The Great Debate, So-Called…

It wasn’t easy, but the devil knew what he wanted. He wanted the European people, the Christ-bearing people, to see existence through the eyes of a scientist. Where is God in the natural world? Where is the scientific evidence that skin pigmentation is anything but skin pigmentation? Who dares say that white skin connotes a distinct people with spiritual attributes different from people without white skins? Once the Europeans’ God became a propositional God, the European people became a propositional people. ~ CWNY

I once attended a pro-white event where Jared Taylor was one of the speakers. Taylor, as many of my readers know, represents the more intellectual and scientistic side of the racialist camp. Perhaps to his annoyance, the conference was hosted by a group that represented the last of the politically active segregationists from the old South. The master of ceremonies spoke with the “can-do” chipperness of a Baptist pastor. At a point during his motivated cadence, he said: “…and we’ll even get brother Taylor baptized before we’re done!”

I was sitting at the table next to Mr. Taylor and had a good look at his expression. A genuine hurt came over him and he replied to the room: “I *have* been baptized…” I can’t recall the specifics but I think he said he was baptized as an infant, perhaps as a Presbyterian. In any case, those old Southern “racists” saw him as a secular academic on scene to learn ’em on the finer points of genetics. Having met him many times and read a few of his books, I suspect Taylor holds to the old line that religious convictions are best not spoken of in public – a sentiment which goes well with the rank and file of his movement, most of whom have little regard for Christianity at all (speaking anecdotally).

Opposite to him in the recent great debate was E. Michael Jones, who’s been on the fringes of “alt-right” circles for awhile, but since the decline of the more vocal leaders post-Charlottesville, has moved closer to center stage. As an active Roman Catholic intellectual, he’s garnered support from the maligned “Trad-Cath” segment of the pro-white movement. He’s controversial, however, for emphasizing ethnicity and religion to the point of excluding race all together. Hence the debate topic: Is Race an Important Reality or a Fiction? (With Taylor taking the affirmative and Jones taking the negative).

Both men are wrong, of course. Both see existence through the eyes of a scientist. Their errors are odd in that Taylor, the ostensible materialist, is too universal, while Jones, the likely champion of spirit, is too enamored of the particulars.

I’ll begin with Taylor…

Many of the neo-pagans in white nationalist circles are hyper focused on genetics, building on the scientistic racialists of the 20th century (like Madison Grant). They’ve accepted the Devil’s Darwinian Lie and seek to be consistently “scientific” in their analysis. Liberals are wrong, on this view, because they don’t respect science enough! From my point of view, this is not a rebellion against liberalism at all. These neo-pagans are just in a doctrinal dispute about certain religious tenets of it. They want white people to have a place at the devil’s table. Richard Spencer – as a convenient avatar for this group – was like Martin Luther, pounding his racially self-conscious 95-Thesis on the door of some Liberal church, not to overturn Liberalism, but to reform it! And Taylor, baptized or not, is the champion of this contingent.

I’ve often asked these racial materialists if they’d consider an African, born to black parents, but, owing to pollution in the soil or some other oddity from the heart of the jungle, is born with similar genetics to Europeans, if he would be a white man. They all quibble with the illustration saying my thought experiment would be impossible. Yet, thought experiments need not be possible to show weakness in a position. It seems to me they’d have to say yes, that genetic oddity of a baby would be a white man, even though we all have a strong intuition he wouldn’t be anything of the sort. After all, there are disorders of the skin where some black men, over time, develop white skin. No one says they change their race because of it. Something deeper than mere genetics is needed.

But what of Jones, then?

In a half-cocked appeal to Aquinas’ metaphysics he wants to wax philosophical about “categories of the mind” and “categories of reality.” “Race” as Taylor defends it, is a mere “category of the mind” and thus, isn’t real and was only invented by evil capitalists to exploit the poor minorities.

