Archive for the ‘Farming Life’ Category

Warriors and Farmers – Part II

I described earlier some of the similarities between Farmers and what for want of a better word —because unfortunately the woke mobs have somewhat reduced the term— I refer to as warriors.

There probably needs to be a short preamble on that word for later ease of understanding (and reference) so that those of you that become regular readers will gradually begin to “speak my language” as any good friends invariably end up doing when discussing philosophy and life; using even common words with a more specific and narrowly defined meaning.

So, then, here is my take on warriors as I see them.

Warriors: a definition

Warriors are NOT soldiers or police or generally speaking members of an organised army of a nation. Warriors can exist in those fields but are a rarity there and by (my) definition not part of such organisations by choice; precisely because soldiers, cops, etc. are merely the enforcing arm of politicians. A warrior has more of a functioning brain and code of ethics than to simply be a tool for some parasite to use for his own ends. Nevertheless, they can get drafted or occasionally end up in such places through one of the random paths life takes sometimes.

Warriors will tend to be far closer to old style hunters than soldiers. They may be professional fighters or private (freelance) security or mercenaries, but once again, generally not. You may find them working as bouncers, boxers, MMA enthusiasts, and so on, but they may also just be peaceful hikers that like hinting, weapons in general and want to simply be free to raise their families in peace.

Ultimately, a warrior will fight for principle over externally imposed “duty”. He will fight for those he loves and do so without hesitation but possibly care nothing for ideologies about this or that political side or even his supposed nation.

That last point though is a very recent development. A warrior did and should care about his nation. But Nations in the West have been destroyed, infiltrated, “diversified” and atomised, so people hardly even recognise them as such. Nations used to be relatives and people like you that thought and believed largely like you too, so it was natural to be willing to fight to protect them.

Having given the word “warrior” some “flesh”, I retune to the similarities and differences between them and farmers.

Farmers and Warriors

My friend came over again and we spent the last 8 hours non stop working on the farm. He on the tractor and me machete in hand. I am still recovering from a bout of weird sickness everyone else in our house had had but it hit me last, so I was not as efficient as I would have liked and had to work a couple or three of the hours in the shade. But despite feeling far from fit, neither nor my friend stopped for pretty much anything other than a drink of water.

He is the only other guy other than myself and my father, that I met, who has that kind of attitude towards work.

We talked little, only when clearing the radiator of dust or discussing a clearing area we wanted to create, and I noted how the farmer is just as patient, cautious and observant as the warrior/hunter, and just like them, the farmer will not hesitate to make a strong decision and run with it. The only appreciable difference I noticed is that the hunter is generally able to respond faster. Nature of the game, after all.

My friend has had all the same kind of experiences I had related to hunting, only they were related to farming.

At 13 he was tilling the earth with his dad’s tractor. At 13 I shot my first buffalo.

The other similarity I noticed is that neither type boasts. We can joke and play the fool or tease a silly man pretending to know more than he does. We may recount stories from our past, but at least half the time we are making fun of our own bad choices. But someone will almost never realise our level of competence at our talent, at least not unless they themselves become witnesses to the use of such talents.

Later in life, from our age on, we may discuss aspects of our knowledge in a general way, to share what we know with younger people, but it’s only by asking specifics that I find out what my farmer friend had to learn early on, or what kind of hardship he endured to learn it.

Neither of us had “easy” fathers, we were expected to use our reason and get things done regardless of our age. The whiny “but da-aaad” mentality simply does not exist in us and the first instinct we have when faced with a supposedly impossible problem or one requiring a supposed “expert” to solve, is to immediately try and figure out how to overcome the issue on our own terms.

My jury-rigging tends to be faster, his more durable. Working as a team there is a kind of synthesis that normally only appears between men that have worked together for years. But in our case it’s a bit like Russian Cosmonauts in Space; technically they have a ranked hierarchy, but practically, whoever knows more takes over the role of leader. It’s natural, does not require any talking and each one falls into the role of leader or attentive follower as required.

It really is a pleasure to work with the man, and despite our fathers having been pretty harsh, I think possibly the only other man that kind of synthesis of action worked with was my own father.

