Speaking of Bad Plots

For those who have seen me answer comments, and poke a few of the groups I’m on and are wondering why I haven’t written a post: I’ve been sitting here, quite literally wordless.

I was fairly salty on instapundit last night, on the subject of the idiotic raid on Trump’s place, but you know, that is easy. This is much harder, because I have to give a more reasoned opinion. And all I can say is, SERIOUSLY? Am I really living in a novel? Because Sad Puppies really was foreshadowing for our greater National troubles, only you know, it can’t work int he macro world as it did there, so–

Though I suppose it can, in fact, and give us a society that would give wet dreams to much younger, much more Libertarian (If there’s a way to put a more capital L on that, do it mentally) me. But I’ve grown up, and as predictable, move left, which means I became MERELY a minarchist, and I’m not sure that the kind of peaceful anarchy I envisioned is any more possible than communism. Not that I think we end up with colanders on our faces (but I’ll buy another one, just in case, since right now all I have is Pineapple colander and blue enamel colander, not the right style.) because that’s not how anything works. But the problem is I apparently don’t really know how things can work in the end.

Anyway, if that paragraph above gave you headaches, you and I are headache buddies now. If you understood it, find a reputable psychiatrist asap.

I’ll start the festivities with how a buddy characterized the Junta this morning, a characterization I heartily endorse: The Biden Construct, and his stupid-as-a-box-of-rocks, yet arrogant-as-a-house-cat advisors.

Part of the problem, as I said before, is that they are now running plots that are only flying below the radar — to the extent they are — because they are so crazy real people feel insane even thinking about them. Another thing to add is that they’re stupid. They’re stupid as all get out. And that’s even harder for some of us to fathom.

“Arrogant as a house cat” and stupid for the exact same reason. Our big puff of fluff declawed (yes, there was a reason. Might have to do it to Valeria now for another reason: medical) Havelock cat keeps back talking the coyotes outside, and telling us he could go out and beat them all. They’re just illiterate cats who don’t talk right.

Havey wouldn’t last ten seconds outside. He looks like a big, fluffy bunny and has the sort of squeaky voice bunnies have. If the coyotes didn’t nom him, the hawks would.

These Bidentia are the same kind of hothouse flowers (I almost typed whitehouse flowers) as Havey, pampered from birth, no one ever told them no. In his defense, at least Havey is one of the most adorable little kittens I’ve ever seen. These people ain’t adorable. They just internalized early that rewards came from parroting what was handed to them, and twisting it ever crazier. And they never realized that’s not, in any world or place the definition of “smart.”

You see, from THAT point of view, raiding Trump’s house (“compound” my ass) is a win win for them.

Either they find secret stuff they can use to do their big Stalinist show trial and finally imprison him — yes, they really believe this, because he’s a “bad man” so of course he must have recorded himself twirling his mustache and talking about his love affair with Putin — OR they piss us off so much that we erupt into civil war and then they can put us down easily, because frankly there’s only a couple thousand of us, and we’re all racist rednecks and over 70. So it will be trivially easy, right?

No. I’m not joking about either of their assumptions. I found out during SP that they have a bizarre idea of who we are and what we can bring. In fact, their view of the world requires we be that, or it splinters. And that, because they base their identity on their view of the world, means they splinter. It’s kind of like dying.

And part of the issue is how they define us. And how they justify what they want to do to us. As in Sad Puppies (And we’ll Psakircle around to that) they can only imagine we oppose them, not because we have substantive reasons to disagree with them or because their ideas are crazy, don’t work and are totally out of contact with reality but because we’re all old white males who feel our supremacy (which hasn’t been true for fifty years, if it ever was) in science fiction threatened, and so we are lashing out. For this to work, we must all be rich and famous and OLD white males. Even when we obviously and literally aren’t, which started the whole joke about the white Mormon male with a great rack (since a few of us obviously aren’t. And some of us aren’t any of those.) But for their ideology to work we MUST be that, and so that’s what it is in their heads. (Remember they also believe if they think something hard enough it will be true.)

So, in this case, they define anyone who objects to their completely pants-on-head program (and they really don’t get it is that, so they keep melting down and telling us how good it will be for us, and then melting down again and blaming Republicans) MUST be an old privileged white male, who is a white-supremacist. And the fact the FBI can only find one or two of those for their groups, and that the ones they find are all insane, must mean we’re rare and basically powerless.

That this can co-habit their heads with the idea that we are holding back their entire dream-program tells you the level of insanity we’re dealing with. (Unfortunately not rare for the left. Let’s hold a moment of silence for the kulaks and all the other “wreckers” and “hoarders” blamed for their dreams NEVER working in reality.)

So when I say they’re hoping to get “us” to revolt, this is not exactly true. What they are trying to do is provoke the imaginary couple of thousand people to revolt, so they can make an example out of them, and thereby explain to the vaster crowd to whom they’ve lied that these people are evil, and the democrat/Marxists are our only salvation. And once they explain, everyone will just get with the program of eating bugs and owning nothing and being happy.