I’ve worked hard to absolve myself of my past study of philosophy so I wont give in to the temptation to dive in here. All I’ll say is that if “categories of the mind”, as Jones lays them out, are not “real” then he ought to be consistent and not talk about individual persons either! He brings up Hilary Clinton and Donald Trump, for example. Consistency would demand he consider these names, not as denoting actual people, but rather, as denoting mental categories that “we” (“we” here, indicating another mental category), use to describe a series of Hilary and Trump-like events that seem to have both temporal and conceptual (if not rational) relation to each-other!

As silly as this may sound to the average person, philosophers do ponder about the relationship between events and our perception of continually-existing objects through time, leading many to give up believing objects exist at all. These metaphysical “anti-realists” – more consistent in their philosophy than Jones – recognize that unless “mental categories” are real, in some sense, then we can’t even consistently talk about something as mundane as a table or a chair. We just have a series of chair-like temporal events that seem to be related in time which our minds aggregate together and call “chair”…

Why couldn’t Jones think that God, Himself, is the author of these “categories of the mind” and through creation, imposes them on the random, particular, objects of our experience? There. There’s my Kinism seeping back in – a Van Tillian analysis of racial categories…

I am *not* suggesting we ought to try philosophizing our way to respecting racial categories! Please don’t misunderstand me. All I’m suggesting here is that if we love Christ and we love our people, then we could easily wiggle around with these philosophers and find a way to intellectually justify (if such a ridiculous thing were ever required) what our hearts ought to have known all along.

~ Our little systems have their day
they have their day, then cease to be.
They are but broken lights of Thee,
And thou, oh Lord,
Art more than they. ~

Review: Bright Ray of Darkness

Ethan Hawke is a successful, handsome (so I’m told), actor from the American South. Moreover, he’s not the typically vapid Hollywood stereotype. His work indicates a man who’s thought deeply about the meaning of life. He ought to be one of my heroes; a kindred spirit. As it is, Hawke is an impartial leftist, fully capitulating to the spirit of the age. He ought to be a Southern aristocrat of the soul, fighting for love and romance in an ungodly age of repression. Instead, he fills his novel with the three awful P’s – pornography, profanity, and pseudo-profundity – a grab-bag mix, sure to please his metro-hip publishers and equally sure to demoralize any of his fans with still-beating hearts…

I don’t recommend Christians waste time with this, but if they’re going to, they ought to get the audio version read by Hawke. It’s an amazing performance. And while Hawke provides a few gems of wisdom, even about theology, are they really worth wading through all the explicit sex scenes and profanity to find? I say, no.

The novel is about a famous actor who attempts to transition from Hollywood to the theater by getting the part of Hotspur in Henry IV. While struggling to fit in with the stage actors, he’s also having to deal with a nasty, public, divorce.

Some of the novel’s most inspiring lines are when the director peps up his theater troop for their Broadway performance. Hearing Hawke discuss Shakespeare – through the director’s mouth – was a rare treat. Still, Shakespeare is unintelligible to all the liberals who’ve spiritually severed themselves from their race. It’s why we get horrible critics and Hollywood savants hyper-focusing on iambic pentameter and the material trappings of his work. They know Shakespeare is supposed to be brilliant but they can’t figure out why, so they get Phds in the technicalities.

Really, it takes a redneck, unreconstructed, Christian to fully enjoy Henry IV…

Hawke’s main character navigates a spectrum of lay-level experts on the meaning of life, all of whom give the hero advice (usually, unsolicited). From nihilists to Christians to aging stage actors, we get an array of different perspectives. It’s hard to tell where the author falls on these questions since the hero’s epiphany at the end is gradual and ambiguous. Maybe he takes a little from all the views and meshes them together as he walks up the stairs at his apartment (the final scene)?

When the spiritually-severed man looks at the events of history, he sees randomness and a disjointed, pointless, mess of human affairs. I’ve struggled with this myself (see my review of The Gunpowder Plot). It’s difficult for a man of faith to look at history and see any pattern or narrative or a divine hand. Ironically, it takes a man of Shakespeare’s caliber to see the spiritual import of historical events. Ironic, because of all the voices Hawke brings in to his main character’s life, he fails to talk to the great Bard – of whom, much in the play is made. If Shakespeare is so great, Mr. Hawke, and so worthy of our attention to his every syllable of his every word (especially the T’s and P’s), then maybe he has something important to say about the great themes?

