Archive for the ‘Farming Life’ Category

Tony Lowe Beats a Heretic With a Stick

Tony is becoming quite the heretic basher, and doing so nicely. He wrote this short book, which is quite entertaining. I know it intimately as he emailed me most of the correspondence as a vetting process before taking my suggestion of putting into book format. If you want to see how deceptive fake “priests” are, this is definitely a good read.

More recently, Tony came across yet another impostor, liar and deceiver, who tried to do a “takedown” of Peter Dimond’s debate with an SSPX heretic.

The original debate was, as I think Vox once described a debate between William Lane Craig and Christopher Hitchens “Frog meets train”.

With Peter Dimond being the train. And yes, the train was fine.

This character; Trent Horn, who has all the charisma of a drone reading a teleprompt, tries to pretend he can derail the train. He cannot, and he does not, and Tony took the time to list just the nonsense Trent Horn says about Catholicism in this video, meant to support the fake, satanic infested Bergoglian “Church” of the Novus Orco.

Here are tony’s notes for just the first 25 minutes of the video, enjoy.

2:00 -> He says that there are no Bishops… wrong because there are Sede Bishops and Bishops can ordain other Bishops.

06:30 -> Contradiction: T. admits that there can be an interregnum (when there is no visible head) and then says that The Church teaches that there will always be a visible head (which it doesn’t say and can’t because there are times of interregnum when there is no visible head)

Also, Sedevacantism doesn’t mean that the office of the Pope has finally ended. The office still exists and The Church still retains the power to elect another Pope, we just don’t have one at present and might not for a while.

9:30 -> Messy interpretation juggling about Bible and prophecies. Still, the Bible does predict a great apostasy.

12:00 -> Red-Herring/Conflation: He mentions past heretical Bishops and then argues that this didn’t mean that The Church defected, but having some heretical clergy is not the same as having a Church that consistently and publicly teaches heresy in councils, liturgy and catechisms!

16:00 -> Very Subtle Argument/Misdirection here…

T. talks about the “sin” of heresy but admits that Popes lose their Papacy if they commit the crime of heresy. Then he argues that the sin of heresy is only private and that the crime is only a crime if it is concluded by a trial. He also argues that priests who mortally sin still retain their Orders (which is true).

The problem is that whether we call it the “sin” or the “crime” The Church teaches that public, manifest heretics are automatically excommunicated (Ispo-Facto) without any public declaration (Canon 188.4)!

The subtle deception results from the fact that it is indeed true that sinful priests or even excommunicated priests retain their orders but, of course, they lose ALL authority! 

Even the Eastern Orthodox still have valid orders but they can’t become Popes.

Now, T. also says that we can’t ever judge when someone has become a public, manifest heretic and so, the logic goes something like this…

If a priest walks into a catholic church and sacrifices a goat on the alter in the name of Satan, no one can really tell whether that priest is a public heretic or not. And so, the laity should patiently wait while he does his ritual and then go to receive the sacraments from him. After all, its only been 10 minutes and no trials have been had yet and so, who are we to say if that is heresy or not?

23:00 -> Bergoglio isn’t in communion with Peter because he contradicts papal teaching and the Catholic faith.

24:00 -> Conflation: He equates “small” with “invisible”. Just because the Church is “small” doesn’t mean it is “invisible”. It wasn’t “invisible” when it only consisted of 12 Apostles and some Holy Women.

24:00 -> Conflation: He says that “If heretics cannot become Pope, therefore no converts can.” WRONG! Converts are not heretics! That’s why they’re converts. They have recanted their heresy and now hold the Catholic faith. This does not apply to heretics, the anti-Popes or their clergy.

24:00 -> Lie: He claims that Cum-Ex Apostolatus Officio was “abrogated” by the 1917 code… No it wasn’t! Its IN the Code!

I will only add that the only fault I find with Peter Dimond’s position is that he (erroneously) does not consider baptism of desire and baptism of blood ads valid, which leads him to essentially not recognise any valid priests or bishops. He is clearly in error on this because he apparently follows the ideas of one Leonard Feeney. But Feeney was excommunicated by Pious XII in 1953, who, of course was the last valid Pope in current times, as we have not had one since then. So, following the ideas of an excommunicated heretic, makes you a heretic in turn, which, sadly, is what Peter Dimond is, purely on this one point, because as far as I have seen from the rest of his site, he is otherwise rigorously correct. As far as I have seen anyway, his site is extensive and I have quoted him in various places and ways when his arguments are correct, which they more often than not are, as well as exhaustive, but I have certainly not perused the entirety of his voluminous works, so I can only attest to those things I have linked or quoted in the past (always giving attribution).

Peter Dimond is a heretic by fault of wanting to be too zealous and thus rejecting a truth that the church has always held, that Baptism of desire and of blood are valid baptisms (rare though they are). But he is otherwise correct on most positions I have seen him take regarding Catholicism. If Dimond corrects this one error he would likely be a model Catholic.

Trent Horn is not correct on anything and he’d have to overhaul his entire thought process to even begin to become a Catholic.

And lastly, on a personal note of pride, while I am certainly not Tony’s dad, I am old enough to be, and I have seen him grow as a Catholic and a man in the few years I have known him. He has helped me very much here on the farm, at personal cost to himself, while being generous and constant in his support of both myself and my family as well as the church. He is a better Catholic than I am in many ways and he continues to improve as he ages, and he is not yet 30. It does make me proud to see how far he has come in such a short time, and I am excited to see what he will create of his life in the years to come.

His takedown of this deceiver is personally satisfying as I can see our conversations have matured and now, he is striking out on his own, taking heretic scalps as he goes, it’s enough to make a man proud. Godspeed Tony.

No related posts.

By G | 25 May 2023 | Posted in Catholicism, Christianity, Farming Life, Sedeprivationism, Sedevacantism

Taboos, Magic and the Human Mind

There is an excellent article on taboos and their differences in different races and cultures, it is truly a good piece, so I suggest you read the whole thing.

I want to focus on one aspect of it that I witnessed myself in extreme context when I was only four years old, but I remember absolutely clearly.

First, a piece from the article for context:

Taboos in Africa where Schweitzer served were not (always) the same for every person, like they are in our culture. In Schweitzer’s society, taboos were created at the individual level, whereas for us they are usually more general. All whites now are forbidden certain speech here, for instance.

Schweitzer says, “There is nothing in life that may not give occasion to a taboo.” Taboos originated in any number of ways, holders often inventing them for themselves, and also desiring to do so. 

One instance: “In the neighborhood of Samkita there lived a woman whose taboo was that she must never touch a broom but do all her sweeping with her hands.” A more important example:

During my first stay, a tragic taboo affair happened at Samkita. A boy at the Mission school there had as his taboo that he must not eat plantains, and must even be careful not to eat any food out of a cooking-pot in which plantains had been cooked immediately before. One day his schoolfellows told him that he had eaten fish from a pot in which there had been remains of plantain. He was immediately seized with cramp and died after few hours. A missionary who was present gave me an account of this perplexing affair.

