Category: Culture wars

Dos Rancheros Extraños

Two odd ranch stories in one day, one a local tradition new to us, the other a strange sort of scam and also new to us.

We don’t get out much, but when we do what fun it is to have a little impromptu adventure. We’re just about to start the bathroom demolition and have been scatter-brained with the necessary prep. We have only one bathroom, which means we go back once again to our early years here, needing an outhouse and outdoor shower.

Our old “poop with a view” re-employed

We headed to town yesterday to select the tile, but the shop was closed. We stopped by the Farmer’s Market, having heard it has recently grown, in step with the small city’s population.

Unfortunately, it hasn’t improved, only grown in vendors. It’s dissapointing to live rural and still not have a decent farmer’s market in any nearby town or city. I’ll refrain from complaining further, but one question first.

Should they be able to call it a farmer’s market when there are no farmers there? No fruits, no vegetables, no herbs, no dairy. One tiny ranch, not exactly local, offering beef shares, some jam and honey sellers, one stand selling really expensive breads, that was it besides the very many stalls of crafters.

Anyway, from those two disappointments we soon headed back home and along the way comes our fun ranch story.

We took the back route for a nicer country drive, one we’ve taken very often over the years. There are mostly woods and rolling hills dotted with small farms and ranches, cows mostly, very few people.

So when we caught sight of a parking lot full of trucks we got curious. Hubby pulls into Los Pinos Ranch, which we’ve never seen full of cars before, had hardly even noticed before among all the other ranches. We followed the line to a couple of security guards.

“Hi!” Hubby says to a well-built and well-kitted black man, “We’re just driving by and being nosy neighbors.”

Being we were still about a 10 minute drive from home, neighbors might sound like a stretch, but around here that’s still considered neighboring territory.

The man was cordial, not exactly friendly, but not at all off-putting, so Hubby continued his inquiry, and I also began to chime in, now with curiousity well-piqued since seeing how large this event actually was.

“What’s all the crowd here for, some sort of festival?” Besides the security duo we appeared to be the only gringos in sight, which later upon entering we learned to be true. There were no signs at all, in Spanish or otherwise.

Looking around while Hubby was speaking, I spotted a track, and horses, but still, it was all so foreign, while practically in our backyard. I interupted them.

“Oh, is it a horse show or training or something?” My confusion was probably obvious, but the guard’s reply only engendered more of the same. Neither Hubby or I had yet to clue in to the nature of the event.

The guard was attempting to tell us, but without speaking the precise words, I understood only later.

Well, he said, they like to compare.

Huh? OK. Still clueless.

Then he pointed to a couple of ladies down the path aways and said they were the organizers and we should talk to them.

So we did and they were very nice, just the one spoke English, but she was as friendly as could be and said we should go on in, they want more locals to participate, in fact. Participate in what, we did not know. And, there were food stands on the other side of the tracks, so we were sold.

Then, crossing the track, it suddenly dawned on me. Horse racing, duh! And the odd words of the guard came back with a flash of clarity. They ‘like to compare’ was his gringo euphemism for ‘they bet on the races.’

We don’t gamble and we’ve never been to a horse race, so perhaps our severe ignorance can be excused?!

Although in hindsight it’s so obvious. Now, I’m not judging, but I do believe that sort of gambling is illegal in these parts. Not that we really care a hoot about that, especially once we got a whiff of the taco stand.

The simplest of setups you could imagine, why can’t they manage that at the farmer’s market? Charring beef, frying onions, our senses led us in a beeline. Fresh diced tomatoes, two kinds of salsa, cilantro, boiled potato side served with a chunk of grilled onion. Delish!

Better tacos than we’ve had at any establishment in town, cooked and served out of the back of a trailer.

A bit of reasearch once home and the tradition is alive on social media (like we would know!) and we can look forward to more excellent tacos and racing festivities next month.

@rancho.los.pinos7

Finalistas del Maturity “El Mero Mero” en su primera edición exclusivo del Carril Ramcho Los Pinos 🌲, si señor‼️#paratiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii #viralvideo #CuartosDeMilla #CarrerasEstelares

♬ sonido original – Rancho Los Pinos

Think what you like about horse racing in general, or gambling in particular, but it’s a huge deal better than what was the thing among dudes where I grew up, which was car racing and monster truck pulls. Loud, noxious, destructive and, well, just REALLY loud.

This was fun! You could hear the music and it was catchy mariachi, not depressing country ballads like they play in the local farm and ranch stores.

Of course we did stick out like the gringo sore thumbs we are. Ball caps, not cowboy hats. Crocks, not cowboy boots. Cringy, I know. But we’re committed to taking it down a notch next time we go, for the tacos, of course, not the gambling.

For Hubby that will mean absolutely no shorts. Mexican men are not short-pant people. There seems to be a certain amount of pride attached to that fact, but it’s lost on me.

For my part, a bit of more feminine appeal would be in order, if I can muster that anymore. Case still open.

Which leads me to the next ranch story. And the mystery of the sexy bras I’d never have worn, or even purchased on a huge whim, even in my sexiest days full of youthful vigor.

