaining an acceptable facade. Has to be open to strict budgeting and grey market processes. Must be good at politics, smoothing things over with radical jacobins who might sniff out her husband at a dinner party. A mix between Martha Stewart and a Mafia wife.
The Fighter’s Wife: … of the three, she’s the most saint-like since, at the point of marriage, it’s only a matter of time until she’s a wife-in-mourning. The trade off: her name will be next to Jesse James’ wife in the history books. Her fire and hatred of evil is equal to her husband’s and they blaze together in true happiness during the fight. Must score high on the ride-or-die scale. “I Fought the Law” is played as a wedding march…
I can’t believe the glib postmillennialists who tell us we’re thousands of years away from the return of Christ. Everyone I’ve heard say it is a lover of baby King Jr. and the rouges gallery of jacobin demoniacs. I don’t care a lick for the eschatological opinions of a gyrating Baptist who’s diving off the cliff with the rest of the swine. Let him preach his “thousands of years”; me and my house are in the last days. Our most vulnerable are slaughtered in the womb; women are spiritually destroyed with conveyor-belt efficiency; and, little boys are being transformed into little girls. If God doesn’t end it, we’ll have to do it for Him…
To kick off the new year with our new, openly-illegitimate, regime, I thought it appropriate to finally do a 40-day water fast. Fasting, praying, and rending of ye ole’ overalls…
This is a big deal and I’ve been planning it for awhile. Primarily, I spent the last six-months budgeting, saving, and planning to take a few months off. I’ve failed in the past because I tried to stay immersed in the hum-drum of normal life. Seems God demands a real desert from his disciples. A genuine wilderness. If that can’t be managed (it’s difficult to do in the wintertime especially), I hope a metaphorical wilderness will do instead.
So, here I am, miles away from my life, shacked up in my grandparent’s old house. My grandmother passed a few months ago and owing to family politics, hectic schedules, and the like, the house remains more or less as it has since the 50’s. There are boxes all over, half-packed. Some efforts have been made to begin the unpacking of generations…
As I type, I look to my left and, draped over an old chair is my grandfather’s WWII uniform. The one he wore when he came home from Germany. I have no idea what they’re going to do with it. Old books fill the house. Foxfires, tomes of constitutional law, history, dictionaries from the 1800’s, all mixed with books about drafting, chemistry, and Cicero. “Johnny and the Flying Balloon”, and other old novels I’ve never heard of. The ones with the faded covers are the best. I’ll have a chance to read them all in the next 40 days.
…there’s an old sextant just laying in the hallway…
They’re gutting it. Breaking it all down. Boxing it all up. Parceling it out for yard sales and estate auctions. They keep telling me to take anything I want. I don’t want anything more than to sit here, alone, for long hours, and soak up the spirit that used to animate this place…
No doubt this has been one of the worst years in Christendom.
But I’m still here. I’m still standing. I still have my faith.
Christmas, for those few of us who still honor Him, will become a time of looking forward instead of looking back. A time when the cries of an infant overpower the rulers of the air. How divine is that? How like our Lord to overturn demonic power with pure innocence and love?
What will next year bring us? Whatever it is, we know there’s victory coming.
My heart breaks when I look at a little child. Especially a little girl. How sweet and innocent she is. How vulnerable. It eats at a man knowing he can’t protect such a precious thing. My heart would either break or burst if I had one of my own.
Those tiny, little, divine feet, kicking in the manger…saving the world. This year, we join him in a cry of mortal defiance against the dark one!
Merry Christmas to my readers, friends, and loved ones…
In all my years of trying to defend Christianity I never asked myself the simple question of why I believed it was true. I always likened my Faith to the culture I was raised in. Defending a Young Earth just was the defense of precious days we spent with our parents on top of Pinnacle Rock in WV, looking at fossils. Sola Scriptura is really Sola Familia. Solus Dixicus…
Only with the onset of 2020 and the miserable few years leading up to it, when my faith crumbled, was I able to wonder why I believed it at all. Maybe call me a “coast-along” Christian; because I was coasting along with the sparse fumes of a dying Christian culture.