The modern European will seek for a scientific, medical explanation. A pastime of historians is diagnosing figures from the past from tenuous clues, so strong is the urge to put everything into accepted medical bins. In this case, the modern European will surmise that the boy had a serious allergy, maybe, and the chemical reactions inside his body brought about by eating the plantain caused his death. 

This proves, as do the actions of the unfortunate boy himself, that it is not unusual to try to fit the round pegs of observation into the square holes of theory that culture provides.

But notice, and notice carefully, that there is no indication that the pot had any plantains in it! The other boys only said there were. The taboo killed the boy. 

If you’re not sold by that story, realize there are many, many other similar ones. They are anyway well known, or used to be. And not restricted to Africans. Fahrenbach tells us Comanche life was in most respects ruled by strict custom enforced by taboos, which we discussed before.

What’s important to us today is the causative effect of the taboo. Taboos caused illness and death. There is no doubt of this. Just as other forms of magic gave health and preserved life. There is no doubt of this either.

Europeans call the health-giving properties of magic the “placebo effect”, to make it sound like science, as all things must. Giving a thing a label is sufficient to put it into a bin, so we can more or less forget about it, as if the label has explained something. It’s not surprising that this label-explaining happens most in psychology. Theories on causal mechanisms abound, but there is no consensus, and many contradictions.

Interestingly, no magic-oriented culture would quail at prescribing magic readily, whereas our science-oriented culture has many long hang-wringing debates over whether prescribing placebos is ethical. We desire to cure people, but we don’t want anybody to stray too far from science.

Taboo translated into science is nocebo, a more recent coinage than placebo. It took a lot longer for science to acknowledge the causative evil effects of taboo violation. Yet nocebos are just more label-making: nothing has been explained. But the acknowledgement is a step forward.

The above paragraphs are absolutely correct. I covered some of this in my posts that included commentary on Maxwell’s equations, the aether and scalar potentials and energy transmissions. I touch on the subject of various “paranormal” phenomena and how to be able to do them yourself in my book Systema, which literally teaches you how to do things like short range telepathy, sensing of various things, from colour to intent and so on, but I want to describe an event I saw with my own eyes when I was four years old in Nigeria.

First, let me state that I have always had an excellent memory right from age two or so. I mention this because a lot of people find that unbelievable, at least as unbelievable that they can’t recall anything prior to age seven or in some cases even later, which to me looks like either retardation or traumatic emotional damage. Perhaps my Asperger’s helps in that regard for I was not short of significant emotional events in childhood, but I recall them all clearly. Anyway, on to the thing I saw.

The Fulani are a semi-nomadic tribe that in Nigeria in 1973, when I was there, for the most part acted as guards. they were honest and didn’t steal, so people used to hire them to guard building sites at night, their homes and so on. Where we lived there were two western style houses, one in which my family, composed of my dad, mom, brother and myself lived, and the other where my dad’s boss, Vincenzo Valsesia lived. They were two bedroom places with one toilet and a lounge/dining area and a veranda enclosed by mosquito netting where windows would be. The kitchen was separate from the lounge/dining area and was accessed via a short covered walkway that linked the kitchen to the dining/lounge room. Giant jumping spiders an inch or two long would run along the walls and jump from one corner to the other, toads, frogs and scorpions were ever-present and so was the occasional rabid dog that would come charging out of the surrounding jungle with literal foam at the mouth and that my dad would invariably dispatch with his shotgun. Once this happened directly at us on a day he was home, though when the workers mentioned one was about my dad would return home and guard us. We had a radio that kept in touch with the site he worked as, managing the construction of Army barracks in an otherwise sparse jungle location with clearings only for our houses and a bit further away the house of another expatriate company, I think it was Costain.

The Fulani had some of their huts not far from our home, roughly between ours and Mr. Valsesia’s place. Their leader lived there and sometimes played with me, using his warrior sticks they used as weapons and giving me a smaller stick to teach me how to fight with them. He was a gentle and kind man, but he had the lean body of a runner and he led his men wisely and strongly. He was not afraid not weak in any way and my dad often jumped in his land-rover with the Fulani chief in the passenger seat to go chase some thieves that had tried to raid one of the building sites for materials.

I remember one day he was playing with me, showing me how to strike with the sticks, he was using his own real weapon-like staves —he had a longer and a shorter one, using both simultaneously— and I had just a small one I was using as a tiny samurai in two-handed fashion. At one point I struck his main staff and it split down the middle breaking in two with a long crack going lengthwise up it. The chief looked astonished. Looked at his staff incredulously then shook his head and just walked away without another word to me. At the time, I was unsure if his staff had really broken or if he had intentionally substituted it for one that he knew would break to maybe make me think I was a great “warrior”. I was unsure of this second hypothesis though, because the staff he was using was a well-worn one and as far as I knew was the one he always had, and secondly, his reaction. He did not congratulate me or do any of the usual good-natured speaking he did (in a language I didn’t understand of course, as he didn’t understand mine either). On reflection, though, in hindsight, his reaction I am sure was genuine, and probably went something along the lines of these white devils being so powerful in their magic that even one of their little boys could destroy his main weapons with a single good blow. I say this because of the other event I witnessed around the same time.

The Fulani chief was I think nominally Muslim, and as such they had up to four wives, him being a chief he had four, and I recall he explained to my dad once that four wives was really the limit, in theory you could have more, but if you got a fifth one, you should “fire” one of the others.

His wives were ranked by age, and the older one was the leader-wife, and in descending order of age came the other three. One of the younger wives, I think it was the second-youngest, did not get along well with the chief wife. The women washed their dishes and pots religiously, every day, in sight of our home, as their camp was only a few dozen metres from us and my brother and I would roam the area, playing, looking for bugs, frogs, and generally doing whatever we wanted without anyone worrying unduly about the occasional snake, scorpions, or wild rabid dogs that infested the area. Such is the way GenX was raised.

I therefore was a prime witness to the older chief-wife washing all the pots and pans and then the younger wife throwing dirt on them and running away laughing. The older wife cursed at her a bit then washed them again. This happened more than once. I was fascinated because even at age four, I did not understand why the older wife did not simply beat the younger one, or, just leave the pots dirty and tell her husband when he came home. Being a little older now I guess that the reason was that the husband, as chief, had his hands full all day with various things and the last thing he wanted to do was come home to dirty plates and arguing wives. Possibly, each wife also had set chores, so the pots being clean may have been the responsibility of the chief-wife and, rightly, any excuses for not having it done would be seen in extremely poor light. So, after the third warning that the older chief-wife gave, and the third time the younger one threw dirt on the cleaned plates, the older wife got a very determined look on her face, grabbed a small piece of baboon skin, said a few mysterious words and then began chasing the younger wife around the courtyard, which was really just bare reddish earth with no fence or wall at all until it reached the untamed jungle. The younger wife ran away screaming and sort of laughing, in that kind of genuine fear that however things you will escape, but the older wife, though not as young, was crafty, and anticipated the turns and swirls that the younger one made, and soon caught the back of her T-shirt with her left hand and shoved the piece of baboon skin down the back of her shirt/dress combination.