I read a statement from Mel Bradford once. Bradford said that whatever mountain he climbed, he’d find Cleanth Brooks had already planted a flag there. I feel the same about Cambria Will Not Yield. Whatever insight I have, he’s probably already had it. In closing, consider what he says about Shakespeare’s view of history:

And without those [spiritual] undergirdings, history is just a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing! And of course that is what the empiricist always concludes about European history – it signifies nothing. (As a matter of fact, that’s why European history is only treated as a cautionary tale about the evils of being a white man.) But Shakespeare and Scott are divers. They go below the surface of European history and come to the surface again with a treasure that is of infinite value, the living God. ~ CWNY

What’s Shotgun’s Deal?

“And of what does Christian Europe consist? It is not our democratic governments or our Greco-Roman-Judaic-Christian heritage that we must fight to preserve, it is the people of Europe, whose ancestors believed that heaven visited earth in the person of Jesus Christ, that we must defend and preserve.” ~ CWNY

I want us to imagine the scene:

There’s a quaint Southern town next to a lazy, Carolina, sound, the waves of which, over time, have carved out a scenic bay, around which this little town has built a community. Down at the waterfront, one drizzly night, we see a man, sitting alone in his car. It’s dark, but we can just make out the man has been crying.

The man is ruggedly handsome, of course, so we can assume his tears were the manly sort that, while too vulnerable for his friends, are appropriate for dark nights, alone, in cars. In his mind, he hears the epic music of Europe and is, in his own way, lamenting the passing of a great, Christian people. The passing of the last light of Christendom. His own relations, but an outpost – a fleeting off-shoot of the larger European blaze – made the little town in which he now sits. The music he hears pairs equally well with the great epic poems *and* the humble little farm-life rhymes. In his mind’s eye, he sees great statues and monuments as well as hearth-fires and humble Christmas mornings. He hears laughter of children who never knew fear, as well as the battle cries of the great cavaliers. The merriment that was old Europe surrounds the great cross which is the symbol of all he holds dear…

Then another car arrives to the waterfront. The chest-rumbling boom of rap-music announces its arrival. He looks over and sees a carload of young, attractive, white girls. They park next to him. The girl in the passenger seat says: “Heeey…” and they all giggle. He turns to look at them and they’re immediately put off by his expression. They don’t understand it.

“What’s his deal?”

~ RIP CWNY ~

~ My Mother ~

There are different opinions about what happened to my parents.

Those who know me know I’m inclined toward the view that my mother was killed by a bioweapon, released from a lab in Wuhan China, under a joint-effort by US and Chinese researchers.

I’ve tried to find it in my heart to do the Christian thing and ask God to forgive those responsible for this. But forgiveness requires someone to be sorry for what they’ve done. The best I can do in my prayers is ask God to wisely carry out His justice. To deal fairly with those who thought they were doing good or to those who love abstract utopia more than the individuals they trounce on to achieve it.

Even if you do believe the official narrative of this virus, we can all agree that it’s evil. And if you, like my mom, believe that evil is personified and alive, then you might also agree that he and his little bat-winged helpers want to tear us apart. They want us at each others’ throats. They want us to retreat behind our electronic walls, give up the ties of place, and be happy living as faceless, interchangeable, cogs on some one-world, globalist, plantation.

Where is God in all this? With all this evil? With all these people praying for my mother – some of the most Christian people I know – and still she died?

I remember something C.S. Lewis says in “Weight of Glory”, about how the best place to see God is on our bus ride to work in the mornings. Our neighbor is created in His image and likeness. All those faces in the church and at the funeral – showing up for each other, praying for each other, caring for each other … that’s us, being vice-regents for Christ, doing our part in His name.