And there is an off chance they’ll find documents of collusion between Trump and Russia. Perhaps in their heads MUCH MORE than an off chance.

Okay, I’m going to have to explain that one.

The first thing you need to understand is that evil people assume everyone else is evil. Crooks assume everyone else is a crook, and pathological narcissists think everyone is a pathological narcissist. You have to understand that to realize why they act the way they do.

The fraud is so massive (ah, inclusive, isn’t it?) on the left that they thought they had the elections sewn up forever and ever amen. But Trump won. That means HE HAS TO HAVE CHEATED, and there must be proof somewhere. The same way there must be proof somewhere that he intended an insurrection on Jan 6, because they d*mn well would have, if someone had frauded an election away from them openly and that clumsily. So, they’re sure they’ll find proof.

You see, part of their conceit is that they have to cheat, because people are either too apathetic or too bamboozled by those 2000 white supremacists to vote for them. That is the other bit. They’re absolutely convinced that only Trump could have/would ever defeat them, because collusion and evil sneakiness, not the American people having had JUST ABOUT ENOUGH of their shenanigans.

Which is what this is all about. They’re sure this raid was win win.

Which tells you what we’re up against. Stupidity so vaunting and overarching, combined with confidence so absolute that the angels themselves cry in vain at trying to pierce it.

In other words, they’re morons who think they’re geniuses.

Now, while I don’t agree with BGE that civil war is the worst thing — trust me on this, there are worse things. Though I understand where he’s coming from — it would still be a very bad thing, and there is an off chance — VERY off — we can still avoid it, maybe. And trust me, having gone through it and back again, yes, norms can be restored without it. It’s kind of like a convulsion of collective disgust that cleans things up. While I’m not sure Nuremberg-style trials really do. Because I’ve been in Germany and heard people talk in pubs. It might just make the resentment and sense of being hard done by go underground and fester for generations.

However–

There is Sad Puppies. We started it with shiny chrome-plated idealism, wanting to restore the point at which the Hugo meant “you should read this.” instead of “ew, really?” And yes, for some of us the breaking point was when the stupidity known as “if you were a dinosaur my love” got nominated for all the awards, despite displaying the contact-with-reality and craft that would have got me a b in middle school.

We were fought up against tooth and nail, with full disproportionate demonization and media attacks, understandable only if you get that they need their awards to get academic jobs.

They then “fortified” the Hugos to make sure nothing they didn’t approve of could ever be nominated, let alone win. And they bragged about it. And somehow they thought this didn’t matter, or made them more important, I’m not sure which.

Except that it does. Once people see the masks off, they don’t believe you again. So the public at large including casual-fans disconnected from the awards. And while they were probably still good for academic jobs, the awards have now gone to Diyu (yeah, I know, but trust me, it’s Diyu) and are never coming back, so they’ve lost that too. And I know because I still lurk in a bunch of lists where they’ve forgotten I exist, that they’re having trouble selling at all, and the new advances are often just $2k per book. (Which is why they need the academic jobs.) While the rest of us are doing okay. I mean, I need to get back to serious work (before Pat-the-editor kills me) but the just 40k word sf mystery I cobbled together and put out before moving swallowed my life had made me 14k by end of year. So we can just ignore them and thrive, while their livelihood sinks and their awards go to China.

But while I’m sure they think they can send the entire country to China, and it might very well be what they’d like to do, they can’t. And they can’t have China take over either.

So what they’re actually doing is create a country in which none of us believes in the propaganda or the elections or the institutions or the processes. And they have absolutely no clue how bad that can get for them. (For us too, sure. But them–)

And as someone who went through Sad Puppies and the insanity that followed — the resemblances are uncanny. We ignore them, and they would surely have the FBI raid us if they could — I can tell you that should Trump or anyone else not of the left get back in there will be a cleaning. Most of us are scarred and limping, but we’ve also lost all illusions about playing the game or the other side being honorable.

And I bet it’s the same on the macro scale. What they are creating for themselves is implacable enemies.

Yes, maybe it will all tip into actual violence sooner than later. But it’s worse for them if it doesn’t. People who no longer trust that the people making the rules have any right to can get downright nasty. Aristo aristo a la lanterne nasty. And the longer it goes on the worse the “nasty” will be.

Can we get them to understand that? I very much doubt it. Morons who mistake themselves for geniuses remember.

A glooming peace this morning with it brings,
The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head.
Go hence to have more talk of these sad things;
Some shall be pardon’d, and some punishèd:

And it won’t be at all what the left thinks it is.

*UNRELATED UPDATE: Teamhoyt apparently thought that I meant to reserve the contributions in check and cash to thank later, after one more trip to mailbox. Teamhoyt can be morons. I blame Havey. But at this point I guess there will be a second thanking later.

