April 8th, Solar Eclipse, and CERN

Recently I have been too busy with life to cover some of the things that really matter. And mixed in between my busy life I had several different examples of young(er) men either believing in the despair of modern times, or having bought the black pill on women, or relationships, or life in general, that I tried to answer to them briefly individually, but it brought home once more, why I write.

And in this regard, although most people would never pair these two very different books this way, I think both Caveman Theory and BELIEVE! are possibly the most important I have put together. Caveman Theory is only available as a digital E-book because there is no way Amazon or the other big stores would carry it, as it exposes a bit too much truth for the various peddlers of lies, while BELIEVE! You can find as a paper book there too.

In a way they are the opposite ends of the spectrum. BELIEVE! Was written from the perspective I wish I had encountered when the very concept of Christianity in general, never mind Catholicism in particular, seemed not just absurd and stupid, but even actively evil. There is no denying the Pedophiles and Satanic nonsense and protection of the Pedos that goes on in Bergoglio’s false Church, and Ratzinger’s before him, all the way back to 1958. They ARE evil. Not just as individual fake Popes and priests and Bishops, which the Church has always had, but in their entirety, as an organisation, the entirety of the Novus Ordo fake Catholic Church IS materially and demonstrably evil. And while a LOT of good people remain in it, through ignorance mostly, the same excuse cannot be held for their fake clerics. So of course one would think Catholicism is evil. And I did too. Because they fooled the whole world and what they practice now is the destruction of Catholicism. No one who does not remember Pious XII, who died on the 9th October 1958, has even ever seen or heard a Valid Pope. You’d have to be at least 80 today to have been ten when he died. Every “Pope” after him, every one of them since that day, has been an impostor. But that is a topic I cover in far more detail in Reclaiming The Catholic Church. In BELIEVE! I just cover the very basics in a way I never encountered when I was not Christian.

When I was a man that believed primarily in the concept of having a word, that is a man who kept his word, and had the concepts of honour, truth and justice, but no sense of any god whatsoever, and trusted only in reality as I saw it, and my wit and reflexes to navigate life. I had therefore spent my life in martial arts and doing whatever interested me most. I had spent time with many different women and even got married and divorced twice and all the pain and trouble that goes with that, and I’d hand plenty of extreme experiences in every respect, including supernatural ones that would have made any normal person believe at least something rather deeply. But nothing had moved me from my engineer’s and real scientist’s perspective of requiring empirical and objective, factual proof. I had theories. I could explain any of the supernatural events with multiple possibilities and ignore any subjective internal preference or feeling.

Being a little on the spectrum but high IQ does allow you to do that, objectively and fairly, which is why to the outside world they can sometimes assume I am some kind of sociopath, which is absolutely not the case, since it is not that I do not empathise or do not have feelings. I do, and they are usually stronger than most people’s because with a greater imagination also comes a greater ability to imagine the pain of others, but the advantage I have is a wiring of brain that means I cannot help but see the logic. The numbers. The cold reality behind it all. A little bit like Neo in the Matrix I suppose, while others get stuck in the emotions of the apparent situation, I have always been able to see the code flowing behind it. And then I can use that to get back into the apparent reality better armed and ready to take it on, which can make those more embedded in it assume I am some unfeeling alien. Capable and efficient beyond the norm, but unpredictable and at times apparently unfeeling to a degree that gives normal people a level of fear and discomfort they would rather avoid. And I, for my part, would rather avoid their frightened eyes and small minds too. I know they can’t help it and that it is me that is the “freak” from a statistical perspective, so their reaction is predictable and to be expected. But it is no less tiring for me.

Had I come across someone that had written BELIEVE! As I have —that dealt face on with the reality I saw every day and didn’t dodge the questions I had— in short, that would have presented the arguments as I have, and as I saw them, from someone that had done and been in and had done to them, everything from violence to fear, to love, and lust, and betrayal, to both pain and pleasure unexpected and surprising, perhaps I would have gone on to study the truth about Christianity sooner, and maybe I would have saved myself decades of unknowing search.

Well, in that respect, I think that little book BELIEVE! has succeeded. Many men and several women have now converted to Catholicism (the real one, Sedevacantist as we now need to specify in these times) in part at least because of that little book. And then have gone on to find their wife and marry her and now are awaiting the birth of their first child. These are all couples under thirty where the men range from being far from innocent, to generally originally fairly honest men if not necessarily pious.