Instantly the younger wife threw herself on the ground and started screaming and twisting and rolling about. It looked straight out of some exorcism film in reverse. She screamed and jumped and twisted on the floor like something possessed, then seemed to pass out in a fever and just lay there. The older wife I recall, stood watching it all and when the younger one lapsed into her moaning fever-coma she turned away with a satisfied smirk on her face and went back to washing her plates for the last time today.

The other wives, helped by some friends carried the malingering younger wife into their hut. The woman could not walk or talk and they had to carry her. Shortly thereafter my dad returned home in his Land Rover with the chief beside him. The Fulani had a system where they would shout out and from one to the other they would soon reach wherever the chief or thieves at a building site where. So the chief was soon aware he had to come home and he had asked my dad to bring him home to get there faster.

The chief went in to see the semi-comatose wife and my dad went along to see what was up. I followed them and tried to quietly tell my dad what had happened, but my dad, being a Westerner and thinking probably that his four year old son was unlikely to be able to solve what he assumed was a malarial fever (except they didn’t get it like we did) or some other disease, wasn’t listening to me very much, worried about the woman.

When we were all next to the woman lying on her bed and moaning softly, my dad felt her forehead and knew she did have a real fever, which was partly why he wasn’t listening to me. He tried to explain to the chief she was ill and tried to find out how long she had been feeling ill. It was only when the chief managed to explain that it was some Ju-ju that he finally listened to me. Ju-ju was the word for black magic. At that point my dad finally looked at me and asked me what happened. I still recall what I told him at the time in Italian:

“there is nothing wrong with her dad, she was running around and laughing today, ask the other people here. But she was throwing dirt of the other woman’s cleaned plates, so that one got upset and chased her with a piece of baboon skin and threw it down her shirt. After that she rolled around on the floor screaming and just lay there.” My dad pointed out that the woman had a real fever though, to which I said, “I know she has a fever, but it’s all in her head dad.” My father probably wasn’t sure if I had really understood the situation, I was four after all, but he asked the other people there and despite the language barriers, realised I had summarised what had taken place correctly.

He thought for a bit, then went home with me and when alone double checked with me exactly what had happened, which I repeated to him. he then took a couple of aspirins, and crushed them into a powder. We then returned to the chief and my dad explained that this powder was a powerful white man Ju-ju that would heal his wife and she would sleep and be fine in the morning. they mixed the white powdered aspirins into a bit of water, which made it bitter, but all the better for the Ju-ju I guess, and slowly made the woman sip it. She had been in her semi-comatose state but had heard everything my dad had explained laboriously through the half-english, half-fulani, half-italian and not good with fractions explanations. As soon as she drank the medicine the woman fell asleep snoring. And the next morning she was up and about physically fine but with a much subdued and morose affect.

There was literally nothing wrong with her other than her mind, culture and belief system told her there was. that piece of baboon skin would have had zero effect on me. And not because I was a magical small white warrior-king that can destroy the chief’s main weapon with a common stick I picked off the ground, but because I didn’t believe that shit.

That said, I was a teenager when I learnt that I too was susceptible to the same wrong way of belief. As a kid I used to get sick very easily, especially with sore throats, flus, as well as gut-folding stomach aches. I also got regular nose-bleeds but they didn’t bother me beyond staining my clothes if I wasn’t careful. I was so ill that at one point I missed about three months of school, being in bed with fever, cough, sore throats and so on. When I finally returned to school I was physically weak from having been in bed so long. On the walk home, a thundershower of the type you get in Africa suddenly drenched me. You can go from sunny to torrential rain in seconds and I was wet through all my clothes, just a few hundred metres from home. As I shivered in the cold rain I realised the rain and being cold this way was a certain reason that I would be ill again. All I needed to catch a cold was to literally get cold or rained on and I would be sick the next day or within hours. I had literally just spent three months in bed, had had one day at school and now I was going to get sick again. I felt an absolute rage rise up inside me and I determined right there and then that I would not get sick froths stupid rain and I would not get sick again.

From that day on my incidence of flu and so on disappeared back to what most people would call “normal”, And I was not sick the next day or for a long time after. I still get the occasional man-flu, but I did not get sick at all for most of my life after I realised the power my mind had on it. Even my stomach issues which have a basis in Gilbert’s disease, a genetic disorder of the liver, have much improved as I applied this lesson to them. It is true that covid really did knock me on my ass and pneumonia nearly killed me in April of last year and I had a recurrence in November and that I have been a bit far from perfect health for a while, but I do think there are external factors too. That said, the lesson is still in there and I have been better lately even as I take steps to reduce the external factors, like mould, diet, and next some way to avoid the worst effects of the chemtrails, which I am researching, but above all, mindset counts far more than you think.

I am now in the process of consciously applying the positives of the “placebo” effect, which I wrote about on this blog before, in as many aspects of my life as I can. And it is indeed having results already.

There is a link between “positive thinking” (which is mostly a con-job sold by grifters in the format it is most often presented in) correct prayer, and the right mental attitude of responsible creator instead of “powerless victim”, but finding the right balance and applying correctly is a fine balancing act. Or maybe I just think it is. Either way, positive results are happening gradually but continuously, not just for me, but also for those that have asked for help in changing their minds in this fashion.

I hope you will consider your own placebos, nocebos, taboos and superstitions and alter them as required to produce better effects in your life.

You might be interested in the following posts:

  1. Increasing pressure and the space of variations

By G | 22 May 2023 | Posted in Ancient Technology, Believe, Farming Life, Human Performance, Medical Science, Systema

The Fighter’s second most important asset

Community.

You can have the best mindset, the best geography, the best weapons, but if you are alone you will eventually be taken out.

That said, there are some important points that can be counter-intuitive, which one needs to understand so as not to give in to the black-pill despair they are trying so hard to force upon you (which goes to mindset, covered in the previous post).

Community goes to mindset (for most)

It is a fact that human beings, even misanthropic ones like myself, are creatures that require others of their kind to feel good and thrive. Ultimately, my misanthropy is a function of my IQ, which tends to “price me out of the market” in most cases. A common faith that is absolutely hot or cold, and not lukewarm churchianity can and does bridge the gap, because loyalty trumps intelligence in human affairs, and honesty (translated as genuine commitment) trumps numbers (of lukewarm “compatriots”). I specify these points about myself only because they hold true for all human societies that are civilisational (see previous post for the difference between civilisational societies and other types which are stagnant or parasitic).

For most people, community goes to (serves) mindset. That is, if you have a community of loved ones and friends around you, it makes life more bearable and keeps you in a more positive mindset than if you are alone, have no one that loves you and no one for you to love.