Unfortunately, we can no longer be cost-along Christians…
If you think about it objectively, the idea that a man in Palestine, 2000 years ago, doing miracles, seems tame. It wouldn’t be picked up for an HBO pilot, certainly. But for some of us, when we read that story, we find something there we cannot give up. Something in what that man was supposed to be and what he supposed to have claimed for Himself. How He said what He said…
It’s a fairy tale and a romance and one that I can’t give up, even though I’ve tried. And by all of today’s accounts, it seems like a story that is completely false. The Telmarines are at the gates and the Narnian forces are hard-pressed. We look to the horizon for a lion and see only more Telmarines.
They, along with their real-life counter-parts (the mockers, blasphemers, and “modernists”), laugh at our tragic refusal to let go of our hope in this one, executed, man.
Well, ladies and gentlemen of my readership…I wont let it go. Not even unto death. The Faith has its martyrs. We’re due for a few more…
I shut down my blog when I realized I had completely lost my faith. I’ve been spiraling around that drain for the entirety of this cursed year and it finally happened. Someone asked what we would tell our younger selves if we could go back to our graduation. I thought and realized I’d probably tell myself trusting in God was the worst mistake of my life. It lead to nothing but disappointment and regret. That’s when I realized what had happened and shut everything down.
Recall the holy trifecta that counters the “liberty, equality, fraternity” of the jacobins: faith, hope, and love. For me, hope was the first to go. Now faith is gone. I can feel love slipping away…
Hard to feel anything at all now, though. I’ve been engrossed in the opiates of modernity for so long. Not alcohol or hard drugs, thank God, although, if that door ever opened a crack, I’d be doomed. No, for me, it’s the nicotine, caffeine, and binge-watching degenerate TV shows to pass the time. A trickle of genuine emotion elbows its way into my dopamine wasted brains about once an evening and for that time, I have a wealth of genuine feeling I can’t really bear. So I just plunge further into the anesthesia.
I had this moment of clarity after losing my faith:
There’s a sin commonly attributed to girls. When they’re young, they want to go “find themselves”, so they sleep around, party, do drugs, work on some “career”, and generally ruin themselves. By their late 20’s or early 30’s, they see the memes out there about “hitting the wall” or maybe their doctor is telling them they ought to go ahead and have children. So they get desperate and start looking for a stable, responsible, guy to settle down with last minute. The same type of guy they’d have nothing to do with in their younger, party-girl days…
I think I’ve committed the male version of this sin. I went out looking for adventure, riches, and the perfect fairy-tale life. I didn’t get it and I’ve had a chip on my shoulder ever since. I’ve always chalked it up to some noble rejection of plantation life. But maybe it’s simply petulant stubbornness…a refusal to settle into the steady life of a slave? Such is not the fate of a would-be Navy SEAL adventurer like me! But what about for the washed-up, middle-aged guy with no value on the plantation?
No God means no destiny and no purpose. Before I completely lost my faith, I realized I didn’t need “meaning” in life at all. What I was really looking for was “purpose” … but I no longer believe I have even that much. Whatever God’s forgiveness might mean in some airy-after, it has no potency in this life. We and we alone have to manage the fall-out from sin. The drug addict has to detox. A guy who’s wasted his entire life, waiting on God to lead him into a fairy-tale…well, he has to deal with being worthless and valueless to everyone around him.
So what? Suicide?
I’ve obviously thought about it. Written about it often here at SBS. I’ve told smarmy God-haters when asked that, were I ever to lose my faith, I’d kill myself…
Well, no one worry, I’m not considering it, except maybe in the abstract. What I’m actually considering, is trying to find my faith again. I have no idea how to go about it. The only one I know who’s done anything like it is Thomas Wingfold in George MacDonald’s novel (of the same name).
Wingfold loses his faith after being intellectually challenged, but has enough integrity to retain his post as minister of the local congregation. He sets out on a journey to re-examine the entire faith in a new light and eventually discovers the true Christ. Of course, anyone living in Victorian England might discover the true Christ around any corner. Not so lucky we Americans.