And we will not let the evil one tear us apart.

My mother’s legacy was one of family, unity, roots, a turning off of the television, and a bringing of people together. This, we’ll do in His name…

We are God’s answers to someone else’s prayers, if only we have the courage to put down our phones and look up every now and then…

Shotgun vs the Manosphere (Again)

Gents, I can’t tell you how often I’ve had to fight snapping turtles for a woman while she sleeps through the whole thing. I’m sick of it. Can I get an amen?! This literally happens all the time. Ok, I may be exaggerating a little, but this does happen. Totally realistic…

Why is she in the swamp anyway?

Yes, it’s that time again. Another “Shotgun vs. the Manosphere” post, where I’ll be equally accused of both misogyny and simpage. I can’t win. So why do it? Because no one else will!

Let’s start with a wide shot: I agree with about 70 to 90 percent of the common wisdom in the “red pill” “MGTOW” community. They err in a few key ways, though, which makes that 10 to 30 percent gap quite significant. For one, the majority of these commentators aren’t Christians nor do they particularly value the social mores, habits, and attitudes of old Christian Europe. These ones often scoff at the word chivalry and developed the phrase “white knight” as an insult. For two, they almost universally believe the ridiculous theory of evolution and rely heavily on so-called “evolutionary psychology” to ground their analysis of female action.

Now, let’s zoom in a little: The biggest and most immediate problem, from both sides of the gender war, is that we live in a world totally conquered by the ideology of the French Jacobins. The average manosphere commentator isn’t willing to recognize or discuss this. “Equality” reigns supreme and isn’t questioned. Visible, explicit, social hierarchy is taboo and any suggestion otherwise is met with hostility. The fall out, as Burkean Conservatives could (and have) predicted is utter societal chaos. Women, especially, literally don’t know when a man is worthy of them, where as, in the past (say, in Jane Austen’s day), his class and status would have been clearly understood from the outset. In the Austen situation, a woman may still turn down a man’s advances, but she would be empowered to do so much more politely and civilly. Everyone observing would realize the man was within his social rights to aim for the girl he was approaching. If an unworthy man (of a lower social status and class) rose above himself like a dirty scoundrel with no tact, and propositioned a lady, he’d be swiftly and immediately dealt with by the lady’s male protectors, without her having to be involved in the confrontation.

Today, however, men who are far below a woman in eligibility will, nevertheless, “shoot their shot”, which quite rightly enrages the girl, who implicitly realizes she’s far more valuable than such a proposition (from a man in a lower social class) warrants. It’s not endearing or flattering. It’s insulting. I know this because, as a man, when I’m propositioned by low-class, 300lb, Shaniqua at the gas station (who be thinking my eyes be all blue), it’s not flattering. It’s audacious and insulting. The problem comes from both men and women not knowing their places because they have no clearly defined place.

In modern America social status and class are secret, implicit, categories that are taboo to openly discuss. Excepting, of course, those rare opportunities the Satanic priests of the new Jacobin world order get to teach us what our place truly is. While there is formally no status or class in America, the true acolyte of our modern religion knows that some animals are more equal than others. And right now, women are “queens” and encouraged to think of themselves as impossibly high value and high class, so much so the average man has no viable option with them (romantically), while men, especially white Southern Christian men like myself, are taught that we are less than worthless and have nothing at all to provide to a modern goddess. Our respect, our time, our attention, and our money, are to be freely given to a woman,in exchange for her mere attention and a peck or two on the cheek. Meanwhile, while we’re acting as living “wallets”, she’s out chasing after the next chad peacock because, chastity, don’t cha know, is not for the “strong” woman.

At any rate, mountains of ink have been spilled on this topic from the manosphere. I can’t add much more other than to provide a simple solution for Christians – a solution the manosphere guys have no access to. Women should not get their sense of value (or their estimation of their class status) from modern feminists or from pop-culture, and certainly not from leering men with their pseudo-validation. Men, likewise, need to ignore the shaming tactics of feminist witches and pop-culture shamans. We both ought to look to old European culture and social mores to objectively classify ourselves, have a firm idea of our social value and the social value of others – then look to those of a similar class and status when choosing a possible romance.