Of Thee I Shout!

I doubt this list is complete. I suspect TeamHoyt misplaced (or possibly ate, for values of TeamHoyt, since Havelock-cat insisted on helping) the mailbox donations. (Some of them we won’t even get till this weekend. As I said, an envelope a day, still. THANK YOU.) If you don’t see your name here, and would like to, ping me below and I’ll amend (I trust you.)

If you see your name here and would like not to, send me a note immediately at the email of heat. It shouldn’t be a big issue, TBH since any name even vaguely unusual was anonymized to just initials. However, I understand paranoia, and if you want it removed and TeamHoyt slipped up, let me know.

Hun membership certificates and carp-ed certificates will follow in PDF form. We’re going to try to send all the physical/book rewards before the end of August, and I’m actively working on the collection, but not full time because my editor will kill me if I don’t get BOR to him.

And lest you think I’m all about the bats, until the age of 10 my family nickname was Raposa, due to my eating habits (carnivorous) and my tendency to be slinky and vanishing. So, this is a good representation of me being very happy about the fundraiser. It occurred to me that it’s actually close to 45k. So, given everything, very happy. Younger son says I shouldn’t feel embarrassed, I should feel grateful and use it wisely, to grow the writing business AND not kill myself with work. (When did the boys get so wise, anyway?)

I’m going to try to make it fun, by bringing on silly images, because I don’t know what else to do, with a long list:

Now, shouting the As — and one number and another alphabet — (by first initial):

11B-Mailclerk, A Nice Name in Hebrew From a Donor in Israel, A. M., Aaron D., Aaron M., Abigail H., Aidan G., Aimee Morgan, A. E., Alan D., Alan F., Alice D., A., Allan K., Allene C., Alvin T., Amanda S., Amanda Z., Amy B., AnAuthorinCharge, Andrew A., Andrew F., Andrew H., Andrew H., Andrew M., Andrew M., A. N., Anonymous, Anonymous, Anonymous, (repeat a few times) Anthony B., Anthony T., Arnold D., Arthur B., A. R.,

That Good Boy above is Giving some love to the Bs:

Barbara T., Barry G., Benjamin Y., Bertram B., Bill M., Bill R., Billy A., Bobbie S., Bonnie H., Bonnie Ramthun, Brad E., Brandon D., Brenda D., Brian E., Brian G., Bridget M., Bridget M., Bryan C., Bryan S., Bryan W., Byron C

Do you C it?

C.R.W., Caitlin W, Cardshark, Carl P., C. M., Carol O., Carol R., Catherine D., Chad I., Charles S., Charles W., Chelsea W., Cheryl & William, Christine K., Christie M., Christopher C., Christopher M., C. B., C. H., C. W., C. N., C.W., C. E., C. R., Colin W., Confutus, Courtney B., C. P., Cybersmythe, Cynthia A.

Here is a derp fish saying: What would I do without Ds?

D.A. B., Daniel A., Daniel C., Daniel M., Daniel R., Daniela M., Danny A., Danny W., D. D., D. B., David Bishop, David D., David F., David F., David H., David J., David J., David K., David L., David L., David M., David M., David N., David P., David R., David W., Dawn: Crew of the Howl, Dawn, Dean K., Dean S., Denise H., Denise W., Dennis A., Dennis H., Diane H., Digital Night, DJS L., D. S., Don P., Donald B., Donald C., Donald P., Doug N., Douglas W., Douglas W., D. M

This little guy says the Es are always excellent:

Earl B., Edward M., Eleanor C., Elizabeth B., Elizabeth H., Ellyn L., Eric S., Eric S., Erica B., Erik A., Erik S., F.

And you know the Fs just FLY:

Fast Richard, Fernando F., F., Francis F., Frank H., Frank T., Fred S., Frederick M

Okay, he’s trying to dance for the Gs. He’s a little… mechanistic:

Gail F., Gale G., Gary S., G. N., Geoffrey B., Geoffrey W., George F., Gerald D., Gerald P., G. A., G. S., Giles H., Grant L., Greg K., Gregor H., Gregory R., Gregory S

Everyone knows I’m partial to the H’s but I’m also putting the Is here, because they’re little:

Hal H., Harold S., Harry B., Harry S., H. M., Henry C., Herb N., Howard H., H. C, I. S., I. M., I. K., I. a K., I. B., I. M.,

Saying hello to the Js!