My life, as of now, revolves around two things: trying to figure out how to re-establish my faith and trying to figure out how to leave this god-forsaken nation all together.
Any of you who believe God actually cares what’s going on down here ought to be running from this place as fast as you can…
When my faith is lowest, I return to philosophy. This happens on full moons. I need my friends to lock me up so I don’t hurt anyone during my transformations. A cursed, tragic, wanderer, who sometimes turns into an animal…
Am I a channel for the demonic, then? Am I writing this or is something else?
I have this anger towards God that bubbles out. I thought He and I had something special, but life has been a long lesson to the contrary. I’m just one of his flock. He gives us all grass if we’re lucky but all that about Him caring for the one who strays seems like pure hokum. Although, it’s hard to see how he cares any more for us collectively than He does for the individuals.
Is there any evil God will refuse to allow? Any indignity?
The answer is no.
Everything I’ve ever loved is gone.
Where is the fire that used to burn? Where are the friends of old? Where is the one who promised return, and our weeping hearts to console?
Joe Putnam, the man who asked us to rethink our propositions, is back with a new tract, and this time, he’s pulling fewer punches. While he never presumes as much, I see his new book as nothing less than an introduction to the Kinist worldview, minus the stuffy Reformed dogmatics. And we’ve long needed a basic introduction to Kinism.
True, he only mentions the word once the entire book (in regard to the idea of “kin rule”). Nevertheless, he offers a polished look at the world from a perspective that’s universally accepted among Kinists, and unfortunately, is universally rejected by everyone else. The path to the Kingdom is truly narrow. Don’t expect to win friends and influence people with what Joe provides.
But, like all agrarian-minded white boys, we’ll side with Sawyer Brown:
“I’ll take the dirt road. It’s all I know. I’ve been walking it for years, it’s gone where I need to go. It ain’t easy. It ain’t supposed to be. So I’ll take my time. And life wont pass me by. ‘Cause it’s right there to fiiiiIIiiiiinnnd…on the dirt road…”
Turns out, flight from the countryside is one of the main problems with modern America according to Joe. We’ve lost our rootedness and few Americans retain the basic intuitions common to all agrarians. Especially relevant are the commonsense ideas of race, difference, and lack of equality – ideas readily apparent to anyone on a farm, but which seem beyond the grasp of moderns.
Joe may succeed here where some Kinists tend to fail. He openly recognizes the religious nature of the conflict. And religion is more than a few, mere, theological doctrines. I liken it to a bear attack:
Imagine you’re walking in the wilderness and a bear rushes in for the kill. You don’t stop to debate PETA intellectuals about the abstract ethics of killing animals in general (and bears in particular). Whatever the divine rules there, let them lay as they are, for the time being, we’re being attacked by a bear! I’ve often seen race mixing in the same light. While many Kinists love engaging in debates about meta-ethics and race-mixing in the abstract, we are, right in the good ol’ here and now, being severely attacked, through propaganda and a hundred other petty avenues. So whatever the morality of the hypothetical white man stuck on a desert island with the non-white, Christian, island girl…race mixing is being used to destroy our people right now. We’re being collectively raped and pillaged. And *that* is wrong, no matter how big Moses’ wife’s lips may have been…
Nevertheless, and despite my own cynicism, Joe answers the titular question of his book with a resounding “no”…this is not the end of our people. There is hope.
…and that’s something we all need to hear right about now…
I beg your pardon, readers. I’ve been delving into UFO literature for about two weeks now. I know that’s not the usual fare for SBS, but please bear with me. I recently reviewed Bob Lazar’s account of his time at Area 51 and concluded it was hokum, with a little truth mixed in. The more I’ve listened to the man’s interviews, the more I’m convinced I’m right about him. He may have worked at a secret base but I seriously doubt he was working on alien propulsion. If I had to guess, I’d bet he was working on some low-level system. Maybe he was the HVAC guy?