More on this to come…

Review: The Truth About COVID

To be honest friends, personal circumstances make it difficult for me to provide as thorough of a review as I’d like. You may have noticed a lack of commentary about the so-called pandemic here at Shotgun Barrel Straight. Much of that is due to my self-conscious decision to avoid current events and a refusal to allow the demoniacs in what is popularly called “the media” to influence my writing. I’ve not taken COVID seriously. Let this review count as a remedy for at least that much…

For many years I’ve approached health issues from an alternative paradigm, one that, while popular in many circles, also seemed to flow seamlessly from my Christian worldview. God created our bodies to heal themselves when required. With a proper lifestyle that avoids being a mindless consumer, practices back to the land habits, agrarian wholesomeness, and has an eye for supplementation when needed, I believe the bulk of modern sicknesses can be avoided. Moreover, with rigorous water-fasting, I believe the really scary ailments of modernity can be readily handled. Where these methods fail, God Himself may step in (if we ask Him).

Two weeks ago, a few hours after that fine dinner I mentioned in a previous post, my parents came down with a terrible cold. My mom texted me saying they thought it was bronchitis and suggested we move our plans up a few days. The next text I got was from my sister, saying both of my parents had been rushed in an ambulance to the E.R…

…now, friends, both of my parents are locked away in the protective custody of the lab-coat-wearing pagans, and we’re not sure how much longer either will live. My mother has been on life-support for almost two-weeks and the doctor is hinting that we need to “make the decision.”

This is a terribly difficult time, as you all might imagine. Any prayers would be appreciated.

In the turmoil I decided to immerse myself in COVID literature and Mercola’s book was top of my list. While I’m not in the best frame of mind for recounting all the information presented therein (and it’s quite considerable), I, nevertheless, appreciated the systematic coverage of the issue. Mercola has been in the alternative health industry for many decades. I’ve been reading his articles off and on for years. While he’s not perfect – his book, especially, has its faults – his is a trusted and authoritative voice. I turn to him often.

The faults in the book reflect his overall reliance on a generally liberal worldview when it comes to racial issues and the pandering to minorities. COVID is bad, among all the other reasons, because of how disproportionately it affects the black community. This is oft-repeated throughout the book and while I read it as a desperate attempt to rally liberals to his cause, it’s a tactic that stems from his genuine acceptance of such nonsensical ideology.

But with that caveat out of the way, this is probably the best book-length treatment of COVID and all the surrounding issues from an alt-health paradigm. He not only covers the virus, itself, and possible therapies for avoiding it (or helping treat it), he covers the entire cultural and economic impact. He presents the pandemic in a broader political framework as a tool used by the Satanic globalists (Bill Gates especially) to usher in a new-world-order (or: the great reset)…this techno-cratic hell where every aspect of our lives is completely governed and we’ll all, essentially, live in a giant, digital, prison.

In the early chapters, he discusses the official narrative of the origin of the virus – where it supposedly emerged from a bat after somehow miraculously mixing with a pangolin, whereupon it’s ingested by Chinese people at a Wuhan market. This, says Mercola, is utterly ridiculous. He destroys this official narrative and paints a more sinister picture: a global arms race for biological weapons, where numerous biolabs all over the world conduct their experiments while dodging government oversight and avoiding international law.

He gives the “elites” the benefit of the doubt by suggesting the virus leaked as the result of an accident, but one need only listen to a few minutes of a Bill Gates (or some other equivalent demoniac) to see how easily accidents of this sort could be planned. When a billionaire says there are too many people in the world and when the same billionaire says there’s going to be a massive outbreak, we ought to take him at his word. When they run simulations and plan for media battles and coverups and when they hire major Hollywood actors to act-out desired compliance (all documented in Mercola’s book), we need to take them seriously.