In that respect then, BELIEVE! is more a text written for those men who wild and unafraid though they are, still have that sense of truth inside them, that will keep them seeking. Like me I guess, if you never stop, eventually it is true that you will find it. But it may take you twenty years or more than it should.

I wanted to help shorten that time. As far as I can tell —and honestly, to my great surprise— BELIEVE! Succeeded in that beyond my wildest dreams.

But some men (including me as I used to be) are really not interested in reading how some fool found God, and a Catholic God at that?! What nonsense. What a scam. Why would I pay some tenner or more for it, never mind read the stupid thing? No. I knew better! And besides, there is pussy to chase and women to fuck! Training and fighting to be had, and missions to accomplish! Fuck that kneeling fag and his cross.

Yeah. I been there too buddy-boy. So pick up your shield and run and charge. Go crashing into all the dragons and enemies, made of the illusion before us all. Fight hard now, mind. Don’t you slack off and be a weak-kneed bleeding faggot yourself now, you hear? No whining and self-pity when you get hurt and bleed like a bitch and are hurt and alone. No god before you, no god behind you, right? So get up. Stand. Fight hard you little bitch. Stop whining. So you go ahead and you do that. I guarantee, hard as you are, if you really do that without ever relenting, you will, in time, find the truth. And I can tell you three things about it now you might remember when you do:

First, it will take you a long time and it will hurt. You will learn and see and live through many things most men never do. But it will hurt and hurt bad. And when it does, if you quit, if you finally lie down and just die, you lose. You don’t get to find out the truth. This is the reality for most such men. The vast majority. But if you do make it, you will look back and see how long and how much error and pain you suffered that was unnecessary, and much worse, how much of it you caused in your zeal. In your honest search. In your best way… how so very wrong you were.

Second, you will know, even against your wish, against all your long-held beliefs, even if it were against the deep story of your ancestors you learned to love, against your best arguments and feelings, these two things: Jesus Christ is the King of Kings, the only King, and you owe him your eternal allegiance, and secondly, the Catholic Church is the only one that has always stated very clearly all of what that entails, and even the rules you don’t like have a logic and a reason and a divine sense to them, and following them can only result in good. There is a third little corollary to this, and it is that the Catholic Church is much reduced and only a few priests and bishops remain, they are called sedevacantists and hold to the eternal truth of their predecessors faithfully. The actual Vatican does not contain a single Catholic in it and is infested with Satanists and probably vast arrays of demons.

Third: you’ll think me a bastard for not having been more insistent that you read BELIEVE! Or at least G.K. Chesterton. But like you, I only found Chesterton after I already had my road to Damascus event.

Anyway, the fact remains many would not even look at BELIEVE! Almost on “principle” thinking I’m just another idiot/grifter/liar spouting Jesus nonsense.

But some of those guys might be interested in what I certainly was all my life: women.

Pretty, sexy women. Especially the ones willing and able to get naked with you and do all sorts of sexual stuff with you. And how to convince the ones not willing, to become more willing. Not in a bad way, not to just use them and get rid of them to hit some magic number of conquests. At least for me that was never a thing. I enjoyed women and I wanted our time together, brief or long, to be good and happy and fun for us both. Most women couldn’t keep up with me intellectually and very often physically too, so the long term stuff tended to become a kind of myth. A Shangri-La of legend, but I never became bitter or angry at women. I just treated them at the level they treated me, and moved on when they irritated me beyond a certain point, which in my case has always been a fairly low threshold, so… there was a lot of moving on. Originally, as a young man my intent was not to bang around as many women as possible. I just wanted one good one. Life just seemed to make that impossible for me. Or maybe me for them. So I just carried on. I wasn’t finding The One but hey, whatever, I was finding numbers two through to whatever, and enjoying the journey. But ideally, sure, I would have liked to find The One. And when I thought I had maybe found her a few times, it turned out to be a mirage. An illusion of my own mind, really. It was only AFTER, the road to Damascus event, only after that, that I realised how badly my own perspective in all this, women, sex, relationships, was lacking truth.

Not because I was such a liar or deceiver to women in general or any of them in particular. In fact, as a general rule I was brutally honest with them, which meant I was called a bastard more than a few times. The lack of truth was in my not having understood, or perhaps it is better to say in having forgotten, what the truth of love is.