And today my boy came out to us of his own volition. He wanted me to have him ride the tractor with me again (I had done it a day or so earlier, barely able to walk still from my illness, but I has promised him I’d take him on it) and today after he rode the tractor with my friend and pulled a few levers and he was asked if he had fun he simply said a laconic: “Yup.”

Later when it was just the two of us he opened up more and told me he liked riding the tractor a lot.

He’d sat with me watching me cut a few things branches and clearing stuff and reorganising a water line and electric line to better accommodate where the chicken coop will go.

And that morning at breakfast with just us two, as all his sisters and mother were still in bed he told me how he loves our home and how school is boring when you have to go every day.

Just hold on a bit longer son. If I can manage it you’ll be home schooled and be able to learn far more than they would try and indoctrinate into you. I just need his Italian to become fluent first. And a few more parents on the same page as us.

It may be slow, but it’s coming together.

Others called my project the Kurganate and I went along with it since they had given me the nickname already anyway, but the reality is I don’t much care what it’s called. As long as we can build a strong community that is self-sufficient and capable of retaining its independence no matter what, and hopefully do so before ai drop dead of old age, it will be worth it.

If you’re not doing something along these lines then you have my prayers and sadness. This is just the start of what will need to be done to protect your freedom to be a human being and not some half-cyborged slave-class property of some Satanic Oligarch.

One of the last things I said to my friend today:

“It’s funny how your life and mine seem to be parallels of each other, yours in farming, mine in hunting.”

His reply:

“It’s a good combination. Both will be needed.”

I told him whatever we manage to grow on my land we will share so his family too can benefit. It is my land, bought and paid for and it will hopefully go to my children after I pass, but if my plan works, others will buy land and property near us with the same mindset and the same religion; and proper Catholicism will rise again.

The next few posts will expose what you can expect in the coming years. This is how you prepare.

The Coming Chaos

Simplicius has an excellent post on the inner workings of Mordor. And if you live in or near Mordor, it behoves you to read the whole thing. It really spells out in plain and simple language what some of us have known in the broader sense about the USA for decades, but also details the effects of the real vermin that infests that country.

Todd Starnes: 

Something smells. 

Why would President Biden announce such a momentous and historic decision on a Sunday afternoon on a social media platform? The letter he posted was not written on White House stationary. And his signature appeared to be photoshopped. Also, Biden’s signature was underlined and typically he does not underline his name. 

His staff only found out once the message had been posted on X. And Cabinet members were notified by the Chief of Staff — not Biden. 

The last time the public saw Biden he feebly walked down the stairs of Air Force One and had to be physically assisted into the presidential limo. He has not been seen in public since. 

How do we know Biden wrote that letter? And how do we know that Biden posted the letter on his X page? There wasn’t even an official White House photograph of the moment. 

His brother, Frank Biden, told CBS News that health “absolutely” was the deciding factor in the decision. And then he told CBS “Selfishly, I will have him back to enjoy whatever time he has left.” 

Is President Biden still alive? Is he awake and alert? Is he in command of his faculties? With respect, we need to see proof of life.

It’s clear there is far more going on under the hood than meets the eye. 

Firstly, it all ties into the Trump assassination attempt and ongoing Congressional testimony of Director of Secret Service Kimberly Cheatle. The testimony has revealed there are likely a lot of things being hidden from the public about the would-be assassin Thomas Crooks and his potential dealings with the FBI. 

Tellingly, Cheatle refused to answer if Crooks was “acting alone”:

An investigation by Heritage foundation showed that a digital device visiting Crooks’ home multiple times has been geo-located to the vicinity of an FBI office in Washington DC in late June. 

The regime is being laid bare before our eyes. What are the chances that literally only a week or two after the failed assassination of his chief rival, the “most popular president in history” (80+ million votes!) unceremoniously drops out—and now there’s even talk of an imminent resignation from the presidency. Things are off the Richter scale of uncanniness.

That’s right peasants, in the interest of saving demonocracy, the illusion of democracy has now been done entirely away with to ensure you get the demon you deserve in place.