J A., Jack M., Jackie M., Jack W, J., James A., James B., James C., James C., James C., James F., James F., James G., James G., James K., James N., James N., James O., James P., James S., James W., James W., James Y., Janice D., Janice M., Janis C., Jeff G., Jeffery H.P., Jeffrey C., Jeffrey G., Jeffrey P., Jeffrey S., Jennifer A., Jennifer R., Jeremy C., Jeremy P., Jerold S., Jerry B., Jerry L., Jerry S., Jill Oszibarack, Jim T., JOE m., John B., JOHN B., John C., JOHN D., John F., John G., John H., John H., john k., john k., JOHN M., John M., John M., John P., John P., John R., John S., John W., John-Joseph W., Jonathan B., Jonathan C., Jonathan G., Jordan N., Joseph C., Joseph C., Joseph O., Joseph R., Joseph S., Joshua A., Julaire A., Julia P., Julia W., Julian H., Julie S.

Who else should introduce the Ks?

Karen B., Karen G., Karen M., Karen P., Karen P., Kat S., Kathryn Y., Kathryn Y., Kathy B., Kathy L., Keith F., Keith L., Kendall V., Kenneth F, Kenneth H., Kenneth K., Kenneth O., Kenneth S., Kevin K., Kevin R., Kirsten B., Kirsten C., K. L., Kristine H., Kurt W

But I’m trying to keep it balanced here, so these guys will throw a party for the Ls

Larry B., Laura M., Lauren R., Laurie M., Laurie M., Lawrence R., lawrence t., Leonard D., Leonard W., Lewis C., Linda S., Lloyd L., Lord Funnybone, Lori E., Lori K., Lucy H., Luis L., L. C., Lynn C.

Well, who else would introduce the Ms?

M. Metzger, Margaret Ball, Marie R. & Samizdata Friends, Mario A., Mark H., Mark H., Mark L., Mark R., Mark R., Mark W., Martin R., Martin S., Martin S., Mary B., Mary C., Mary C., Mary H., Mary H., Mary J., Mary M., maryh10000, Matthew M., Max J., Michael A., Michael B., Michael B., Michael D., Michael D., Michael F., Michael G., Michael H., Michael K., Michael K., Michael K., Michael L., Michael L., Michael M., Michael M., Michael N., Michael P., Michael S., Michel D., Michele P., Michelle R., Mike Houst, Mike K., M. G.

He was offended he didn’t get the Ms so he’s introducing the Ns,

Nancy M., Nathan Brindle, N. S., N. C., New England Yankee, Nicholas K., Nick B., Nick C.,

And Os, I’m sorry, but no pretty oreoles. Orvan would like to represent!

O. F., Oliver S., Orvan Ox

I was going to aggregate the Ps, but the pegasus wanted in and you can argue with a pegasus, but they always win.

Pamela O., Pamela U., Patrick, Patrick L., Patrick W., Paul B., Paul C., Paul Foreman, Paul H., Paul K., Paula W., Perry The Cynic, Peter B., Peter C., Peter S., Peter S., Philip E., Philip P., Phillip C.,

And he claims he’s entitled to the Rs:

Rachael B., Rachael M., Rachel M., Rachel T., Ralph C., Randall H., Rebecca J., Rebecca M., Rev J., Ricahrd Bledsoe, Richard F. Weyand, Richard Skinner, Richard B., Richard C., Richard D., Richard E., Richard G., Richard G., Richard H., Richard J., Richard K., Richard N., Richard S., Richard V., Rick K., Rick W., Robert A., Robert B., Robert C., Robert D., Robert F., Robert F., Robert P., Robert W., Robert Y., Rod M., Roger M., Roger Ritter, Roland H., Ronald L., Ronald W., Ronald W., Rory D., Ross H.,

My ducttape little brother has doggies. They don’t look a thing like this one, but never mind.

Shout out to the S!

Sam F., Sara D., Sarah G., Scott K., Sean K., Shane T., Sharon P., Sharon R., Sharon S., Shawna S., Sherri M., Sherry H., Sintra E’Drien, Spirit of Sanford, Stefano L., Stephanie K., Stephen C., Stephen C., Stephen F., Stephen L., Stephen M., Stephen M., Stephen N., Stephen U., Steve B., Steve H., Steve J., Steven B., Steven G., Steven K., Steve and Emily Nelson, Steven O., Steven W., Susan H., Susan Mollman, Susan W., Susan W., TheOtherSean

He’s upset I didn’t let him into the S, so he’s here to shout Let’s hear it for the Ts

T. H., T. S., T. T., Ted R., Terrence M., Terri R., Terry L., Thomas C., Thomas J., Thomas M., Thomas R., Thomas R., Thomas S., Thomas S., Thomas T., Thomas T., Thomas W., Thomas W., Tiffanie G., Tim, Tim B., Tim C., Timothy B., Timothy D., Timothy H., Timothy T., Todd N., Todd Q., Todd S., Tone L, Tom B., Tom S., Tony A., T. A., Tregnosee314, T. S., T. R., Tyler B., Tyler P., Torne D.

And a wallaby is excited for the Ws and the Zs.