I was not nearly as dumb-struck by this oddity as I was by the impromtu ranch races. Clearly it was some very strange mistake, not a surprise hinting gift from Hubby, who would know me far better, and never dare make such a vulgar assumption.

Green and bedazzled, come on! Meant for a harem girl, no doubt!

Come to find out after some perplexing Google searches that there is currently a large scam going on, and I’ve just been ‘brushed’. WTH?!

From the return sender’s address, it comes from a fancy ranch in California. Far too fancy for me! But according to the news, this scam, which is becoming more common, probably uses both fake addresses and fake names. Yasfara does sound kind of fake.

But what could they be after sending me free stuff? I now realize this happened already twice before, I just never chalked it up to a con.

Several years ago I received seeds I never ordered. So did a lot of folks. I often order seeds, folks sometimes me seeds, I just brushed it off. Brushed?

Then a couple months ago I got two pairs of shorts. Because I’d recently ordered shorts from Amazon, I figured it was them, just not exactly what I’d ordered. They weren’t too bad, so I kept them, only receiving the correct order weeks later.

After Hubby’s sleuthing he discovered the “Brushing scam” with the objective of inflating the products’ ratings by collecting ‘verified purchases’ and giving fake reviews with them, apparently.

Here is our ‘Yasfara’ of the ‘Rancho Cucamongo’ reported on at the Better Business Bureau, along with a news clip about the fraud.

What to know if a mysterious empty white mailing envelope shows up at your house

Scams Details Better Business Bureau

Strange times, indeed. Just for the record, we don’t mind feeling like foreigners five miles from home, it’s rather a pleasant nostalgic feeling for us both, recalling our own pasts of living as illegal immigrants in other lands.

But, if you’re going to send me bras, please send the comfortable variety, padless, without jewels or sequince, cotton, white, for those rare occassions I still wear one.

Or, if that’s all you’ve got on hand, may I suggest sending them to a more appropriate recipient, like a still-young sexy lady at the Rancho Los Pinos right down the road?

Homestead Happenings: The Real Cheese

It was too much news last time for one post, and I didn’t care to skimp on the cheese bragging, especially!

But then I got sent off on a cheese tangent when trying to simply explain why most commercially-produced cheese on grocery store shelves should not even be called real cheese anymore.

In fact, maybe even some of these fabulous-looking cheeses from traditional French fromageries like I used to love to frequent might also make the fake food list. I sincerely hope not, but France, like all of ‘the West’ are increasingly subjected to the same chemical onslought as we are in the US.

Making cheese is the best thing I’ve ever done.  In my life, without exception.  Thanks to it, I have uncovered some of the rarest, most simple, deepest and most common of universal life lessons.

No offense to Handy Hubby, marrying him is definitely a close second. 😆

I’ve heard similar magnanimous claims recounted only through such trials and tribulations as come through miracles such as child birth and motherhood. But I have not been a mother.  

Don’t cry for me though, because I found cheese!

From it I’ve delved into the practicalities–the art, the craft–of the most delicious hobby I can imagine.  I have also been either introduced, or expanded my knowledge on topics as diverse as vaccines, germ theory, pleomorphism, alchemy, modern chemistry, even math–some things which I rejected with ease or sometimes ferocity–which now claim me, my mind and passions and preoccupations, like one conquered, lured and pushed, exposed and protected, by some ultimate wisdom.  

Anyone who knew me in my younger years would be surprised, I’m sure, as my sister was, that I would willingly and repeatedly entangle my brain with math and science. Not that either is entirely necessary for traditional cheesemaking.

Every cheese pictured here, and plenty more that are not, I’ve made with the same 4 ingredients: locally-sourced raw milk, our own animal rennet, clabber and salt.

From David Asher’s fantastic tome, Milk Into Cheese: The Foundations of Natural Cheesemaking Using Traditional Concepts, Tools, and Techniques

http://www.milklab.ca/

Most commercial producers of cheese believe that packaged starters are the only option for cheese’s proper production; that milk is deficient in the appropriate microbes and rich in dangerous ones; and that they are incapable of realizing the work that is normally done by trained microbiologists.  DVIs (Direct Vat Innoculants–freeze-dried starters) are considered the only acceptable way to safely make cheese, and the most convenient option for producers, big or small.

He’s too polite and wise to say the industry has been completely captured, but I do believe he’d agree with me on that!

Industrial starters are by and large produced by multinational corporations. Danisco, the most prolific starter producer, is based in Denmark and is a subsidiary of DuPont.  This corporation and others like it profit off cheesemakers’ demand for a product that they do not truly need.

Industrial starters are monocultures of microorganisms that have no precedent in nature and need perfectly sterile environments in order to function correctly.  They are out of touch with the reality of cheese, which needs dozens if not hundreds of species of microbes to evolve according to their safest and most flavorful pathways.

The deception on the foundational level, resting on disproven science from the early 1900s, is bad enough.  But the consumer sees none of that, instead being swept up in extremely dubious marketing practices that call these starters natural and necessary.