I also revisited Travis Walton’s famous “Fire in the Sky” abduction case. The movie traumatized me as a kid. I’d handcuff my ankle to the bed every night. Looking at through the eyes of experience, however, I’ve come to reject it, too, as complete hokum. I wont lay out the skeptical case here, although others have done so admirably and conclusively (far as I’m concerned). I’ll simply rest my case, again, as with Lazar, on intuition about human nature.
But then, something odd happened. While watching one of the newly-released UFO documentaries, they showed a clip of the Outer Banks of NC, close to where I go to have my holiest of holy prayers when I’ve got the time and am in the right mood. There, hovering near my chosen sanctuary, was a shining ball of light seemingly having arrived at the behest of a group of onlookers. They began shining lasers at it and beckoning it closer. This, the documentary says, was one of Dr. Steven Greer’s “Close Encounters of the 5th Kind”, an encounter which, unlike the other 4 category “kinds”, is unique in that it’s initiated by humans. Would-be intergalactic diplomats.
…this hovering, glowing, abomination, in *MY* home!
I began researching Dr. Greer, watching his documentaries and reading his books. I’ve just finished his book “Unacknowledged” today and thought I’d do a quick analysis. This one hits close to home because he’s a North Carolinian and has had many UFO encounters in the Tar Heel State. And the claims the guy makes stretch the bounds of credulity far beyond the norm for these sorts of sensationalists.
Unlike Lazar, Travis Walton, or any of the other run-of-the-mill celebrities in UFO literature, Dr. Greer can seemingly cause these “crafts” and sometimes even their occupants, to appear at will! Oh, he doctors it all up in new-age, pseudo-scientific-sounding phraseology, but what it amounts to is, he takes a group of people out into the woods, sits them in a circle, does some chants, says some magic words, and … wouldn’t you know it? Strange phenomena begin to manifest!
It seems this Crowley wanna-be impressed some of the right people, who promptly took him into their confidence. Witchcraft may be flashy and have some small power to deceive, but it almost always fails to deliver on any real power (if history is a guide). I doubt the CIA, despite popular rumors, has much concern with Greer’s powers. I think they’re very concerned with his ability to seep his narrative into public consciousness and begin swaying us all closer to accepting the emergence of the man of lawlessness. This guy may very well manifest all sorts of signs and wonders, but, let’s be honest, Satan has deceived almost the entirety of post Christian Europe without having to toss a single lightening bolt – does he really need aliens?
Greer’s appearance on the Joe Rogan podcast was one of the most popular Rogan has ever hosted. In it, after insulting Young Earth “fundamentalist” Christians – the bane of all left-leaning extraterrestrials – he casually admits to having had a number of CIA “mentors” who “gave him excellent guidance and help”… Rogan, as usual, was too stuck on himself to recognize Greer for the obvious disinformation propagandist he clearly is.
Given his magical ability to conjure up aliens at will, and given his status (presumably) as a CIA asset, Greer soon had meetings with the highest ranking people in the US and foreign governments. Additionally, all sorts of high-ranking military people were launching themselves out of obscurity to share their UFO-encounter stories, no matter how bizarre.
It makes me wonder, though. The American government is obviously at open war with White, European, Christians, our way of life, our culture, and our God. Maybe they have far more powerful black magicians than Greer? Maybe my joke that “they” are getting their orders from ouija boards, isn’t far off the mark?
Let them shine their lasers around and chant their chants, though… I know who holds tomorrow…
There was a time I used to pray to win the lottery. Now, I’m of a mind that if I ever do win, I’d do a Youtube video first verifying the authenticity of the ticket, then burning it in the name of Christ. This attitude is foreign to the masses today but used to be commonplace among our betters. I like to think I’m the man who can be put in a room with a few million in cash, no cameras or supervision, and have every dime of it still there next morning. A man’s word ought to mean something. And we ought not want a dime of anyone’s money, power, or secrets, unless we work hard to earn them.
With that prelude, I’ll say a brief word about Bob Lazar’s autobiography. For those not in the know, Lazar claimed to have worked at the infamous Area 51, also known as Dreamland. There, he worked in S-4 attempting to “back engineer” the anti-gravity propulsion systems of flying saucers. According to his tale, he was given classified documents claiming these vehicles were extraterrestrial in origin – a theme oft repeated throughout his interviews.