Those who have an intrinsic, fundamental warrior’s mindset, however, can make mindset go to (serve) community. In fact, that is the essence of a warrior. The word Samurai meant servant. Because a warrior’s ultimate aim, in the depths of his soul, is to protect the people he loves and bring honour and justice to the society he lives in. The stolen valour of the idiots that think wearing a uniform as a policeman or soldier automatically makes them “warriors” is just more of the fakery and plastic lies that have been fostered upon the planet by the parasites that run Hollywood and infect the general zeitgeist through lies in mass media, lies in schools, lies in entertainment, in film, in books, in the arts. Wearing a uniform does not a warrior make. Being one is the only way one is one, and paramount in a warrior’s way of being is a very refined sense of justice; which includes virtues like fairness, honour, honesty and courage, but above all, in the centre of the flame in his heart, at a warrior’s core, is sacrifice. His aim is to serve those he loves, to protect them and look after them. Not with words, not for glory or any fame, but because it is his nature. He would do that even if he would be covered in infamy.

Because of this peculiarity of mind, soul, intent, a warrior’s mindset can create community.

While normally community bolsters mindset, and this is true for everyone, a sufficiently strong mindset can create a community. It is, of course, a usually harder road, but can produce excellent results.

It is a path I have explored several times in my life, and also the one I chose presently. When I moved here, purchasing the land and home we are now in, I had no idea what the people around here were like and I did not care. I assumed the general mild personalities that one expects in most of Europe, and generally this is true of most places, but it did not concern me.

The core of my community is my wife and children, and everything beyond that, I will form myself by being the hub around which my type of community naturally wants to form.

Communities arise from chance and opportunities in most cases, but like any organic system, they can be engineered. The pedophelic parasites running things are demonstrating that daily, with shaping societies to accept all sorts of vile and absurd rules, taxations, forced toxic serums into the bodies of their children and themselves, limitations on what food and of what type you can eat or grow or have, and on and on and on. They are absolutely engineering society by brute force methods from the outside in, to the point that the Zyklon generation may have as many as one in five that believes the total fiction and counter-to-objective reality that the sex of a human being can be changed or is “fluid” or a “social construct”. In short, you have proof positive before your eyes that a community can be socially engineered to even reject objective facts and undeniable reality.

Just as you might think the ancients were foolish for believing in Zeus, yet you think it’s normal to accept homosexual “marriage” and adoption of children, seeing no possible evil consequences to the last two. While possibly understanding that worshipping fallen angels masquerading as gods is bad, you might accept that eating genetically modified foods that don’t produce viable natural seeds is required or even a net “good” because you have bought into the next narrative of “climate change” while ignoring chemtrails and HAARP geoengineering.

I point these things out merely to show you that not only can community be engineered by outside forces, and, that in fact it has been and is being engineered (to your personal detriment) but also to show you that you, yes you specifically and individually have also been subjected to this and still are in at least some areas. It is inevitable. We have all been lied to from birth and the process of seeing reality as it is while shedding the lies is far from easy, especially if your mindset is not that of a fighter (see previous post). Bit aside from all of these points, which are necessary for you to know about and see in order to see the bigger picture, the main point of this section is this:

A warrior mindset can be the core about which a community develops. In short, while most will try to move to a place they feel ties to, from cultural to familiar to faith-based and so on, a warrior can carve out a piece of land and say:

Here I stand.

And others will gather around him and follow him and create a community around him.

I chose this path because of two main reasons:

Firstly, I have done it before in several contexts in my life and always achieved it, initially doing so without the intent, only sheer bloody mindedness that I knew my way was true and good and screw anyone else that didn’t see it. Later in life I learnt I could do that and not even need to be so combative about it.

And secondly, I was (and remain) unaware of a community of people that sees things as I do and that are also hardcore sedevacantists. While I know quite a few Sedes, many of these are overseas now, and their situations and geography does not permit them to be near me now, and my remaining there would not have permitted me the creation of the type of community I sought either. So my choice was easy: pick a place that is geographically sound and that permits certain social realities, then, the community will come.

And this is indeed now beginning to form at the level where people are actively looking to purchase property within walking distance of mine, precisely so we can become a community of like minded people that help each other and create the type of society we want.

The point is, while most will feel it’s easier to simply join an existing community, and it is true, the type of communities we will need in the coming years and that our children will need in the future, do not currently exist in any kind of large number, so, we have to create them.

And that means someone has to start and be the focus of one. In short, take on the role of leader in some form or other, not for the glory, the gold, the concubines or anything other than the sacrifice of service for the safeguarding of the future of our children.

Which is why I say, if you already have such a community of, say, Appalachian mountain rednecks that think anyone who doesn’t marry their cousin is suspect, well, if they are your people, go for it, I hope you have a fetching cousin is all I can say. Is that the best solution? Not by a long shot, but anything that will actively resist the coming plans they have for you, short of cannibalism and first degree incest, is probably a better bet.

Personally I think a community that has the same Catholicism that the people who went on the first Crusade, in 1095, like Bohemond, Tancredi, and so on, or who defended Malta in 1565 like the Catholic knights there and their indomitable leader, Jean Parisot le Vallete, is not just the best solution, it is, the one true solution, because THAT Catholicism has been proven historically impossible to defeat; which is to be expected if you understand that our Lord Jesus Christ said he would be with is to the end.

Of course the Church has been infiltrated and the Vatican is a hive of pedophiles and Satanists, and yes, there has not been a valid Pope since 1958, but the remnant remains, Sedevacantism IS Catholicism, and the only one left and the only one that is as it always was, with proper ordination, proper sacraments and the true mass.

All those who investigate this issue honestly cannot escape the facts, which is why the short book I wrote a mere few years ago has helped more than 100 people to convert, get baptised and become Sedevacantist Catholics. (NB: the paperback is always more up to date than the kindle version in all my books).

And why those who wanted the details and the roadmap to how to reclaim the actual Catholic Church from the impostors that now usurp it also went on to read Reclaiming the Catholic Church. And why now they are beginning to make plans to move here nearby. And make trips here first to visit and help me on the farm. And get married in church to Sedevacantist women, and go on to make children, living as proper Catholics, with no divorce and no contraception.

Sure, the creating of a community is harder than the joining one, bit the beauty of Catholic communities is that within one generation we have multiplied in number several times.

I have five children and started only late in life, the last three are four years old, two and a half, and the last one is only five months old, and I am 53. There are newly wed couples in their early or mod twenties who are just starting out. Three such couples getting married just this year and yes they all found their way to sedevacantism theough my work, be it the books linked above or the YouTube channel, or Kurgan TV, where others also have contributed to a site that educates you about the reality we actually are in, the way to learn independently, and the real history of humanity, as well as other important skills.

I am but one man, and no, I am not especially important or to be glorified, God is. And yet look, in time, this place I chose will become a community of Sedevacantists and out children will play and learn with each other and grow in a place that is safe and true and men are men and women are women, truth and beauty and justice are present always and if others try to make it unsafe, we will repel them and make it so.