We are all born with it originally (excepting maybe a few serious neurological malformations in the brain or soul).

I remember as a two or three year old playing in the dirt with this little girl my age, I still remember her name, Susanna. And I have since forgotten many of the names and even faces, of the women I have been inside of. So much so that I took to writing their names down at one point, because I knew otherwise I would never recall anything about them. Maybe not even any of the intimate moments. But I still remember little Susanna. Playing with her and feeling so content for that brief moment in my grandmother’s garden. Expecting nothing of her or her of me, and just being at peace and serene with her presence there to keep me company as we played. Even as a child my life was far from settled, so maybe it’s that, though I doubt it as I never saw the moving and travelling and changing country and all the rest of it as bad. It was all just a giant adventure, and I liked exploring, always have. So I really believe, as I look back now, to one of the very few clear memories I have from that age, now more than half a century behind me, that the sensation stayed with me so clear and so long because it was maybe the first time I truly experienced the real sensation of peace, and calm and calm joy that comes from love, unimpeded by anything else. Innocent, as two or three year olds are.

And that aspect, is not there anymore when you have fucked and fucked and fucked yourself into dozens of women and them into you, your heart and theirs battered and scarred by all the violent emotions of a life lived in the world and of the world, where the subtle truths of real meaning float alone only inside yourself, unable to connect with those of others except very briefly into a moment of brutal force you exert on each other to feel something. Where even the tender caresses are brutal and painful because ephemeral and not joined to each other’s hearts even when we might see them. You are there and I am here, there is no One.

So now I saw that. And I saw how I had lived and believed, and not for being a bad guy or having any bad intent, but how even so, my vision was so wrong. So mistaken. Honest. Brave even; persevering for certain at least, but alone almost always, even if not lonely. And just… mistaken. And then I took up to trying to read the Bible. And I read Ephasians. And Corinthians. And then I saw.

Then I remembered Susanna. And I knew.

I was always fascinated by astronomy. I have always understood from a very young age the distance between the stars. I was about four and certainly no older than six when I first understood what a light year was. And how far galaxies are from one another. Well, in that moment, in my bedroom at night, alone, in London, in that apartment on the Thames, the second one, not the nicer first one, after reading Ephasians, I sat there and realised how far I was from the truth of love.

That one person I had sought since I was sixteen, consciously, and then just as she became a blur of faces and bodies and orgasms.

My way of being, who I was, was so far from a man that could experience that kind of love, the real one, the one we all want and seek deep down, that I felt the distance between galaxies was short and nearby. I felt as if I was at the outer reaches of the know Universe and moving in the wrong direction anyway, the inertia and momentum of the Big Bang, making it so, regardless of my desire or even intent.

I knew then that at 43 or 44 years of age, either 10 or 11 years ago now, I forget the year but I suspect it was 2013, that I would never know that love I had unknowingly been looking for all my adult life. It simply was not possible for me. I was too far. Too far gone, too much seen and felt and experienced. There weren’t even any other humans out there, much less a woman that could or would love me that way or that I could love her that way, and she be able to experience it. It just was not a thing that could exist. I wasn’t bitter or angry or even very sad about it. A little lonely maybe, but not desperate or torn. Like an animal in a field. A dog alone somewhere with no owner and no pack. Like any animal alone. They feel a kind of something akin to mild sadness, the knowledge they are alone, but there is no sense of self-pity or tragedy. Just like getting wet in the rain. It just is.

And so I knew.

And I had seen and felt God by then, as much as any human being can without bursting into flames anyway, I guess. So I knew it was real and just how it was. And I carried on. I still had to work, and eat, and live, and yes, to fuck too. I carried on seeing women, but far less frequently and there were almost no one night stands any more. Not intentionally anyway. And I tried to put up with their nonsense calmly, because I could see now, who was I to judge them and their ways, after all? Me the voyager at the edge of the Universe. How much closer in their idiotic and irritating ways were they anyway compared to me, to a semblance of truth?