, Walter S., Wayne W., Wendy K., West S., Willard F., William B., William B., William P., William R., William R., William S., William S., Zach R., Zachary C,  Z. F.,

To all of you, to the endless “anonimy/anonymoose/anonimity/anoonas and A. Nonimous” and to the 500 people who very carefully contributed under 10 (a lot of them 9.99) so they wouldn’t be included in the shout out (Yes, next time I’ll raise that threshold), I am immensely grateful and love you all to bits.

Certificates under way shortly, and I’ll tell you from which email before I send. (Or more likely put them somewhere you can download, so that the email doesn’t think I’m spamming.) And the other rewards too, shortly.

LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH.

Wrought

Years ago, when the Shakespeare series was the only thing I had published, and it seemed like I’d be shunted into historical fantasy forever, I was offered a book (through the History Bookclub, that’s how long ago that was) that claimed to be the diary of a Tudor (or Elizabethan, I don’t remember) woman. (The book is still packed. There is a great push to unpack, yes, but it will take time.)

It was the greatest take-in. This woman had had a fascinating life. In the crazy conspiracy and totalitarian pushes of the era, two of her husbands and some number of her progeny had been executed for treason. She, herself, had been under suspicion.

What was her diary? Well, imagine I become famous enough that in 200 years a graduate student looking to do a thesis on some obscure 21st century person. He gets all excited, because you know, immigrant, ESL, writer, blogger. And he finds, somehow, miraculously preserved, my husband’s scrupulous diaries. How much of my own life will be recorded there, eh?

Well, he’ll get all our dentist and eye appointments (I often forget mine, so Dan notes mine too) and all our major house reno (like roof repair, on the other house after hail) and appliance purchases, so we know where to go for the warranty. And that’s pretty much it.

This woman wasn’t quite that bad. I mean, she did note her poultry purchases, the eggs they’d laid, etc etc. (Yes, she was a noblewoman. Look, it’s not like the movies) but most of the entrances, like 99% of them consisted of the same words:

Prayed. Wrought. Prayed.

Wrought means “Worked.”

This woman, amid one of the most tumultuous periods of the renaissance, in an area where people were getting killed for their religious beliefs, or lack thereof, where lands were being expropriated, where treason was so rife on the ground you couldn’t cross the street without becoming a co-conspirator in something, spent most of her days sewing, cleaning, supervising servants, preserving food, looking after domestic animals (or keeping an eye on servants who did.)

Her husbands and her might have been involved in outright plotted regicide. BUT most of her days, she got up in the morning, washed hands and face (probably) put on clothes, prayed, and prayed again. And went to bed.

Was she happy? No one is unremittingly, permanently not happy. I bet in the middle of the turmoil and horror of losing husbands and children, she had days of joy.

And she made things and salvaged things, and fed her family, and some of her kids survived, and given how long ago it was, if you have any European blood, you’re probably descended from the world’s most boring diarist.

So, what is this in the name of?

Well, I wasn’t going to write about this. I was going to write about how none of you really understand the younger generation (40 and younger) unless you’ve raised them and paid close attention. About how they’re so frigging paranoid that they make my instincts, trained under socialism/communism/and for six months Maoism seem downright relaxed and laid back. So when people say all the kids are socialist or whatever, they’re listening to what the kids want them to think, not reality. (Their paranoia is giving TeamHoyt quiet fits, and they’re all going to be bald by the end of this. A reminder: if you contributed under two or three different pseudonyms, but expect it to be aggregated for rewards, you’re going to have to clue us in. Some I know or can guess, and spent considerable time this morning trying to unsnarl some of it, but–)

Except something grabbed by the scruff to write this, and when this happens some of you out there need it.

Londoners went on, and worked and kept the economy going enough not to starve while being bombed, during WWII. In bombed out Lebanon people worked and studied and married. Except during the worst periods of communist repression — and even then only in certain areas — life went on. It might be a stupid life, which you spent in food lines, but life went on.

Humans are a resourceful ape, but most of all, we are apes that survive. You’re descended from 100% people who survived to reproduce and whose kids survived to reproduce. And if you think they all did that through easy and fun times, you’re being foolish beyond permission. While all of human history might not have consisted of “brutish, nasty and short” it probably did compared to how amazingly rich and blessed our lives have been even those of the poorest of us in America.

And before you go and beat yourself up that we allowed this wealth and peace to be wasted, don’t. The process started well before us, with the people who believed in social engineering and that humans could be changed to the “new men” and women and “perfect” by their definition of perfect.

They were in the end only the old eugenicists, whose pasttime of trying to breed perfect humans and eliminate the others had been interrupted by the bad taste a certain German madman left on the idea.

So instead they decided to try soft psychological engineering, and armed with a bunch of pseudo-scientific bullshit, they set forth to do it.

That’s where the problem was, with the engineering of economy and society to create something new upon the Earth, all because these *ssholes hated their neighbors and thought themselves superior and enlightened.