I of course have been saying for about 35 years that the only way to get rid of parasitic, vampiric, infesting, toxic, thieving vermin, is to simply eradicate it. And as I am, of course, dealing with brambles on a massive scale, I have taken to heart the kind note that a reader suggested with regard to a specific type of Spanish Scythe.

And while, I am far away from Mordor, it is well known, that servants of Sauron, in the form of Nazgul, are spread throughout all of the Earth, and they run the lands for him all over our accursed Earth.

But that is why I concentrate on eradicating the vile devil-spawned infesting things. And after, I shall build walls. Long, beautiful walls with look-out towers, so we can see any invading orcs from afar.

And when the Nazgul send their orcs, we will be ready.

I strongly suggest if you live in or near Mordor that you prepare accordingly, as I have advised for at least three years on this blog. Ge tout of the worst orc-infested areas, build communities of Men (Catholics) or whatever other tribe you belong to, Hobbits, Elves, Half-elves, whatever (Heretics and Heathens) to prepare and be ready to push back at the orc-hordes (SJWs, Feminists, Communists, LGBT-Pedoists, “Pagans”, “Wiccans”, Gatekeepers, Frauds, Impostors (Novus Ordo fake “Catholic” Clergy), Pro-abortionists, Freemason, Rosicrucians, Satanists, etc. after all, their name is Legion).

It is the only way. it has always been this way. Such is the battle between Evil and Good.

So take heart, make ready, grow your communities, your food, your clean water, your energy indipendence, and sharped your Two-Handed swords, war-hammers, Bastard Swords, Long Swords, Short Swords, Daggers, Arrows tips and bolts, balance your maces and flails, train your warhorses and raise your male children as warriors and your female children as feminine maidens that are nevertheless able to stab usurpers in the neck with their painted and pretty steel needles doubling as hair-arranging “pins”.

The wave of Mordor’s Chaos will surge over all lands soon enough.

So prepare, Western man. Prepare and be of a glad heart and raised Spirit.

Farmwork, Farmers, and Warriors

I’ve not blogged this weekend really, because, having broken the joint between the tractor and the trincia twice in a row, this weekend was spend doing work more to my station in life as far as farming is concerned:

Swinging a machete at brambles and various weeds and shoots at the base of my olive trees for 7 hours in a row while my good friend who is born to tractors the way I was born to guns, spent the same time making my almost jungle into a pristine field.

The man worked without a shirt or suntan lotion the whole time and the exhaust from the tractor had covered him in a fine layer of soot by the end of the day. Walking back to the house for some fish lunch/dinner my daughter had actually cooked, I said:

“Well, I was doing most of the slave-work, but looks like you’re the black one today.”

His reply: “What, this? No, this is suntan lotion.”

He’s a little guy but he’s tough, and even though we only met some three years ago, I knew right away the kind of guy he is. Very polite but will not hesitate to speak his mind, so after the first few times we met up with him and his wife and son and he started helping me here and there when he asked me something a few weeks after we met I told him: “Look. There is no point in all the politeness with me. I’m kind of a savage, so let’s just pretend we’ve known each other for 30 years and we can dispense with the formalities.”

He’s spent about 30 hours in the last three weekends helping me out, not to mention finding the tractor with attachments in the first place. He’d spent about a month or so visiting people over 100km away to see their tractors (in the rain in the final instance) because he knew I am about as ignorant as a goat about Tractors.

When I got the tractor and saw what I had, I realised it was literally worth twice what I paid for it, so I told him it wasn’t my tractor. It was ours. I put in cash, he put in the sweat and knowledge.

If I manage to make this farm economically viable, I plan to share whatever profits we can make with him.

And though it will be a much simpler task than what he’s been doing tractor-wise, when he eventually gets his rifle, I plan to take him to the range and help him with what I know.

Truly the friendships between men that are still men is a unique thing. And may a curse lie on all those freaks that try and make this kind of friendship as if it were in some way related to their own degenerate faggotry. Polluting everything from the Illiad to Ancient Rome with their revisionist fake news.