And that’s even before we delve into the mass manufacturing of “vegetarian rennet” –that is the lab-derived coagulant now used by the vast majority of cheesemakers large and small around the West and perhaps the world, which also also claims to be natural.

Four ingredients.  Just think about that for a moment, please!  That is all it takes to delight, and/or to disgust, in a thousand different ways.  

Labeling, on cheeses as on GMOs, is simply another way to con the consumer.  The process is as important as the ingredients and changing the meaning of words is par for the course.  More on that next post as I delve into the “Nutrition” label of a popular cheese brand.

Fermentation and the art of putrefaction is the process.  Technically putrefaction is the wrong word, though it does sort of work!

Affinage is the correct term for the fine craft of cheese maturation.  According to AI the difference is:

“Putrefaction refers to the decomposition of organic matter, which can negatively affect cheese quality, while affinage is the controlled aging process that enhances the flavor and texture of cheese. Proper affinage prevents undesirable putrefaction by managing environmental conditions and microbial activity during cheese maturation.”

So it’s basically desirable putrefaction.  It’s like the difference between a weed and an herb, it depends on whose garden it is.

But still, think about that! Like aging fine wines and wiskeys, even hot sauces, this is proper fermentation, where territory REALLY matters.  Where some old-school crafters even insist no one else can touch their concoctions or they’re immediately spoiled.  True story!  

It’s POD taken to an extreme unknown even to our own extreme-loving culture.

POD, or DO (designation of origin) is to the cheese world what Provenance is to the art world.  It is, literally, about ‘savoir faire’ (know-how) –being able to trace the work, the process, back to its source.

Perhaps so that industry can try to capture a piece of that magic? Individual and smallscale crafters in the market are not allowed the same right to privacy as the Big Food manufacturers, who routinely get to claim “proprietary” status whenever they care not to divulge their special little secrets. 

Aging cheese, affinage, is an art, craft, indeed a profession, so ancient it predates our recorded history.  It has nothing at all to do with commercial pasteurization, or chemically-adulterated cheeses, which has absolutely compromised the craft.  Which has been further compromised by a negligence of public health standards and an indifference to territory and creating a GloboGlob culture that is so synthetic it now considers consuming chemicals as food ‘natural’.

And if you are among the great many who are allergic, they don’t tell you it’s because they’ve completely adulterated the ingredients, the process, and even the meaning of words, oh no, they tell you ‘plant-based cheese’ is the next great thing they’re creating just for you!

The new ‘art’ eh? I think not. But time will tell.

Our tastes tell us a much bigger story than our grocery stores care to oblige.  And the ever-increasing health consequences and debilitating diseases point to our palates and our plates, which should take their rightful place at the top of that pyramid of problems.

Cheese is full of life and how each cheese is treated determines its outcome.  Kind of like children too.  It is not a source of disease, though like rearing anything, it can be a source of dis-ease! 

I also feel such a drive to protect these precious processes.  The downright bastardization of what’s considered natural in these times is only escalating toward greater absurdity.  “Natural” and “only possible to manufacture in a lab setting” should not be synonomous!

If that makes me a food snob, I am pleased to claim the title!  We’ll need an army of Queen Food Snobs to push back against this crazy.

Confessions of a Silicon Valley Dimwit

“Social justice and climate change, it gets progressive women 100% of the time.”

https://substack.com/@revealedeye/note/c-246898546?r=87pg2k&utm_medium=ios&utm_source=notes-share-action
https://substack.com/@revealedeye/note/c-246898546?r=87pg2k&utm_medium=ios&utm_source=notes-share-action

And now they’re finally realizing climate change is the red herring of geoengineering. Finally. Finally, too late? Any mention of those of us screaming this for the last decade plus? Any apology forthcoming? Any change of heart or personal accountability? You decide, does she look ashamed as she giggles, talks in an ultra-feminine child voice and repeats ‘um’ over and over? Do you see remorse on her face as she confesses? I sure don’t!

“This is just mediocre banter about the lives of tech wives.” says one commenter who is spot on.

Soon it will be a new TV series I expect!

Real Housewives of Silicon Valley

Oh wait, that’s already a show. She’s probably on an audition!

Cartoon Reality

I grew up in the suburbs; I found it really boring; I watched a lot of TV, especially cartoons.

For better or worse, a good portion of my sense of justice came from Bugs Bunny.

Which is actually a lot more healthy than what passes for justice these days, I’d say!

During that time artificial reality did not blur so readily with actual reality. Now when I watch any media I see cartoons everywhere. I see cartoons when I look at people, too. So many have created caricatures of themselves it is clear there is too little authentic left to matter in them anymore. It’s like a return to the primitive, only plastic. Surface obsessed–the inner world collapsed in order to buttress the phony outer world of a manufactured jungle.

The following I copied and/or jotted down from still more media consumption, from a writer I imagine is real, who calls himself Stylman. Interesting name. I stopped following, despite his many wise expressions, when he wrote he thought the crazy weather is being controlled by the fears of the people who believe in geoengineering. A lunatic, obviously. And yet, some prescient views nonetheless.