The violent wrenches thrown into civilization from the early twentieth century onward had to come acrashing, sooner or later. That it took this long is a mark of how hard working, how inventive we are. (Yeah, mostly — though not exclusively — Americans, because the future comes from America.) Despite leadership that was outright crazy for most of 100 years, most Americans Wrought and Prayed and went on.

The thing is: I don’t think it will crash to the point that we live even vaguely as bad as our renaissance, or even our 19th century ancestors. It might get as bad as the horrible wastelands of the mid twentieth century.

I think we can survive it. It will feel horrible. And the sense of this being done by crazy people, who have a distorted view of reality they are using to break everything is not happy making. BUT it’s survivable.

We’ll pray (those of us who do) and work, and sleep, and even have times of happiness amid the insane chaos.

Remember the history of the 20th century is not a good guide for anything, because it was being continuously influenced by the crazy work of the Marxists, who are now more or less powerless in real terms (though still causing crazy in macro terms.) and powerless in cultural terms. (It’s what’s driving them to try to destroy us.)

Mostly people go on.

But will we lose the Republic? I don’t think so. Maybe, perhaps, for a short time, but no more than it was lost under FDR or Woodrow Wilson (and probably less. Because now we’re aware of what they did, and it’s a “funny once.”)

Will it come back? Almost for sure. Ideas are very hard to kill, and America is, as well as a stubborn, self-selected people, an idea.

When will it come back?

I don’t know. One of the deformations of our current time is that we expect history to work in movie-time. It doesn’t.

Throughout the 20th century and much of the 21st we’ve been in a cold civil war with the Marxists, not just here, but all over the world.

Can we resolve the cold war without violence. I don’t know. Heck, I was never sure with the cold war with the USSR that it could resolve without fire and blood. And I’m not sure, now, it should have.

But it will resolve. One way or another, it will resolve.

And meanwhile, life goes on. And we are the people who keeps life going.

We must work a little everyday, as much as we can to the restoration of the republic, whether that’s by learning or passing the knowledge on. By thinking and reading or by teaching.

But the other work we do also counts towards that.

I was looking at a picture of “work” on Pixabay, and the first five pages were all about group work or someone sitting in front of the computer. We have been truly spoiled.

And okay, I have a bias to considering mind-work as less vital, which makes me feel like a useless leech. Hey, I know it’s not true, it’s one of those things you learn in early childhood.

But a lot of what goes on in companies is make work. If that’s your lot, do it as well as you can, and use the income to build. And if you have hobbies that make and build, do those too.

Get up, go about your life, and build, make and learn.

The republic will survive, one way or another, but our lot is such that we must live through the interesting times, and build and build towards the result we want, even if our contribution is a mere crumb.

This morning I got up and washed a lot of dishes by hand, having finally given up on the dishwasher until it can be replaced. (More time than money issue right now) Then I started writing this, but got interrupted by a friend who needed to talk. Now I’m finishing this, going to grab something to eat, finish a bit of unpacking. Put DST up for pre-order. Contract for two audio books. And work on BOR. TeamHoyt has delivered the list (“Your biggest fan is Anonymoose. He contributed like 100 times.) I’ll thank tonight, which means certificates in a couple of days (Different list, somewhat.)

Got up. Wrought. Yes, prayed too. Will go to bed exhausted, get up, pray and work. My work is mostly stories. If it weren’t for my work at insty, I’d stop reading politics, except a day on the weekend, as Heinlein did during WWII. But I can’t do that, so that happens in there too. So I can spread the word on things I think should be seen. But I also cook, clean, unpack, and make things. I’m planning to take up art again, and there’s these stuffed animals I want to make. (WHAT makes you think it’s bats? Okay, sure, some of them are bats. But there are dragons, too.)

The tumult goes by, and it might or might not grab one of us at some point. Have a plan. Have a plan for lack of food. (I like the cans that last 30 years. The kids can inherit them!) Have a plan for “need to unass in a hurry.” Have a plan for “this might be hard to repair in the future, let me get that instead.” And have a plan for when the Infernal Revenue Stasi comes for you too. But that’s a worse case scenario, and you might be okay, anyway.

Survival is composed of little plans, little fights, little survivals and little moments of triumph.

And just like the wheels came off little by little — even when everything seemed okay — during the 20th century, we can put the wheels on, little by little, with our work everyday. It’s not glamorous. G-d knows it’s not fun. And He knows too it’s not easy, when the world is catching fire all around us.

But we do what good we can. Sleep, wake, pray, work. No matter what chaos goes on, that’s how wars are ultimately won. And that’s how humans remain humans.

Keep your clothes and weapons where you can find them in the dark.

And don’t let the crazy paralyze you.

Go work.

Writer update Book Promo And Vignettes by Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike

FIRST A BRIEF BUT NEEDED UPDATE FROM MANAGEMENT:

MANAGEMENT

Well, I did tell you this fundraiser would be the “pardon our dust” year. What I never expected was for the difficulties to arise from that simplest of things: a shout out on my blog.