I’ve read many such book-length supposedly-true accounts of the fantastic, but they all have a prima facie implausibility. A book about the supposed voyage to planet Serpo is one such. Asinine claims are simply tossed out for consideration, often with only a hint of plausibility. I mean, we’re supposed to believe Hitler had an army of one million clones?! Really? No one in Germany would have noticed that?
Lazar’s narrative is different though. I was surprised after a cursory reading. It has the ring of truth to it. I only caught two slip-ups but in hindsight, they seem explainable. First, Lazar suggests that on his second visit to Area 51 he was escorted to a medical lab as part of his in-processing. He describes a plant on one of the desks there. Later in the narrative, he monologues about the spartan work environment. “I never saw any pictures of family on desks, never saw any plants, and not even pictures of cats dangling from limbs saying hang in there!” I’m thinking…”…sir, just a few chapters ago you spent a few lines of ink describing a plant on someone’s desk, now you’re saying you didn’t see any plants!” I’ll let this slip, though, because, ok. He may have seen one plant, but he was trying to contrast the working morale and conditions there with a normal science environment and was speaking in a broad generalization. Fine.
Second thing, in the book, Lazar teams up with investigative journalist George Knapp, who originally broke the Lazar story in the media. In the introduction, Knapp describes his attempt to verify Lazar’s background. Lazar claimed to have worked at Los Alamos National Lab, but when Knapp looked into it, Los Alamos denied it. After some digging, though, Knapp found evidence Lazar actually had worked there. He dug up an old Los Alamos phone directory and said Lazar’s full name was listed – Robert Scott Lazar. However, in a recent documentary (featuring Lazar and Knapp), a screenshot of this directory was shown, and it only had Robert Lazar listed; only a first and last name. Which was it?! Another simple error? Or are we being hoaxed by Knapp and Lazar? I tend to lean towards it being a simple error on Knapp’s part. Again, he was emphasizing how blatant the evidence was and may have gotten carried away in his description. Fair enough.
So, do I believe Lazar’s story?
As I said above, it has a ring of truth to it. However, when I watched Lazar speaking in real time it struck me that while he may have been telling some parts of the truth, he was hiding something. Seemed to me like he was ashamed or perhaps knew how ridiculous his exaggerations were.
I don’t know anything about science, and less about science fiction. I’ve never found aliens romantic or interesting. I do know a thing or two about human nature.
Let’s say Lazar’s story is, for the most part, true. That’s all the worse for Lazar, in my view, since it paints him out to be the worst sort of traitorous ingrate. As I read, I kept waiting for the chapter where he told the story about how the Area 51 security forces screwed him over somehow, prompting him to break his oaths and go on live TV with his information. I kept waiting to him say something crazy like: “…the military was using ouija boards to communicate with demonic entities as a way to keep the average American enslaved! So I just had to break my silence!”
None of that ever came. In fact, what prompted him, by his own account, to betray the trust of his employers?! They didn’t call him for a few weeks. Wait, what? That’s it? That was their big sin? They simply didn’t call him for a few weeks, so he got huffy and blew the entire security protocol?!
To be honest, if I were on the Area 51 security force, I’d have put a bullet in the man’s head myself and left him out in the desert somewhere. They could very easily have done so, especially if they’re as powerfully connected as popular lore would have it. The fact that Lazar is still breathing is a huge testimony to the restraint of the security forces.
I’m no fan of the American government but I suppose I am a patriot in my own way. Also, having served myself, and having held a secret clearance, I know how betrayed I would feel if some knock-kneed busy-body ran to the press.
The “deep state”, such that it is, is made up of a small sample of people just like us, and likely with a similar distribution of cultural and political diversity. If anything, they probably lean conservative and likely have idealistic goals about protecting national interests. Some so-called UFOlogists despise this, suggesting these agencies aren’t “accountable” to the people and that the President is just a “temporary employee”. They don’t like the idea that some institutions exist beyond the pale of party politics.