“And it’s a road to nowhere—a few winners, millions of casualties, and an entire generation taught that their value lies in their ability to perform rather than create, to influence rather than contribute, to be seen rather than to matter.”

Now we live in an era where TikTok influencers who dance for thirty seconds make more than teachers, nurses, or the engineers who build our bridges. We’ve moved from celebrating skill to monetizing attention, from honoring achievement to rewarding performance and exhibitionism.

The fame machine isn’t just anti-human—it’s filling the void left by our disconnection from authentic community and natural guidance, while simultaneously being the logical response to living under constant surveillance.

But this isn’t cultural drift – it’s social engineering. The same institutional forces that have systematically replaced real information, real money, and real community are now replacing authentic human development with performance for strangers. This reflects a broader pattern: we live in an era where every essential human system has been replaced with artificial substitutes designed to harvest our energy rather than nourish our souls.

We’ve built a system that teaches them to treat their lives like content. That tells them: if you’re not being seen, you’re not really here. That your private self has no value unless it’s validated by strangers. We’ve stripped away something essential—the right to exist without an audience.”

While I agree, it’s actually much worse, in my experience.

The invasion of privacy of public systems and the individuals willing to force this state on everyone have deeply influenced inter-personal relationships as well–corrupting them, disfiguring them into parallel invasions–where expectation, extraction, exploitation has become the nauseating norm, and accountability has become entirely absent.

The public and private realities mirroring each other. Recently when I was visiting a dear friend who is Uber-Tech-Attached I had a Truman Show Moment, where she was gushing over her new air-fryer and I got the uncomfortable and uncanny sense I was unvoluntarily in an infomercial.

It’s a very creepy feeling I knew she would not understand.

Folks are faking their way through life, and this will have continued disastrous consequences.

The invasions will continue, until the trespasses are rejected and honor is restored to privacy and to nature.

The dangers of such a system, where access is assumed–access to your private spaces, your private thoughts, from your micro-expressions to your quotidian habits–is a culture of mutual parasitism, not even close to mutual understanding. This is not a culture more connected, it’s a culture more devolved. Incapable of boundaries, non-chalant around respect and autonomy, mocking of custom and structure, collapsing into a decaying emptiness. The nothingness of perpetually dissolving illusions, like the garish carricatures of a cartoonish, substanceless life.

A life perpetually romanticising illusion.

Even as its entire life support system slips away.

Even as the answer is so very simple.

Between Shitty & Country

Having become far more accustomed to the surreal ‘nature’ of ‘reality’ in the last decade or so, I was less baffled by the still ever-increasing Suburban Sprawl on my recent roadtrip through the Hill Country of Texas.

Because of course, by now we are all hearing constantly the war drums of the Globalists and their plan to put all ShittyZens into Smart 15-minute Cities™ under Palantir Surveillance Systems™ paid for with our tax dollars and paving the way for digital money cheered on by ‘Freedom Fighters’ where everyone will be eating food manufactured by Pig Pharma, who begrudgingly keeps the ShittyZenry alive through forced drugging deemed voluntary.

Homesteading gets sold as a solution, which it is not, and never was, and even I knew that as a novice 15 years ago, before it was cool. Homesteaders rarely last 5 years, I’m told, like most small businesses. Makes perfect sense to me, because it’s the only work I’ve ever done that gets harder with time instead of easier.

It’s a lot like all the lies being sold to us about everything, everywhere, all the time.

Perhaps the 15-minute city agenda works in some places, but I see nothing of the sort here. The Shitty Sprawl continues, unabated and unabashed, developing the vast parcels of land without the people, in an unstoppable concrete jungle that clearly doesn’t listen to the same news as we are subjected to from the 24-hour Cybernews Today Club.

Residential and commercial alike, vast development continues, and sits empty for tens of miles outside every major city in Texas: Dallas, Austin, San Antonio, Houston. The foreign populations increase, but not nearly at the rate the buildings to house and employ them get constructed.

And out, and out, and out they go, encroaching far worse than infesting cockroaches. Blocking the views, crushing the landscape, sculpting and paving and polluting any and every open space where someone can maybe hope to make another dollar.

11 new Commercial Mega-projects for the Austin market!https://aquilacommercial.com/learning-center/megaprojects-planned-for-austin/

“The project is set to deliver 1,200,000 square feet of office space, 140,000 square feet of retail space, 1,700 multifamily units, and 200 hotel rooms. The development will also create 14 acres of green space. ”

Mind you, there are already huge empty building ALL over the shitty.

Plus,

(A whopping 14 acres of green space! 😂)

I like when I hear rural (and other wise) folks refer to the cities as ‘shitties’ because I think it fits. Let’s call a spade a spade. What I saw on my roadtrip was horrendous and makes me thankful for the wee refuge we have created here, for now. But the Shitties aren’t the real problem here, in fact. We are being swallowed up, everywhere, by the relentless Shitty Sprawl.