Gates, according to Mercola, has predicted a second, even worse, outbreak. We’re already seeing some ungodly “monkey pox” in the news. Will that be the next big thing?

Speaking of conspiracies and viruses, I’m always reminded of something R.J. Rushdoony used to say. He said that ever since our country began there have been evil men conspiring together. When a country is healthy, Christian, and well-educated, these conspiracies never come to fruition. We have a healthy spiritual immune system. But when we are spiritually dead? That’s when the conspiracies, like viruses, take hold of a people.

God help me but I’m at the point now of wondering if my parents might not be better off with God calling them home. If this is their end, then it’s their end. I’ve done all I can do. They’re in God’s hands now…

…as are we all.

Shotgun on Summer Fleek

I just had an incident in the gas-station.

I was walking back to look at drinks when two white girls approached from around the aisle. They looked about 13 or 14. Their noses had gaudy piercings and both girls were covered in tattoos.

I stepped aside out of instinct but apparently not far enough for the second girl who said, in a thick negro accent: “es-cooose you…” She had massive fake eyelashes and her nails be all did…

I said: “Oh, I’m sorry. I only step aside for white girls…”

At which point, she flew into a profanity-riddled rage, making a huge scene in the store. Her sister(?), slightly more white in style, managed to grab the girl and pull her, still shouting, out of the store. Apparently, I’m an ugly old white racist who wanted to do unspeakable things (of a sexual nature) to the girl…news to me….

I’m still shaking. Honestly, I’m more furious at the demonic alchemists who’ve successfully transformed our women into negros than I am at the girl.

The black lady at the register was shaking her head when I finally made it to check out.

“MMmmmMmmm…some people aint got no manners…”

“…must be the heat.” I said…

~ Further Thoughts ~

I’ve been watching youtube vids of guys who play pranks on their wives and/or girlfriends. Most of the pranks are abhorrent and inexcusable (like pretending to commit adultery only to reveal to a devastated wife that it was a joke all along, or any prank having to do with fake proposals).

Some are kind of cute, though. In one, they call their wife by her full name, at which point, she comes shuffling into the room confused, hurt, and often angry. She asks: “what? Did I do something wrong?” The low-class wives come in hot, hands on hips, using profanity. They insist they be referred to as “babe, baby, love,” or some other, equally vapid pet-name. “Why you be usin’ my real name like that? What’s wrong with you?”

So, as a man who’s never had a long-term relationship, what is the deal with this? I can’t imagine referring to a woman I love as “baby” or “babe”…she’s not a pig. I’ve spent too much time imagining the name of my future wife to neglect it during the course of our happily-ever-after.

Am I off base here? It’s ok if I am. I know the pet-name is a mark of love and intimacy and maybe if I ever have a wife she’ll be off-put by my use of her actual name instead. Maybe I’m just so out of touch with couples-culture that normal relationship things seem odd?

But I’ve heard girls who like to scribble the name of their crush in their diaries or on their desks at school. I’m not as overt as all that, but I think I would relish and delight in the name of any woman who loves me…

Southern Roots

I went out to eat with my parents last night. The restaurant was about 45 minutes away from where I grew up. Far enough away so you don’t see people you know, or so we thought.

When your roots run deep in the south, you see old friends in unexpected places.

We were just sitting down good when a large party got up to leave. As they were passing our table, they stopped. Turns out, we knew them all. They were in various positions of law-enforcement, dispatch, firefighting, local government, etc. My parents knew them all. Moreover, I was, apparently, famous among this crowd.

I was too young to remember them, but we used to all go to the same church. The preacher at the church was a staple in the community and had a characteristically rowdy son. Today, we might diagnose the kid as hyper-active. His mouth and his feet were always in motion. He was older than the rest of us kids which made him a natural bully.

Well, me being me, ever the showman at my young age (I must have been five or six), I was tasked with giving a prayer in front of the congregation. So what did I do? Well, apparently, I said a long and hilarious prayer for the soul of the preacher’s child, asking God to help the boy settle down and act right.