My point here in summary is this:

Mindset is the foundation (see previous post), and community is the first cornerstone, and if you can find a ready made one, great, but be careful because the kind of community you need to be part of to survive and thrive in the future has not existed for several centuries. We have to create them. And while the foundation of them are indeed to remain unchanged (real Catholicism) the current and future requirements are unique to our times. Yes the basis is the same, but the way they play out in the technology, defence, energy generation, communications and so on, we have to design.

And yes. I do have a plan. And yes, I will build it. And yes, they will come. They are already coming here. It’s no field of dreams. It’s fields of real men and real women, with real families, and, as the song says:

…beautiful fields lie just before me
Where God’s redeemed their vigils keep…

So, find your community, create one, or join us.

You might be interested in the following posts:

  1. Increasing pressure and the space of variations

By G | 22 May 2023 | Posted in Ancient Technology, Believe, Catholicism, Christianity, Farming Life, Increasing Happiness, Reclaiming the Catholic Church, Relationships, Sedeprivationism, Sedevacantism, Social Commentary, Systema, Zombie Apocalypse

Hollywood Fame and Glory

I can prove quite conclusively to you, within about an hour or two, less if you are a bit less brainwashed, and if you can do basic math, that the lives of the so-called “rich and famous” are a complete and utter pit of despair.

All you need to do is browse CDAN (Crazy Days and Nights) and scroll down the blog, reading the entries. If after about an hour or so of doing that and doing a quick mental guesstimate of the number of glitterati there are in the pool from which that litany of despair is taken, you will soon realise that the toll one needs to pay to enter that club is —literally— at minimum, a piece of your soul, and in many, even most cases, the entirety of it.

What CDAN does, above all, in my opinion, is list very clearly, the resulting human wreckage that a life dedicated to hedonistic materialism produces.

Most of those people are so far gone, so utterly lost, that a homeless guy who is not a drug-addict has a better shot at making a happy life for himself.

I knew this at a relatively young age, and then confirmed it when I was offered certain “tickets” to do with being involved in a tv documentary-series at various points and/or a film, both based on my book The Face on Mars. I was 26 at the time and even before these “offers” came in, I had already seen the effect of being an author with books on the shelves of the local bookshops had on “friends” and acquaintances.

The interviews I did for television and radio were absolutely geared to turn the whole thing into clickbait, and since I’m a pretty quick study and I realised the interviewer was trying to take the approach of letting me run my mouth to then edit things in some tinfoil hat fashion, I very quickly reverted to one word answers and mini-sound bytes. the result was they could not make me sound crazy, so they did what a friend of mine at the time suggested they would do, jokingly.

I explained to him the interview was a hit piece and they would try hard to make me look insane, and he laughed and said, “yeah they may morph you into an alien on TV! ha, ha, ha.”

Well, that is exactly what they did, I kid you not. When the interview aired, at one point they fade my face out and gradually faded a gray alien head over it. My friend and I couldn’t believe it and laughed ourself to tears. I was 26 and I didn’t care for these people or their lies.

An outfit that was supposed to do a 13 part documentary had only to produce an outline of the 13 part documentary, I had already lined up an investor for them and this was all they wanted. They had 2 months to do it. They produced 2 pages of incoherent A4 where they had also screwed up the major premise. I advised the investor to not deal with these clowns.

Graham Hancock plagiarised large parts of the book as well as its main concept and still got the basic premise wrong. It’s like… steal Ferrari’s plans for a fast engine and still build a crappy Mini Morris one. They aren’t even good thieves. The guy who wrote the original comics on which the film The Matrix is based more than a little, will tell you the same thing.

Elvis didn’t write his songs, though I like how he sings them, and so do many others. Everything in the entertainment world is basically a lie. And usually also very gay; when it’s not also pedophile infested.

Graham Hancock certainly made a lot more money than I ever will from my work, with “his” stolen, then half-assed-executed ideas. And sure, that can irk a person somewhat, but you know what, when I confronted him face to face on it in Cape Town, his demeanour was the one of an apologetic, scared, cardboard-cut-out of a “man”. He apologised, blamed his ghost-writers and “complimented” me on my astonishing and brilliant work. He was a middle-aged journalist of supposed world-renowned fame, I was I think 27 at the time, had little or no money and did karate on an almost daily basis and worked as an armed bodyguard/security specialist and sold computers now and then when I could.

And I wouldn’t have traded his life for mine for any amount of money on the planet. I could then, and I still can now, look in the mirror and know that whatever errors I made in life, they were honest ones, and that despite all my faults, and they are many, I, at least, did not become whatever subspecies of cowardly, underhanded, sneaky, slithering animal people like that become. My brother and others were more enraged than I ever was by such occurrences. Which makes sense. They saw only the surface loss of what generally gets perceived as money, fame, and glory.

But I got to see the people that supposedly had or created this money, fame and glory. And this is what I saw, time and again:

The fame was a net negative. People wanted to be with you, whether as friends or sex partners, based on your fame. They had no idea, who you are, nor cared. the scary thing about this was that it wasn’t limited to gold-digging whores. In fact it was something that affected roughly the same percentage of people that decided to take the genetic serum or buy into the lie of the rona. Men wanted to be my friend and women wanted to bear my children, because I had a book on the shelves of the local book shops and did signing events. Or because they heard me interviewed on the radio or saw me on TV in the UK or, the USA, or in one case, saw my book briefly on CNN apparently (I never saw it myself but several people told me they had in a brief mention).

What becomes absolutely obvious then is that most human beings do not live, love, or care about the person they are with, perhaps marry and even have children with. No. They do not. They care about the idea about them they have in their head of them. Or they later end up hating the idea they have about them in their head. It is absolutely rare that they even glimpse the reality of who or what you are even if you spend decades with them.

In the modern era, this “disease” is a lot worse than it ever was in the past before television, the internet and mobile brainwashing and attention destroying machines we call “phones”.

Seeing this firsthand, noticing a girl you might have thought of as attractive and even intelligent if you had met her under different circumstances, and then noting how she is so transparently offering herself as some kind of sacrificial sex toy, purely in order to have the “thrill” of having had a “famous” person inside her, well… I know I am the minority perhaps in this, but I assure you, it is depressing. It destroys a certain aspect of innocence that makes life easier and more beautiful, and is hard to live happily without.

And that’s just the “fame” part.

And if you did sleep with such a girl, chances are, that after a while (or maybe only after minutes if you’re no good in bed) she would too feel empty, and disappointed, and lacklustre, because her fantasy of who you are and how her life might become is a fairy tale. As much as the one you might have told yourself if you’d met her as a nobody at a party and saw how pretty and quick-witted she appeared. Only to realise later it was just a facade, she is not smart, or quick-witted, she just learnt a routine of things to do and say at parties.

That, right there, the shabby feeling of mild despair that grows on you if you do take the ticket, if you do reach for the “glory”? That is the real “glory”.

The fame makes you a cartoon caricature and the glory turns out to be dust and emptiness. I at least was wise enough to not indulge in either.

The money sure can be useful, but it invariably comes with those two strings attached, and no amount of money on the planet is worth that. Not to me anyway.