Amazon and Walmart will be offering drone delivery service, so perhaps that will alleviate some of the choking traffic that stagnates around every Shitty, all day long. Those drones must be very adept at navigating through the expanse of electrical towers and fat mess of wires that crisscross every skyline and create a hideous hellscape of prison-like bars. So much for the vast open horizons of our fabled cowboy days.

In Houston, veterans and cripples beg at every underpass and intersection, weaving themselves like Frogger players through 5-lanes of traffic. San Antonio has been ruined by tourism and is now, in just the last 5 years since I was last there, a crowded, filthy slum pretending to be full of family fun. Austin is just more of the same which started well over a decade ago, and continues its relentless expansive march into the drought-stricken Hill Country, paying no heed whatsoever to the limits of water or other pesky human needs. Technology!

Yes, technology is both the Great Driver and the Great Savior. As well as the Great Disrupter and the Great Connector.

While the water gets diverted into Data Centers, swimming pools and water sports for the foreign tech teams, tourist traps sprout up like, well like tourists traps always do.

Mystery Tours and Great Escapes (TM) and Wild West Simulations based on previous historical simulations. Hotels that require Smart phones to check-in and coffee shops that sell fancy foamy cocktails, but don’t take cash.

Such is the American Dream I’ll be expanding upon in the next posts, based on my recent, rare roadtrip. There will be highlights among these many Shitty Horrors, I hope they will be enough to create some kind of basic balance, as temporary as I expect that will be in the grand scheme of things.

The Pie in the Sky Tech dreams are in fact nightmares for a great many of us. The kind of projects ‘our betters’ have planned for the world are little more than anti-human miseries sold as ‘fun’ and ‘sustainable’ while they are in fact conning the populations of the world to build playgrounds for the uber-wealthy on the backs of the common man: THE story as old as time.

Will Austin become the next Neom?

city of neom saudi, future home of the 2029 Asian Olympic Winter Games
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neom
Yes, there is the usual rumblings of faux climate concerns.
“Amidst increasing global-warming concerns, the project raised multiple issues ranging from the expected high temperatures in the desert land, the energy impact and detour of local water resources to the construction of artificial ski slopes from scratch.”

Our Texas mega-Shitties equally demonstrate ZERO authentic concern over their continued expansion.

“The new construction home market in Austin, Texas, remains vibrant, with homebuilders offering attractive incentives like rate buy-downs and closing cost contributions. Demand is steady, as Austin continues to attract buyers drawn to its growing tech scene, great schools, and high quality of life . . .”

In Shitty-speak, a ‘high quality of life’ is apparently defined by constant drought, non-stop shitty-wide traffic and enough beggars to make one feel rich even while living in a mini-studio apartment above a freeway.

Pay no mind whatsoever to Austin’s infamous traffic. It’s main corridor, dubed ‘A Freeway Without a Future’.

I-35 in Austin is one of nine freeways where the infrastructure is “nearing the end of its functional life.” Photo courtesy of Getty Images
Apparently this was a problem inherent in the 1928 Master Plan of Austin’s infrastructure that is now visible to ALL: The Master Plan was in fact, rascist. So that explains everything.

The Master Plan https://austin.culturemap.com/news/city-life/austin-i35-freeways-without-futures/was rascist, of course!

Perhaps the future plan will mirror a devotedly Non-Racist plan, like that of Neom, Saudi Arabia, where everyone has equal opportunity to be a ShittyZen, provided they don’t mind being surveilled like a prisoner.

From Wiki:
“At one company meeting, Nasr said on record, “I drive everybody like a slave, when they drop down dead, I celebrate. That’s how I do my projects.”[108] He also threatened to replace employees stuck in other countries during the COVID-19 pandemic lockdown in 2020, which included the former director of branding and marketing.

Surveillance
Designers of The Line announced plans to use data as a currency to manage and provide facilities such as power, waste, water, healthcare, transport and security. It was said that data would also be collected from the smartphones of the residents, their homes, facial recognition cameras and multiple other sensors. According to Joseph Bradley, the chief executive of Neom Tech & Digital Co., the data sweep would help developers feed the collected information to the city for further predicting and customizing every user’s needs.
However, Saudi Arabia’s poor human-rights record and use of espionage and surveillance technology for spying on its citizens emerged as a roadblock, according to digital rights experts. Vincent Mosco, a researcher into the social effects of technology, stated that “the surveillance concerns are justified” while further adding that “it is, in effect, a surveillance city.” The Saudi Ministry of Communications and Information Technology did not respond to digital rights experts and researchers’ requests for comments.

Other criticisms
The project has been critiqued as a “laboratory of false solutions” inasmuch as carbon capture and storage (CCS), green hydrogen, and carbon-offsetting are self-serving panaeceas backed by the fossil fuel industry which do not work at scale. Furthermore Salman’s vision for the city includes such fanciful technologies as flying cars, robot maids, dinosaur robots, and even a giant artificial moon.”

Even a giant artificial moon?! Wow! Who needs water anyway, fly me to the moon! 🤪

Art, Culture, Sponteneity Forced

A flock, it is not.  There will never be a revolution in America.

More like, when I say jump . . .