I commented to a friend that while I am just about useless as a farmer, because I come from hunters, soldiers, fighters, crusaders (literally), and warriors, I have always noticed that farmers and warriors, though being different, always have a deep respect for each other.

He commented that:

“Because reality has been a real bitch to both of them.”

And I said:

“Yet neither type resents it.”

And it’s true. I think we get on because you absolutely cannot be a farmer or a fighter or a hunter without accepting reality.

And the ways are kind of similar if applied differently.

Both need to be patient. The farmer to plan and do his work according to the weather and proper ways of nature. The hunter to track and stalk or wait for his prey, regardless of the weather.

When action is required it has to be decisive and swift but not emotional or impulsive.

A farmer and a warrior both must love and take care of their tools, yet not be so attached to them either, as ultimately they are a means to an end.

In all things, farming and warring with other men force you to deal with reality and nature, because, like food and water, like the weather, violence among men has always existed, and as long as we are on this Earth, always will.

It’s funny how both his name and mine are quite literally dedicated to God and His Love for us humans. He’s named after one of the few cool Popes and his surname literally means From God’s Place.

I’m named after Mary’s husband and my surname is from the Greek for Friend or Lover, as is my family motto on our shield: Love Conquers All.

God truly has a subtle and refined sense of humour. And life is good.

Farmwork, Farmers, and Warriors

I’ve not blogged this weekend really, because, having broken the joint between the tractor and the trincia twice in a row, this weekend was spend doing work more to my station in life as far as farming is concerned:

Swinging a machete at brambles and various weeds and shoots at the base of my olive trees for 7 hours in a row while my good friend who is born to tractors the way I was born to guns, spent the same time making my almost jungle into a pristine field.

The man worked without a shirt or suntan lotion the whole time and the exhaust from the tractor had covered him in a fine layer of soot by the end of the day. Walking back to the house for some fish lunch/dinner my daughter had actually cooked, I said:

“Well, I was doing most of the slave-work, but looks like you’re the black one today.”

His reply: “What, this? No, this is suntan lotion.”

He’s a little guy but he’s tough, and even though we only met some three years ago, I knew right away the kind of guy he is. Very polite but will not hesitate to speak his mind, so after the first few times we met up with him and his wife and son and he started helping me here and there when he asked me something a few weeks after we met I told him: “Look. There is no point in all the politeness with me. I’m kind of a savage, so let’s just pretend we’ve known each other for 30 years and we can dispense with the formalities.”

He’s spent about 30 hours in the last three weekends helping me out, not to mention finding the tractor with attachments in the first place. He’d spent about a month or so visiting people over 100km away to see their tractors (in the rain in the final instance) because he knew I am about as ignorant as a goat about Tractors.

When I got the tractor and saw what I had, I realised it was literally worth twice what I paid for it, so I told him it wasn’t my tractor. It was ours. I put in cash, he put in the sweat and knowledge.

If I manage to make this farm economically viable, I plan to share whatever profits we can make with him.

And though it will be a much simpler task than what he’s been doing tractor-wise, when he eventually gets his rifle, I plan to take him to the range and help him with what I know.

Truly the friendships between men that are still men is a unique thing. And may a curse lie on all those freaks that try and make this kind of friendship as if it were in some way related to their own degenerate faggotry. Polluting everything from the Illiad to Ancient Rome with their revisionist fake news.

I commented to a friend that while I am just about useless as a farmer, because I come from hunters, soldiers, fighters, crusaders (literally), and warriors, I have always noticed that farmers and warriors, though being different, always have a deep respect for each other.

He commented that:

“Because reality has been a real bitch to both of them.”

And I said:

“Yet neither type resents it.”

And it’s true. I think we get on because you absolutely cannot be a farmer or a fighter or a hunter without accepting reality.

And the ways are kind of similar if applied differently.

Both need to be patient. The farmer to plan and do his work according to the weather and proper ways of nature. The hunter to track and stalk or wait for his prey, regardless of the weather.

When action is required it has to be decisive and swift but not emotional or impulsive.

A farmer and a warrior both must love and take care of their tools, yet not be so attached to them either, as ultimately they are a means to an end.