It’s not just that I’m nearly paralyzed with fear of outing someone who ends up fired because they sent me $10 — though that’s part of it. I remember being deep in the closet. I opened Instapundit one morning, and saw my name and my heart froze. Glenn and I were in various semi-secret groups together, and I thought he was quoting me, and the most lucrative contract I’d ever had (3 books at 17.5k each) would be cancelled.) Then I realized he was referencing my fiction. — it’s that the “shoutout” part wasn’t absolutely clear, and I didn’t have a designated email for “email me if you don’t want this.” Team Hoyt thought they had a list, but they’d forgotten to look through the bookpimping, the blog comments AND the letters with checks. So, that’s happening now. Next year there will be a “rewards” email, which we’re starting to send off the certificates this week, anyway.


Weirdly, the mass death and/or brief mention is not as hard. A lot of you are going to end up being AIs, ships or colonies in the Rhodes-verse. (Because some names aren’t suited to people names, without an excuse. Though some of you might be noms-de-communication and call signs. A couple of you might end up as cats in the uplifted cat world. Deal.) ALL the other stuff is proceeding apace if slowly — would you believe checks are still arriving at the mail box, at the rate of one a day or so? I guess expecting Huns to follow “time directions” was always a forlorn hope. It’s like herding cats. THANK YOU. Muh PEOPLEZ– though compiling and sending rewards to long term subscribers will take longer, particularly since I want to send you guys something special. (And probably insane, but… you met me, right? I want to make it worth your while.)

Anyway, it’s proceeding apace. Might be done this evening, though probably not because I was VERY bad yesterday, and instead of working decided to unpack my art/hobby room. Which, once it’s setup will be part of my taking a day off a week and doing non-word stuff. So Team Hoyt was left hanging in the dark with no direction.

ALSO D*MN your eyes, can’t you guys send me a note saying ‘use this or that name’ without a thank you note that makes me cry. My mom told me “iron women don’t have the luxury of crying’ and here you guys are going to make me rust or something! (Thank you. Even though I’m crying ugly, having been gathering all the notes, to make sure TeamHoyt gets the name list clean, and all of them made me cry again. I’m grateful for the donations but most of all I’m grateful for you guys.)

Who wants a hug? I want a hug. Come closer, you.

Other updates:

Yes, I should FINALLY send BOR to my editor this week. He might kill me, because it’s supposed to be out the 25th and we’re very late.

I’ve sent in the Barbarella script. And I’ve FINALLY sent in the short story for Lawdog’s Knights of Malta anthology. You see, normally I toss short stories out like I breathe, and doing a short story in a couple of hours is a thing. This one cost me 3 weeks, because it came out in disjointed paragraphs that made no sense. I assumed each of them was the beginning of the story, but actually the assemblage of five paragraphs that first came through were the last of the story. And none of it made sense. Which made me stop and to “The heck, actually?”
Until I finally — because a friend promised to read it before I sent it to lawdog, and tell me if it was written in Martian — sat down and typed it out in 3 hours (the last moving paragraphs/scenes around) and realized yeah, it’s a story. Probably THE weirdest I’ve ever written, but a story. So there’s that.

Darkship Thieves is ALMOST ready to go up, just working on things around the formating edges, in my copious spare time. (Now I’m going to put it on a week pre-order so I can tinker with the hard cover version, but I expect it might take longer to go live, since sometimes Amazon gets inky about re-pub rights, particularly for paper editions.)

ALSO I’m contracting for audio versions of both Other Rhodes and Deep Pink. (Yes, sequels will get written. I do know move and recovery and all have dragged on forever, seemingly, at least from this side of the screen. I have an idea it seems even slower from the other side, but believe it or not the ice is breaking, the floes loosening their grip and there is definite and consistent forward movement. Even if some days — like yesterday — I do play hooky.)

Book promo

If you wish to send us books for next week’s promo, please email to bookpimping at outlook dot com. If you feel a need to re-promo the same book do so no more than once every six months (unless you’re me or my relative. Deal.) One book per author per week. Amazon links only. Oh, yeah, by clicking through and buying (anything, actually) through one of the links below, you will at no cost to you be giving a portion of your purchase to support ATH through our associates number. A COMMISSION IS EARNED FROM EACH PURCHASE.
*Note that I haven’t read most of these books (my reading is eclectic and “craving led”,) and apply the usual cautions to buying. – SAH*

FROM DOROTHY GRANT: Between Two Graves: Book 4 of Combined Operations

He swore he wouldn’t be back while his parents lived…

Now, almost thirty years later, AJ is going home.

Ordered to attend his mother’s funeral in the rugged northern border of the Empire, AJ is baring old wounds to his new wife, and burying familial feuds.