Kinda like Bugs Bunny getting his feet shot at while Yosemite Sam demands he ‘Dance!’. . .

It’s a relationship.

Americans will never revolt. They will never rebel. I’m not talking our military here, I’m talking the people, the masses, who will gladly vote for war if they are commanded by their team, but who will never en masse lift a finger in inconvenience to support it. A placard, perhaps. But not a pinky finger otherwise.

Why?  This man nails it and it’s so spot on I fear reposting it.  Truth bombs this huge are usually dropped by assets.  Even listening can get you on a list, I’m sure.  Because, America is so damn free.

But this murdering convert to Islam is correct nonetheless.  Our guns can’t save us from, or in, this battle.  We have already lost.  We were conquered from within long before this current administration.  We do not have the heart to rebel because rebellion and revolution require artists, the kind of artists, and warriors, who cannot be bought.  We don’t have that, we haven’t had that for a long time now.  We have conformity, collusion, corruption and therefore we’ve got what we deserve.  Politics is downstream from culture.

Start at the 1:15 mark, it’s only about 10 minutes, and it’s brutal. Not for the feight of heart, I’m afraid, but absolutely the truth as I see it. Listen and weep, or not.

Desperately Seeking Morally Courageous

I hear social criticism on occasion that the problem with cultures in the West today is a lack of moral courage among the people. We have traded our ethics and morality for comfort and convenience. And I think this is a very valid criticism.

But . . .

That does not strike the problem at the root. It is another effect, not a cause. Because in order to manifest moral courage there first must be moral indignation.

Where has that gone?

Those who I’ve witnessed as model-worthy examples of moral courage started off with anger, outrage even, against the injustices they were witnessing around them, in their institutions, their governments, their families.

They didn’t wait for orders from above. They didn’t look on their social media feeds for what should be outraging them. They looked around themselves, in their own lives, where they personally experienced the unfair treatment, or lack of concern, or outrageous injustice, or someone close to them experienced it, igniting in them the blue flame of anger, the righteous indignation, that is the sustaining fuel that feeds moral courage.

Several such individuals come to mind from the last years:

Christine Massey: “Don’t trust Public Health.” – Dr Sam Bailey

“In early 2020, the Canadian biostatistician Christine Massey realised that something was wrong with the COVID-19 story. She was motivated to commence investigations into virology and the claimed evidence for the existence of ‘SARS-CoV-2’. This led to the development of the Freedom of Information Act project that revealed more than 200 health and science institutions being unable to cite any valid scientific evidence for the alleged “virus”.

Over time the project has expanded to include other alleged “viruses” as well as evidence that any microbes, including bacteria, have been shown to be pathogenic in controlled scientific experiments. The conclusions from Christine’s research are clear: virology is based on pseudoscience and germ “theory” has been falsified. Her work has caught the attention of the establishment media and she even earned a typically-disingenuous “fact check” article recently.”

Moral outrage does not have to look or sound like a crazy woman screaming at the crowd, or making obscene gestures, or behaving like a scary lunatic.

It can be as calm and straightforward as Christine Massey and the Bailey doctors. It can strike at the lies in measured tones and with legal methods. It can be inspiring to others even as you work from the comfort of your bed while sipping tea.

Yet relatively few bother.

It’s remarkable to me that there are so many even now whose moral indignation is never sparked by the mess of the world around them. It’s never fueled by concern for others or for the future. It is as if they are comfortably numb.

It is indeed frustrating to have to live among so many such people. For every Christine Massey there are probably 10,000 soulless deadbeats. Maybe more.

That might sound pretty depressing, but on the bright side, that means just lifting a pinky finger to do the right thing is looking pretty heroic in comparison.

Art As Transformative?

What do you think? Have you had a personal experience of transformation through art?

I wrote my Master’s thesis on social engineering in 90s, before I had any idea what social engineering was. I didn’t know at the time that’s what I was writing about. The thesis was about women writers of francophone West Africa using their novels as a means to catalyze social change. Liberation through literature, I called it, where practices like polygamy, female genital mutilation, and lack of educational opportunities were voiced in fictional form by the otherwise voiceless.

Certainly it is not at all uncommon for writers to use their works toward such ends. And yet, something about the timing of my thesis, or perhaps the content, resonated less with others than I expected.

I found that instead ‘Art for art’s sake’ had become the more popular mode of the times and works that were considered to be ‘too pedantic’ (which seemed to mean any fictional work with a purpose other than sheer entertainment) were heavily criticized.

I tried for years to pitch similar ideas for publishing to various entities and could find no interest and quite a lot of criticism. Folks wanted to be entertained, not taught. If they had to learn something, they wanted it tightly obscured in a bubble of excitement, like a Dan Brown novel.

But times seem to have changed again and authors and artists with a serious message, with deep societal concerns, seem to be able to find, or are perhaps themselves creating, a growing audience hungry for their transformational content.

It reminds me of some of the criticisms I heard in the 90s—art is not meant to transform or educate, but rather has the sole purpose to simply express the subjective worldview of the creator. Any feelings of universality in a work of art is essentially meaningless coincidence. Art should not be held in the clutches of meaning-making. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Art cannot be personally or socially transformative, except to the artist himself, that is an establishment myth of conformity.