It is possible, to get at least some of the money and dodge the “fame” and the “glory” and if you are smart, you can even manage a certain level of “fame” in a way that it doesn’t harm you, but it takes uncommon firmness of mind, courage, and not a little luck, or fate, or divine providence, whatever you choose to call it. In short, it is very rare, and probably has a cost anyway, as all roads do.

All of these despairing things, are made a thousand or a million times worst if you are alone in it all. Even family and close friends can turn, like zombies in a horror movie, becoming infected and turning on you with those soulless, dead eyes. Imagine your own parents or children becoming swallowed by the despair and materialism of “fame” and “glory”, or, much more often, your wife, or husband.

And where, in a world like the one of today, do you find a wife or husband that is not ready to jump neck-deep into the mire of “fame” and “glory” given a half a chance? Especially for those who grew up with the internet as a done thing?

There is no easy answer, but I assure you that whatever difficulties I faced or will face in life, I would always choose them over the ones that come with Hollywood level “fame” and “glory”.

I made my life an exercise in living between the cracks and not getting caught by what Vadim Zeland calls “Pendulums”, and just to be safe, I never tried to “transurf” the waves more than a tiny little bit here or there, (long before I read anything Vadim wrote) because in this game of life, one big wipeout is enough to reduce you to shark-food. And even as it is, I took my wipeouts, and they were hard enough, and perhaps many would not have survived them, but I did; again, by my will, but also a lot of divine providence and grace, which the lost often call luck or fate.

My problem has always been the same one.

My DNA, as far back as I can find information on my ancestors, has the curiosity of the explorer in it, and the fearlessness of the fool. It is a dangerous combination, and I do not advise it to anyone. I certainly hope my son is wiser than I was, but already, I see in him, the brutal honesty he has with himself, the fearlessness in the face of danger, at times due to innocence, and other times due to calculated observation. And the calm, considered, approach to things that might be dangerous, which he has not yet investigated.

How to guide such a boy?

There is no simple or clear path, because these are the qualities of a man, and ultimately, as men know, we are born alone, and we die alone, and every choice we make, every effort, every despair, every victory and every crushing defeat, is ours, and ours alone, no matter who loves us and may help us, or who hates us and may try to destroy us. All we can rely on is providence, God’s grace and our tiny, but eternal flame of faith inside ourselves, regardless of if we know it exists in there or not. He has it, and perhaps all I can do is try to make him aware of it consciously. Maybe, if I can help him be less mute than I have been to myself, he might be able to more readily rely on that fire in the centre of his heart even when he is alone and tired and scared, and I am no longer around to do what I can.

Maybe, if I train him even as I play with him, he can learn to roll with the punches of life and pop up nearby and unexpectedly, and turn things to his advantage then too.

And above all, I hope I can do a good job of showing him the decay and deceit and lies and illusion of “fame” and “glory” and instead choose the real Glory of, and for, God, and Honour, and the ones you Love. And to know fame is a lying whore riddled with disease and fancy clothes, and make-up; and real fame is the trust and loyalty of your friends and your loved ones, and nothing else compares.

And hopefully, in the Fake New World that is being prepared for him, either we are able to collapse the shit out of it before it gets off the ground, or there will in any case remain a way for him to navigate the “pendulums” and “surf” the “waves” remaining as best as possible, untouched by the filth of the sewage from which they are formed.

The lives of the “rich and famous” are a preview of the Hell that awaits us all if we don’t wake up and return to what really matters: The virtues of Truth, Honesty, Honour, Fortitude, Courage, and Faith.

Except it will be worse for you will not even have the villas and the retinue of concubines and the drugs, because you will not even have the money to distract you from the despair.

So.

Choose your path wisely, friend, and support that which is real, and see through that which is fake, and gay, and Satanic.

You might be interested in the following posts:

  1. Why so many under 30s are fooled by Tate, Peterson, etc.
  2. As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words…
  3. Do NOT Eat anything with any relationship to this brand.

By G | 15 May 2023 | Posted in Brain-Mind Functionality, Catholicism, Christianity, Farming Life, Fighting SJWs, Freemasons, Impostors and Frauds, Increasing Happiness, Martial Arts, Relationships, Relationships, Sedeprivationism, Sedevacantism, Social Commentary, The Enemy Within, Zombie Apocalypse

Some Days …

You know the song There’ll be days like this, I like the Van Morrison version.

Of course, some days… it anything but that.

You get up and the sky is criss-crossed by chemtrails by the soulless, unloved, disgusting sacks of shit pretending to be humans, and I mean the pilots along with their puppet masters.

And you don’t have a crate of cheap stinger missiles from the “war” in Ukraine to take the fuckers out in a blaze of glory throughout the early morning hours.

And you wake up with the same bastard headache you had when you went to bed, despite the 800mg of ibuprofen last night. The chemtrails are probably doing it.

Or the mould. Because there is mould in the bathroom.

And the bedroom.

And one of the other rooms.

So you steel yourself for a messy day of sandpapering and vacuuming and fucking dust everywhere and then the stench of mould-killer stuff after.

And the sander is out of sand-paper. And the hardware store is closed until 4pm

And the bastard gasifier is still not doing what it should because you need to re-adapt the blower and probably the filter and maybe do a couple other things, and you wonder, why did no one from WW2 leave detailed notes on how to build these things?

And THEN you find out a major clusterfuck thanks to trusting someone in IT. And you KNOW you should know better. But you did it anyway, so 2 years of contacts from interested parties just weren’t forwarded at all. Nor their messages saved. Only their emails in the logs.

But murder is not the answer they say…

And the kid’s trampoline has a piece that broke and you need to fix it cause they love that thing.

And it’s only lunchtime.

And you try to pray.

And you remember that song… there’ll be days like this.

Yeah. but it wasn’t mama telling me about the days.

It was dad. And he had more days of this sort than most. And the one thing I either learnt, or got from DNA or figured out somehow is that when there are damned dog days like this…

You keep punching.

You reload and keep firing.

You pick up the hammer or the screw-driver, or the drill, or the grinder, or whatever, and you keep going.

And focus. Cause nothing spills blood more easily than a pissed off attitude and a tired or sloppy attention span working with power tools.

So, yeah, there are days like this.

And the correct attitude is that described in various stanzas of the poem IF.

If you can keep your head when all about you   
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
    But make allowance for their doubting too;   
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
 
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   
    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
    And treat those two impostors just the same;   
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
 
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
    And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
 
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   
    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
    If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   
    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

And my mama never told me about the other days, the Van Morrison song days either. In fact, I like that song because I figured out on my own that they existed a little before it came out in 1995.

And it’s important to remember that. Especially when you have days like the one I’m having today.

You know what grinds us down?

Hope.

People forget that in the badly mangled version of the Myth of Pandora, which is the most popular —because people are idiots— they say it is hope that leaves her jar of miseries last.

In truth, in the actual myth, it is first of all Pandora herself that is the plague on mankind, representing woman in general, and later, her jar, filled with all sorts ills for humanity as punishment for the stealing of fire by Prometheus. And in that version, hope never leaves the jar.