And I could not feel too much, anyway. Which paradoxically meant I spent more time with those women who are most damaged and irreparable. Their own errors of perception and life making them also… voyagers. Not as far lost as me, for they at least were ignorant of their condition. They may have not been all that far from the truth of love as I was, but their blindness meant they could not see the distance anyway. Nor could I explain it to them or even open their eyes. I could, at most, stay near them as best I could, if I could. It was another kind of loneliness. One I felt more than being simply alone by myself. The one woman I ended up spending the most time with in that twilight zone of the senses I was in for some years, was so damaged and hurt and broken, that I think there is a genuine possibility that she was at least partially possessed. She certainly exhibited aspects of it anyway. And whatever it was, emotional instability, or partial demonic influence, despite it, on some level, I did connect with her. It was fractured and partial and unhealthy probably, but on some level I did care for her, or I tried to anyway. Then I had a year in Venice. She came to visit a couple of times, but mostly I was alone and working, and I knew Venice would heal me in the most painful way possible, because that city is so beautiful it hurts. And to be there alone, walk its calles late at night, be alone in that splendour in spring and summer, and the mystic fog of autumn and winter, Christmas and New year alone, and my birthday and the ones of friends and family all far from me… it purifies your heart with beauty and calm.

And I started talking, messaging really, with a girl I had met almost a decade earlier. And just writing to each other on telegram. Sharing our lives and some things that happened in them. And so on.

The story with that possibly possessed woman ended badly. As I knew it probably would. And my work with the people that had me transfer to Venice ended in a similar fashion when I exposed to the owner that his managers were taking kickbacks.

In the films the guy who does that is the hero and wins, right? Well. I knew better, because I’d been in that position before, just not at the money I was getting paid this time. But money is just money. I like to have a clean shaven face mostly, and that requires looking in a mirror in the morning. I could have kept quiet and file false reports and would have had at least 100k stashed away which sure would be helpful now, and I don’t and I didn’t. So I kept my personal sense of honour (which I stress is only mine and may not even look remotely good to anyone else, but it is mine, and it works for me) and lost the money and the job. I moved back to London and then, that girl I had been talking to… well… we talked some more. In person. We went for dinner. We kissed. And then, one day, she just moved in. And yes, now we have 5 children between us, and yes I am no longer alone on the outer reaches of the Universe, but the whole impossible journey does not make any sense if you try to look at it with normal, human eyes. But that is where we all start from.

So I wrote Caveman Theory, to take the journey in the other way. Not after a fall, that like with Saul, blinded him for four days and then showed him God and made him a zealot that wrote half the New Testament as Paul.

That book I already wrote, and that’s BELIEVE!, and then I followed it with my attempt at doing a Thomas Aquinas, and laying out the case for the Catholic Church, and how to reclaim it in detail. And it is no wonder that both my books are both much smaller than the works produced by people they aspired to emulate (unconsciously until this very moment, and only in the dimmest sense, to form an analogy). I am no Paul, nor a Thomas Aquinas, but nevertheless those are the equivalent products insofar as my mind is able to emulate them.

Caveman Theory is the journey of the man who lives in the world and is of it and cares not for religion or God. All he knows are his senses and his untamed heart. And women (or men, if you are a woman). And if you are still a little bit human inside, however deeply buried, then, the thing you want, on some level, is to find that One.

And you may be blind. You may remain blind. But even so, in some way, even the wrong paths can lead to Rome. Honesty at least with yourself is a must, but perhaps, through your pursuit of love, in all the wrong places, through, lust, and emotion, and pain, heartache and sex, if you at least stay honest with yourself, and read the concepts in Caveman Theory, you will gently begin to see more and maybe your eyes will open when you see that ultimately, even with no God at all, with zero preaching on my side, just with the practical and the factual human truth before you, when it is stripped of all the lies, you will see a Truth that is larger than the mere whole. At least, that is my hope. And if not, well, then at least you’re still more likely to find a lasting relationship with the concepts in it than not.

Good luck soldier, or madam, as the case may be.

I hope my efforts are a help to you, it is, truly, the only reason I write anything, other than a small amount also for personal amusement (my last book In the Shadow of Monte Castello was mostly all just fun for me, but even then, a little of it was done for others too, even if less so than in any other book I have yet written so far).

But regardless of whether you ever buy a single one of my books or not, I sincerely hope you find your true Way. Your path. And that means the right people to share it with. And as far as I can tell, God intended for us to not be alone, so that means also that you find the right wife or husband for you, and are able to recognise her or him when you meet them, and not waste time in between.

God be with you in your search.