I even had an artist friend, with an art degree, who assisted at a gallery, try to insist to me that the glass flask full of the artist’s excrement (I’m not joking) was to be considered art just as much as any old famous painting.

So I’m very pleased to see this more recent ‘re-formation’ to art with purpose. But, I wonder, can it actually be transformative? Or were all those critical voices in the 90s correct?

What do y’all think?

Here’s a couple of amazing pieces which might have such power. Do you know of others to share? If so, please do link below!

In Shadow: A Modern Odyssey

Kingdom

These works are both by: Lubomir Arsov and you can find an excellent interview with him here:

https://open.substack.com/pub/unbekoming/p/interview-with-lubomir-arsov?r=apljy&utm_medium=ios

When Push Comes To Shove

I don’t know when the breaking point will be, how it will come about, who will throw the first punch or the last. But, I’ve got some good quotes to share this post, of the variety that make me wonder if the public has finally had enough of the lies.

Or, was Bezmenov right? It’s hopeless at this point?

More false claims about raw milk, inspiring a good article from a wise woman, Sally Fallon of Weston A. Price. A few quotes:

“In a press release dated March 25, 2024,3 the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA), Food and Drug Administration (FDA) and Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), as well as state veterinary and public health officials, announced investigation of “an illness among primarily older dairy cows in Texas, Kansas, and New Mexico that is causing decreased lactation, low appetite, and other symptoms.”

“The agencies claim that samples of unpasteurized milk from sick cattle in Kansas and Texas have tested positive for “highly pathogenic avian influenza (HPAI).” Officials blame the outbreak on contact with “wild migratory birds” and possibly from transmission between cattle. The press release specifically warns against consumption of raw milk, a warning repeated in numerous publications and Internet postings.”

“The truth is that “viruses” serve as the whipping boy for environmental toxins, and in the confinement animal system, there are lots of them — hydrogen sulfide, carbon dioxide, methane and ammonia from excrement, for example.  Then there are toxins in the feed, such as arsenic added to chicken feed, and mycotoxins, tropane and β-carboline alkaloids in soybean meal.  By blaming nonexistent viruses, agriculture officials can avoid stepping on any big industry toes nor add to the increasing public disgust with the confinement animal system.”

https://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2024/05/16/lies-against-raw-milk.aspx

******

RFID chips for cattle are back in the news as well. ‘The Lunatic Farmer’ Joel Salatin has just posted some choice words on the topic.

They Don’t Quit

“Nearly a decade ago we won the mandatory national Radio Frequency Animal Identification (RFID) regulation.  It was pushed on the heels of the mad cow paranoia as a way to track and find diseases quickly.”

For you youngsters, it was a draconian measure that was incredibly prejudiced against small outfits.  For example, a Tyson factory could register one RFID tag for a whole house of 20,000 chickens—one per flock.  But an outfit like ours would have to RFID every single chicken.  Costs ranged from $2 to $5 per tag.

                  Every time you moved animals from one addressed premise to another, you had to notify authorities.  Thousands of farmers around the country attended the hearings and voiced their opposition.  The backlash was severe and eventually the USDA pulled the plan.  It’s been dormant for a long time and we thought it was dead.”

********

Moving on to an essay that hits close to the mark, I think.

“In an election year that follows more than a decade of rising populist dissatisfaction, high-skill but low-status rejects are coming to look like a formidable social class.

Increasingly, it’s not just obscure farmers or overtaxed truckers who feel cheated out of the respect they’ve earned: it’s also debt-ridden college kids, heterodox tech magnates and blacklisted intellectuals. It’s manual laborers whose wages get depressed by inflation and illegal immigration, but it’s also artists whose projects get passed over to make room for yet another adaptation of The Color Purple. This helps explain why Trump has mobilized young people, blue-collar workers, white evangelicals, law-abiding Hispanics and black business owners, all in unexpected numbers: those are people who feel, in one way or another, despised without cause.

But the bitter irony is that in trying to outdo the founders’ virtue, we have created an unnatural aristocracy far more hide-bound and unworthy than the old-world royalty they fled. Our self-styled betters have neither raised us up toward a more perfect meritocracy nor led us triumphantly into a classless paradise. They have simply replaced an imperfect class system with a grotesque and nonsensical one. They promised to cater to throngs of frustrated pariahs; instead, they created more of them, adding to their number daily from the exiles of the natural aristocracy. Whether or not it is desirable that the resulting coalition should once again find itself represented by Donald Trump — a profoundly suboptimal champion — it was inevitable. This presidential contest is shaping up into a face-off between the incompetent elect and the excellent outcasts. It may not be the most exhilarating choice to have to face. But it’s not a particularly difficult one, either.”

https://archive.ph/2024.04.24-141033/https://thespectator.com/topic/how-woke-hierarchy-created-upper-class-underclass/

*******

And closing with an appropriate poem that was posted in the comment’s section of the post by Salatin quoted above. An author I’m very familiar with, but the poem is new to me.