From my view, as someone who detests democracy and mob-rule, these are the sort of principled institutions I find most attractive in a government – always assuming patriots are at the helm. And I don’t see any would-be Napoleons taking joy-rides in flying saucers. To see that sort of thing, we need look no further than Wall Street, where the real Satanists reside.
If there is sophisticated, advanced, technology, it’s still secret for a reason. Whatever that reason is, it’s ostensibly in the best interest of the nation. I’m not saying I trust “them” (whoever the mysterious “them” are according to any given conspiracy scenario), but I do think Lazar ought to have been a man of his word and simply waited patiently for his phone call…
All the poetic heroes of the Christian faith seem to believe in freedom of the will. At the very least, they do as C.S. Lewis and Chesterton do and suggest the paradox of God’s sovereignty and human freedom ought to be accepted as a mystery. Chesterton, in his Orthodoxy, uses this mystery in the context of talking about the lunatic. The lunatic reasons round and round in a complete, though vicious, circle. He’s not insane because he believes in what can’t be explained; he’s insane because he believes he can explain everything! “The poet may have his head in the heavens, but the logician tries to get the heavens in his head, and his head cracks for it…”
Chesterton, himself, is paradoxical to me. He seems to have one foot in old European Christendom and one foot in modernity. I was reading a book of C.S. Lewis’ literary essays today and Lewis comments that it was Belloc, that scoundrel, who influenced Chesterton in negative ways. Having read many of Belloc’s works, and owing to the great influence the blog CWNY has on my thinking, I’d come to share Lewis’ view, only I didn’t know it was Lewis’ view until yesterday. (I don’t know whether to say Lewis is vindicated by having a similar opinion to CWNY, or if CWNY is vindicated in having a similar view to Lewis, but given my admiration of CWNY, I’m seriously inclined to the first!)
I happen to know CWNY also, in line with the lights Christian Europe, holds to freedom of the will, but it would be vulgar to go to his blog looking for some systematic theology of it. The more I grow in the faith, the more I’ve come to abhor theologians and “theology”. God forbid we log in one Saturday and find a syllogism at CWNY! In one of his recent posts, he brings up the phrase: Man proposes, God disposes. Like so many of the truisms of Christian Europe, I’d never heard of it until CWNY posted it, but it had a powerful effect on me.
Seeing as how this seems to be *the* pivotal issue at the heart of the “problem of Evil”, however, I continued struggling with freedom for many years. The Calvinism which I came out of, of course, has much to say on this. From Luther to Jonathan Edwards to present day philosophical theology concerning “agency” and the like, competing models have emerged to explain away the mystery. No consensus, to date, has been reached, not among Calvinists themselves, nor broader Christianity, nor certainly the philosophical community as a whole.
…but I think, maybe, the old Christian Knights had a handle on it, and maybe the few good Christian women who’ve existed.
Let it say a mystery if we must, to stay sane. Ok. But then what?
There’s something at the heart of Christianity that few Christians actually take into account, and that is: love. A deep and abiding love for not only that man Jesus Christ, but for those close to us in life. Our friends and family. How can a Knight train himself, day in and day out, with more disciplined dedication than any Spartan warrior? The Spartan trains for honor and public status. He’s like the weight lifter in the gym who does nothing but hypertrophy training to get a physique desirable to the ladies and intimidating to other men. Can he compete with the man who works for the benefit of an infant? With a man who works for the benefit of a beautiful Christian girl at the old home place and that warm kitchen light, welcoming him home at the end of the day? I think not. Nor can some Instagram model out-compete the beauty of a simple Christian girl who cooks a meal (and even washes the dishes) out of love for her man and their family.
Many times in this blog, when struggling with deep depression, I’ve asked why I ought to get out of bed in the morning. What’s the rational reason to live? Moreover, why put oneself through the pain and discomfort of physical training and effort? Why ought we defend white Christian Europe when there’s so little of it left to defend?
For much of my life, I’ve been a child, dumped into a sand-box, who refused to do anything but sit there and cry. Maybe He wants us to play and enjoy ourselves and honor Him with what we make, and to do it with love…?