But, at any rate, if we lived more in accordance with Catholic faith, we would go about our days, Van Morrison version or shitty life version, with Nec Spe, Nec Metu.

No Hope, No Fear.

You see it is when our hopes get dashed that we suffer. Because our hopes are usually an avoiding of pain, which is, of course, motivated by Fear. And if you live trying to avoid your fears by hoping to do so, somehow, well… you’re definitely going to suffer.

But if you have no hopes to be dashed, and no fear to terrorise you into having “hopes”, well, then you are free. And while shitty days and Van Morrison days are not the same, if you have no hope and no fear, they are not quite as far apart as if you do.

So.

Off I go to walk the rest of this day, however it turns out.

May your days be more Van Morrison days than not.

No related posts.

By G | 6 May 2023 | Posted in Catholicism, Farming Life, Human Performance, Increasing Happiness

Do NOT Eat anything with any relationship to this brand.

Bill Gates has made some FrankenFoods for you.

Welcome to aPEEL Technology Inc.

Here is a link to what his “technology” is supposedly all about:

https://www.gatesfoundation.org/about/committed-grants/2015/08/opp1130141

Yeah a nice “invisible barrier” for bugs and…and…not at all to make you sick with toxic mono & diglycerides. Nooo. No, no, no. Of course not. He wouldn’t do that. Mr genetic Serum Patent holder on Coronavirii stuff that paid ALL the people involved in the corona scam.

No related posts.

By G | 30 April 2023 | Posted in Farming Life, Freemasons, Impostors and Frauds, Medical Science, Zombie Apocalypse

Why the Valley of the Saints?

If you have taken a look at the link in the sticky post above, you may have wondered if my wanting to get the little valley where I have my olive trees become filled with trees sponsored by well-wishers in the name of Catholic Saints is some kind of appeal to pious religiosity.

In reality it is not due to that. Don’t get me wrong, I think it would be awesome if every tree gets sponsored under the name of a Catholic Saint, I do think it will and does change the atmosphere, but I really don’t mind if you want to sponsor a tree in the name of your aunt Gertrude instead, or your dog Rocky, or whatever (within reason and decorum of a certain standard, which is not THAT high, what with me being me, but it will exist at least).

The reason is that when I arrived here, the owner had cut every light fitting internally and externally and left exposed wires all over the place, as well as removed the coverings of all the verandas. It was February and it snowed literally as we arrived, and twenty minutes later our cars were stuck here near the house for three days.

We had no kitchen sink, or indeed a kitchen of any kind, just a tap sticking out of the wall and for months my wife cleaned the dishes in the bathroom tub and sink until we finally got a basic kitchen installed.

The electricity would trip every few seconds because we had dozens of external cables exposed to the wet weather and we only had one hot plate that the loyal crusader had delivered to him. And thank god for that young man, as he had arrived before us, cleaned the place, build our beds that had arrived before us, and found an electrician to at least add some lights in each room, and he had also got a plumber to fix the main water valve that the seller had left hanging by a thread. So when we got here after 2 days of travel and the last day being a 16 hour drive, at least we had a place to sleep. But we had no gas stove as a delay meant it had not yet arrived, we had no gas bottle and the cars were stuck with the snow, not able to climb back out of the little road to the house.

That is when we met the neighbour. Supposedly a “rough man” that didn’t get along with anyone. He hooked up a 50 metre extension to his workshop, the only building anywhere near our place, and with my own 50 metre extension connected to it we at least had power to a nest of multi-sockets that would make a fire-chief lock us all away for years.

His last words to me that day where: ” I have five kilowatts here. If it trips, I’ll leave you this little window open, from there you can get to the latch and open and restart the breaker. I’ll see you in a week.”

When he returned a week later I walked up the path to meet him and he had brought us a litre of his own unfiltered oil. the same one I now produce, which is literally the best in the world. No joke, it won first prize two years in a row at the Dubai expo and then the Monte Carlo Expo, and as I don’t use any kind of insecticides or any other additives to the soil or anything else, my olive oil is in fact, now even better than his, which was in any case superlative.

I told him that I really did not know how to thank him nd to please at least come in for a drink, a bite to eat, a coffee, something, and he refused everything, smiling, happily and telling me:

“Look, I am good like bread, but I just have two rules…” I listened intently, looking him in the eyes as he continued, “… people must mind their own fucking business, and not break my balls.” Even before he finished I knew what he was going to say and I had started smiling. I grabbed his hand and forearm meaningfully and told him we would get along famously, as I had the same rules.

Since that day until the day he died, that man is one of the very few human beings that gave me more than I ever gave him or even had a chance to repay him. His picture is in our lounge, and aside from his immediate family, we were the only people at the cemetery when his ashes were buried next to those of his three lost children (miscarriages all, but one had been born alive).

The other closest neighbour went to get a gas bottle and brought it half-way down the road to us, risking to get his car stuck too. The next neighbour up received Amazon deliveries for us until the snow melted and the vans would come down to us. Another neighbour I had hardly ever seen gave us some of his grapes later in the year saying he had to many and to just come get them from his vines as he couldn’t eat them all and they would otherwise go to waste.

The only person so far that could be considered to have the asshole label is the guy who sold me the property. And no one around here appears to have liked or got on with him either, so it’s not just my view.

The point, is that very shortly after we had arrived here, I really did feel as if we had arrived in the Valley of the Saints.

So that is why I thought it would be a good name for it.

And I plan to name the biggest tree we have, which is near the house and not too easy to collect olives from, after my friend and neighbour who passed away only a short ten months after we met him.

No related posts.

By G | 29 April 2023 | Posted in Catholicism, Farming Life, Increasing Happiness

Sponsor an Olive Tree in the Valley of the Saints

This is where you can sponsor an olive tree in the name of a Saint for yourself or others. Prayers will be offered for yourself or the person/s it is being sponsored for, as well as the Saint in question. Once the first 50 trees are sponsored I will add the next 50. CLICK HERE to see how you can sponsor a tree in order to help create a Catholic (sedevacantist) community faster and receive prayers for your effort.

You might be interested in the following posts:

  1. The Stupids – And the Solution
  2. Hollywood Fame and Glory
  3. The Fighter’s second most important asset
  4. Reality is Quite Different than you Think
  5. Stop being lukewarm

By G | 26 April 2023 | Posted in Catholicism, Christianity, Farming Life, Increasing Happiness, Sedeprivationism

France on Fire and Catholic Predictions

There are a number of Catholic Predictions that state that once Catholicism is nearly completely destroyed, there will be an uprising, that will begin in France and eventually engulf Europe. The saying goes that most of France will be put to the fire and many European countries too will suffer, but not as much as France, and eventually a new Pope will be elected and then there will be a thousand years of glorious Catholic reign, before the really dark times and the Second Coming.

I put literally pretty much zero stock in such predictions, as I did in the Nostradamus prophecies that supposedly meant the world was going to end in 1986 and so on. That said, France certainly seems to be ramping up their protests, which have gone totally ignored for 3 years now.