In all things, farming and warring with other men force you to deal with reality and nature, because, like food and water, like the weather, violence among men has always existed, and as long as we are on this Earth, always will.

It’s funny how both his name and mine are quite literally dedicated to God and His Love for us humans. He’s named after one of the few cool Popes and his surname literally means From God’s Place.

I’m named after Mary’s husband and my surname is from the Greek for Friend or Lover, as is my family motto on our shield: Love Conquers All.

God truly has a subtle and refined sense of humour. And life is good.

Life Imitates Art

It is not new for me to write some fiction that later gets revealed to be a lot closer to fact than anyone, including me, had ever thought.

It is also the case that my non-fiction, tends to both be correct as well as ahead of the current paradigm of how reality operates by several decades.

This has been consistently true in really all of my published books, starting with the Face on Mars, which predicted realities about Mars and its magnetosphere as well as many other aspects of the Face and related “City” that have now essentially been proven true even if the level of “noise” from NASA and other current events has had the tendency of sweeping most of these facts under the conscious threshold of most people.

This makes it so that The Face on Mars remains absolutely relevant today and still explains more about human history, what happened on Mars (with factual, empirical evidence, not some woo-woo opinion) antigravity technology, and its origins and consequences than any single volume work ever written to date. And despite one of it central concepts being plagiarised by journalists like Graham Hancock, they still get the baseline history and its rather obvious deductive conclusions wrong, mostly because they have their own egos and pet opinions to overcome. A problem I don’t suffer from since I am merely genuinely interested in the facts, wherever they may lead me.

My personal opinions or imagined flights of fancy I put in my fiction work, as I did over a period of almost 30 years in my fiction omnibus of three books collated in one: Nazi Moon.

And as it turns out, a lot of the fiction in that story, certainly as relates to the technology, but also as it relates to human history to some extent, has outperformed my wildest expectations, since many of the things I thought I was simply “exaggerating” for cinematic effect, in fact prove to be a lot closer to already existing technology than I was aware of at the time of writing.

This is not really all that surprising, because if you are interested in physics, astronomy, space-flight technology, and so on, as you discover some of the enormous lies we have been fed and discover the truer aspects of certain concepts and technologies —and then you find geological and astronomical evidence that fits perfectly with the discovery and the theory you might have pieced together— then, any speculative projections you might make in order to write related science fiction will likely have a logical projection and thread that is often going to fit reality. Even if that reality is hidden or unknown to you when you come up with it.

What I did not expect was that I was spot on even with my most recent fiction, (In the Shadow of Monte Castello) which is what I would call mostly fantasy. That is, the “science” part of my Inferos Vortex series is pure “handwavium”.

Or so I thought.

As it turns out, my absolute fancy guess at the “real” purpose of CERN, turns out to… well… actually be the real purpose of CERN.

At this point I really don’t know what to say, other than load up on silver, small forges, and get thee to a Sede priest right away for baptism and bottles of Holy Water!

And yes, I promise the Inferos Vortex Series is going to be very quick. Book 2 will be out this month, and we’ll see if I do a book 3 or more, but if I do I promise they will be fast on each other’s tails unlike my Overlords of Mars (Nazi Moon) series which took me years to do.

I can say this with some confidence because I wrote book 1 – In the Shadow of Monte Castello in a little over a week. That’s because I wrote it mostly as a divertimento thinking about the opening scene as I was walking on the fields of my property late at night. When I decided to put it down, the rest followed completely naturally and amusingly. I genuinely had a lot of fun writing it. And the same goes for book 2, which is already 80% done despite the last month having been extremely difficult time-wise, and the book being considerably longer than the first one. I will definitely get book 2 out in the next couple of weeks or so and then we will see if it warrants a book 3. Which I have no idea about yet, as I rarely know how things will go until I see where the story goes myself.

What?! You think I control all aspects of what the characters in my story get up to?!? Those guys all have minds of their own. They’d run off the pages and roam the world free if I didn’t keep them inside the computer on my desk!

PS: all links above are to Amazon versions for paper copies only, but a few books are only available in E-Book format only and all E-books are available cheaper and only directly from my E-book store here.

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