So, here I am, long way away from home, lots of cares on my mind about the world and my place in it…and a crowd of seniors are laughing at something I did as a child. I only had the faintest memory of it and that only bubbled up thanks to their recollections. It was endearing all the same.

To know and be known is the most divine thing we humans can do.

This heart to heart connection with others and with God Himself is our only path to salvation…

Maybe I’ve been wrong to focus so much on severing those roots by moving to a foreign locale? I thought about my last blog post as I drove home. I used to struggle with suicidal thoughts and, as far as I knew, I had defeated them. But what if I just replaced thoughts of suicide with thoughts of leaving the country? Both have the same emotional resonance…

Patriotic Expatriation

I will not, I will not, I will not devolve into cynicism here! I promise!

Is leaving a burning house cynical?

Here’s a question for you stay’n’fighters…

What are you fighting for?

My southern friends like to launch into romance on this point, even though when I launch into romance, they ridicule me for it. I’m a realist when they’re romantic, and they’re romantic when I’m a realist. Once again, I find myself on the opposite point of emphasis from my friends.

“Our ancestors fought for this soil, and I will to! I’m not leaving Dixie!”

Ok, well, take a five-gallon bucket, fill it with dirt, and take it with you. Plant a rose bush in your new, foreign, plantation using soil from conquered Dixie. Grow your yellow roses in peace. Dixie is dead. Or do you think so highly of your Tara you’d like to watch the weeds gather over it from behind the bars of your local gulag? Do you want to see trans-children frolicking gayly through George Floyd park, guided by their homosexual handlers, all built on the smoldering ruins of your Tara?

Land has only ever grown people and once the people are rotten, the land is useless. Our ancestors knew this which is why they came to America in the first place. So fleeing *is* in our genes and in our religion too. Christ told us what to do when we see the abomination that causes desolation.

But what of the second retort from the stay’n’fighters?

“We have a political system to defend!”

I’ll leave such people to their delusions. You can fight and die for your propositions. I want none of it. Your propositions didn’t save you from liberalism. No constitution can do that. You think it was the presence of slaves here in the states that did us in? You think it was women getting the vote? Recall: there was a time when only white men and property owners could vote and we *still*, despite that utopian system, descended into this…

No…political machines, magical words on paper, scientifically-arranged social orders, none of that stops liberalism. Only hearts connected to the divine heart can stop liberalism. And only if there are sufficient numbers of them.

I’ll look at the final and most convincing argument from the stay’n’fighters…

“My family is here, my extended family, my church friends and social community. We’re all still Christian and we can’t all just leave…”

Christ addresses these, too. Woe to pregnant women and nursing mothers in those days…

I’m as sorry as I can be for you, but you know what? I haven’t been blessed with a wife or a family. Moreover, I’m usually ridiculed for this by the holier-than-thou super-trads. Joke’s on them, now. My alleged failings as a man may be what saves me, at least so far as I’m mobile and can easily transplant. Besides, I’ve been surrounded by feminist harpies all my life and am now of an age where I envision myself living without the love of a good woman. I don’t want a woman unless she comes with roots and a country.

I like country girls. :D

You all are blind if you can’t see what has happened with this “Great Reset”. The demoniacs who control our country have moved into a phase of increasing tyranny unlike anything I ever thought I’d see. I always thought Orwell was over-the-top. “Things might get bad, but it’ll never be *that* bad…” … I was naive.

Whenever I read a futuristic novel about some dystopian state, I always imagine myself slipping out of it and living in the woods. Taking the forest path.

You stay’n’fighters can hate me for it, but I’ll be living a free, though diminished life, in some non-American hinterland. I haven’t picked out a country yet, but I’ve mentioned my parameters before. It’ll be one where I’m free. Where I can be a man. Where I can impose Godly order over my little slice.

I’ll raise a coconut full of homemade wine to you stay’n’fighters, while we watch the sunset – me from my remote beach, you from your gulag cell.