Farmers Dumping Trash at or near government buildings. I fully approve of this measure.
A Molotov thrown at a police station would seem to imply that taking on the enforcing arm of the French “Elite” is not as scary as it might once have been to all the citizens.
Rioters/Protesters seriously outnumbering police and not quite as terrified of them as you might expect them to be.

Macron, clearly has to go, as does the entire WEF/Satanist/Pedophile club, world-wide. Perhaps the French are about to show us how it’s done. Time will tell.

No related posts.

By G | 23 March 2023 | Posted in Catholicism, Christianity, Farming Life, Freemasons, News, Sedeprivationism, Social Commentary

The Stupids – And the Solution

Vox has posted something I can commiserate with very much, namely his attitude to the average human post covid.

one of the few benefits of being an elitist intellectual is that you assume the vast majority of the programmed quasi-minds that surround you will not only disagree with you, but are not even capable of understanding your position if it was explained to them very slowly and with small words.

But I was a little stunned to discover that I had somehow given the average individual too much benefit of the doubt. I did not see that coming. I’ve been told my entire life that I was too arrogant, too harsh, too dismissive of the intellectual capabilities of others, and yet, when push came to shove, it turned out that in the end, I had erred on the side of generosity! I truly did not see that coming.

I don’t see how it can be a good thing, but now I have absolutely no regard whatsoever for the opinions of others, unless and until they are observably proven worthy of consideration.

I have had exactly the same experience. While I have been often told I am an arrogant bastard, that I should have more compassion for my fellow man, and so on, as it turns out, I too had thoroughly erred on the side of generosity too. While I assumed the average human was a complete idiot, I had not realised at all, just how much more widespread the problem was. Even those people I thought merited some consideration, because they could grasp certain basic issues, as it turns out, in most cases, were no better than circus monkeys trained to do a trick for others’ entertainment, with no real grasp of the issue at all.

My reaction has been a little different, in that I generally did not have any consideration for the opinions of others to begin with. Although I did, for my own sanity, and at least entertainment, try to find something interesting, whenever possible, about said others. With many, it was merely enough to get me through a dinner or so without calling them retards to their face, but what can you do; noblesse oblige.

What I did note, probably by growing up mostly in deepest, darkest Africa, is that you can generally rely on genuinely low IQ people more, in many senses than you can in those supposedly educated and of at least nominal, or even “above average” intelligence. The genuine illiterate who imagines the operation of a car as some sort of magic, can generally be relied upon to be, if not always truthful, at least extremely predictable. It doesn’t make for good company, other than in the narrowest of senses, but it can be a relationship that has a certain level of respect and dignity. Admittedly it’s probably closer to having a smart pet you like than an equal with which you can discuss the finer points of philosophy, but there is no confusion as to the abilities and really stations in life in terms of those abilities. And having grown up a hunter, I certainly don’t begrudge such people their lives, any more than I do that of a wild lion or hyena, including if they were to maul me and eat me. Of course, one needs to take precautions and if required, blast a wild animal with a suitably powerful weapon so as to protect yourself and your loved ones. It’s true it’s a trickier thing when they have two legs and appear to be human, but the basic response is the same, you just have to be more careful.

The dangerous ones are the ones that fool you into thinking they may be your peer. Just like those “conservatives” that end up stabbing you in the back, when it counts. Or the vegan conscientious objector in your trench that throws all the bullets of everyone in the mud because “violence is not the answer”. Those guys need to be shot first and placed in front of the sandbags outside the trench to protect the sandbags from enemy fire.

The life of a really intelligent person, if often quite a lonely or at least loner-like existence. My own mother, in one of her rare times she even noticed anything, commented once when I was about 16 that although my own father fancied himself a loner, I was on another level, as I’d pass weeks of my vacation time simply reading books or doing things by myself. She asked if I didn’t get lonely. My reply was simply pragmatic.

“What choice do I have?” Was I to hang out with retards and that would somehow make my day better? It wouldn’t. As the old saying in Italian goes, “Better alone than badly accompanied.”

So, my reaction to discovering that even those I held out some hope for are, for the most part, just circus apes on this planet of the apes, has been a little different. I have noticed three things, that are relevant:

  1. Those of similar intellect are few and far between and in general are on their own path and unlikely to veer from it.
  2. Actual Catholics, Sedevacantists, are the most reliable human beings I have come across as a class, by far. It’s not even close.
  3. Possibly because being Catholic means utterly believing in hierarchy, there is little friction when a team of Catholics is put together and the roles are clearly explained beforehand.

This has led me to the conclusion that for the rest of my days on this Satanic Domain, it makes absolute sense to begin the process of creating what I believe will be the only hope in the future for my children or my children’s children: City States.

It is questionable what level of success I will have, but in the long term, meaning after I am gone, most likely, the only people who may retain some semblance of actual freedom are those who:

  1. Are able to defend their property, will, lives, property and so on.
  2. Have the numbers to do 1.
  3. Have the economy to do 1.
  4. Have the means to do 1.
  5. Have the conviction and an unchangeable set of rules to do 1.
  6. Have the will, the faith, the indomitable spirit of being to do 1.
  7. Have demonstrated this already by being Vaxx Free and having chosen to be Sedevacantists.

And as far as I can see, the only way that can happen is by creating a community of proper (Sedevacantist) Catholics.

To build it one man and one woman and one couple and many children at a time. To build a Church and get a proper priest on site, to have our children learn and train and practice and learn and grow together, to have our Catholic children grow up to marry the other Catholic children that they grew up with. To teach them above all to be, yes, as innocent as doves, but also to be as wise as serpents. And to be able protect from, and to strike back against, any enemies who try to infiltrate, weaken, destroy, or pervert those communities, in whatever way is required to secure those communities, those people, those values. To learn commerce and finance and all the subterfuge of the enemy and then to exclude them and their ways from our communities and exclude them forever.

Catholicism is the only religion that has succeeded at this for as long as it has. It is true that Shintoist Buddhism served to isolate Japan for a while, and perhaps Imperial China may have had their own ways, but you didn’t want to be a Chinese if you could help it. And while being Japanese would have been fine, they didn’t last nearly as long. And I don’t see a tradition of Zen-Samurai forming communities. It isn’t going to happen.

So yes. My reaction has been what some started calling The Kurganate, as a joke, and so we took on that name. And yes, it’s not a democracy. And everyone is free, yet everyone has their place too.

There may not be many people that use their brains well. There are some that are able to be faithful and loyal though, and that is a good thing.

I know several men are already preparing to move near me and actively saving, getting married, looking for property and building themselves up to do so. So it can happen and it will happen. I don’t know all the details of how fast, or how big, or any of that. But I know it will. Like with anything else, I just have to keep going. And I hope you will too.

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By G | 22 March 2023 | Posted in Believe, Catholicism, Christianity, Farming Life, Increasing Happiness, Relationships, Sedeprivationism, Social Commentary, Zombie Apocalypse

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