THE WRATH OF THE AWAKENED SAXON
by Rudyard Kipling

It was not part of their blood,
It came to them very late,
With long arrears to make good,
When the Saxon began to hate.

They were not easily moved,
They were icy — willing to wait
Till every count should be proved,
Ere the Saxon began to hate.

Their voices were even and low.
Their eyes were level and straight.
There was neither sign nor show
When the Saxon began to hate.

It was not preached to the crowd.
It was not taught by the state.
No man spoke it aloud
When the Saxon began to hate.

It was not suddently bred.
It will not swiftly abate.
Through the chilled years ahead,
When Time shall count from the date
That the Saxon began to hate.

ALL For Sale

When I lived in Europe in the 90s it was not too uncommon to see an amazing castle for sale for a pittance. I do mean a real castle, or a vast country estate that included a structure that once was a castle.

And I do mean a pittance, as in, they were not able to give these places away.

Vauburg, France (not my image), bit of a multi-generational hodge-podge.

Sometimes that was because they came with strings attached, so I can understand. Or it was designated for a specific purpose or with strict regulations. You had to restore it, for example, which was something that cost so much that the just wealthy could not afford it.

I had a French boyfriend for a while, who boasted some aristocratic lineage and took me to the castle where his aunt still lived. I marveled at the exquisite property and at the lingering formality of his kin who addressed each other, that is as husband and wife, in the formal, using ‘vous’.

Maybe the uber-wealthy could afford it, if they cared to, but they just didn’t have the interest?

Or, which I’m actually more inclined to think these days, even with their fortunes, they would not be able to restore it. Because the skills to accomplish such an extraordinary endeavor have been lost to time.

A single example of the dozens of architectural marvels which have been destroyed in our little city, with more on the chopping block all the time.

In those days I dreamed of becoming a travel writer, or a writer of historical fiction. So, it’s not a huge stretch for me now to covet an interest in such parallel stories here, today, locally.

This is the closest real city to us, Palestine. What I’d call a small city today, though growing steadily. It was never more than a small city, as far as population goes. Just how it amassed such an amazing amount of great architecture is a real mystery to me. Though there are official stories.

I knew there was some interesting history there, and all around here, but it’s not like I’ve had a lot of time for exploring such idle pastimes, with all the work trying to build up a homestead.

But lately I’ve been squeezing in some time and loving it!

And of course, you’ve got to blossom where you’re planted. I used to tour every castle or abbey or old walls or ruins I could find, whether in the Old Town of any European city or hamlet, or a day hike away from the nearest bus stop.

This Old World has entered center stage for me again thanks to the Cyber World, which is really kinda crazy. But, true.

I’ve seen this old church for sale the last few times while driving through the downtown streets marveling at the old buildings.

I stop for lunch, and at a favorite antique shop, where I see tourists, which I find delightful. Though they only have much interest in the antique shops and the cafes and the provided entertainment. Still, it’s fun hearing German in the tourist office and hearing ladies from places all around the region, even in a rainstorm, there to peruse what our little city has to offer.

I was a novice travel writer, until I met the love of my life, who I managed to lure from the beaches of Thailand to a trailer park in Mena, Arkansas.

Hubby and I at ‘Roman ruins’ in Spain 2003—note our cute matching outfits—that was not planned.

And look who returned the favor by luring me into the deep woods of East Texas to spend an exceptional amount of time doing menial labor. 😏

I was also a beginner tour guide, Mayflower Tours. I lasted about two weeks, until I realized how unsuited I was to a job hosting a bus full of retirees for four-day trips to and around Branson, Missouri three times a month.

I think they weeded out a lot of us that way. There must be a trick to how many bossy seniors and cowboy theaters can be stomached for minimum wage, but I couldn’t figure that out quite fast enough. Another potential career option in the toilet.

And yet . . .

When I see precious gems like this my imagination sparks just like those days in Spain, France, Germany, UK, Czech Republic, Poland . . . Ok, everywhere, just about everywhere. I was very much a Europhile. Still am.

And yet . . .

I’m so struck by the lack of general interest. And knowledge. And, frankly, care.

I see the collapsing remnants of a structure worth saving. I see a history worth understanding and passing forward.

That’s the shot to inspire a buyer’s creative juices? Yikes. What about its real history, does anyone care? And, where’s the roof?

But the Realtors, who are there to sell this precious gem, see little of that world, neither the past nor the true potential. It’s such a shame. Such a very common, and so very confusing, big fat shame.

Will it become an ‘event venue’ as they suggest? It’s hard to imagine the kind of events that would make such a renovation effort worthwhile, or particularly palatable. Is there even such skilled workmanship available today?

Dare I question, true philanthropy, if it ever existed at all, is it dead?

There are many such gems in our little city, which suggest but mere clues to the true treasures in our midst, in plain sight—all teetering in a world of nearly forgotten but, dare I hope, at least a cyber-revival?

A taste of the hidden history in plain site, he’s getting to all the states eventually, and beyond, one of a great many channels sparking my renewed interests . . . 😁