But the past won’t die that easily, and grave secrets will threaten all the survivors and the women they love. Because the Feds are after AJ’s unwanted inheritance…

And they’re willing to risk a war to get their hands on it.

FROM CLAYTON BARNETT: Goddess’ Crusade (American Imperium Trilogy Book 3)

With five legions at her disposal and her own enhanced, demi-human nervous system, Faustina Hartmann has nearly conquered all of what had been the Deep South. Work on the rail lines continues as well as the bridge over the Mississippi, to move badly needed uranium ore from Texas to Knoxville. There remain two holdouts: the former US Army base of Fort Benning and the city of Atlanta. Choosing to strike the military base first, Faustina is horrified to find it is controlled not only by another demi-human who can draw upon the power of a quantum supercomputer but that she is outnumbered in infantry and has no tanks to their brigade of armor. Pulling four of her five legions together, Faustina uses both her knowledge of history and her modified mind to devise a plan. Realizing she cannot do this alone, she reaches out to the Thinking Machines, knowing they will demand a severe price for their help. And, even if she wins, Atlanta lies to the north, where a house-to-house fight would break the back of her army. Marshaling her friends and allies, Faustina marches out, daring to put it all to the touch, to win or lose it all, in this concluding volume of the American Imperium trilogy.

FROM PAUL CLAYTON: Strange Worlds

HE’S DOING A FREE PROMO I THINK TOMORROW? (If I got it wrong, let me know. I’m wrestling octopi while doing this.)

In the future, the love of a young man’s life is dying. He would do almost anything to keep her alive…except that! In Dog Man, it turns out that Oscar the tomcat was just misunderstood — with deadly consequences… A love sick young man attempts to tap the power of an ancient religion to secure the affections of a girl on their class trip to Christland… The dead come briefly back to life every year when the astral dimensions align in Day, or Two, of The Dead. A cynical young ‘player’, adrift in the modern, amoral age meets God on a mountain top and his life is changed forever — but not in the way he’d ever imagined. Traditional sci-fi/fantasy and satire from the author of Carl Melcher Goes to Vietnam. Clayton channels the spirits of Huxley, Orwell and Philip K. Dick in these and ten other intelligent, provocative and highly entertaining stories. WHAT THE CRITICS ARE SAYING “Thank you for writing this. This is the sort of book I was hoping would begin to spring from the Indie world. No way would NYC Corporate Publishing ever allow something with this world view through.” “… I expected Strange Worlds to be about dystopias, supernatural monsters, zombies, and futuristic technologies, but now after reading this collection, I realize that the stories are about us.” “Clayton leads the modern reader through dark and dangerous territory, but the gems they will find there are worth the risk. Very few Indies would have had the courage to put their names to something like this.” “… while you are being taken away to a place and time which is… strange and… disturbing… the humanity of (most of) his characters will make you feel right at home; of course, you’ll want to leave a light on.”

BY WILIAM MORRISON WITH INTRODUCTION BY D. JASON FLEMING: The Gears of Time (Annotated): The Pulp Science Fiction Bio Adventure

He was caught between those who moved too swiftly and those who moved too slowly, but time stood still when he met Medlana.

She was old enough to be his grandmother’s grandmother — but he loved her!

    This iktaPOP Media edition includes a new introduction giving genre and historical context to the novel.

FROM FRANK J. FLEMING, THE AUDIOBOOK FOR: Superego: Betrayal

Terrorists. A ruthless criminal syndicate. A warmongering dictatorship. And those are just Rico’s allies.

With the civilized universe conquered, it’s up to the uncivilized to fight back. Rico prefers working alone, but this time, he’s leading an army against his two greatest enemies, who both have one thing in common: Rico’s own DNA.

Fighting a personal battle on a galactic scale, Rico enlists thieves, murderers, and malcontents (plus one space princess) to help him save the universe from tyranny.

And considering Rico’s new associates, it’s not a question of whether he’ll be betrayed, but when, and by whom.

FROM TOM VEAL: Clicks & Colluders

Hillary Clinton has won the 2016 Presidential election. That was no surprise to anyone. What was surprising was the margin: an Electoral College majority of just two votes. The key to the victory was, in the opinion of many, the late revelation of Donald Trump’s ties to Russia.

Madi Hewlett, fledgling reporter for an Internet service specializing in political news and gossip, is the lucky recipient of the inside story of how the Trump scandal was uncovered. Her source is impeccable, a Russian dissident with contacts deep within the Putin regime. Her story disclosing the details is a sensation, launching her journalistic career.

Or so she thinks. The events that she sets in motion veer in unexpected directions, threatening to end the Clinton Presidency before it begins and making her and her friends and her friends’ friends targets of the FBI.

Featuring an array of characters from the worlds of spycraft, social media, politics and private foundations, Clicks & Colluders tells a story that might almost have come true.

FROM DAVID COLLINS: Darkness and Claws: Starship Medusa book 2 (Space Ship Medusa)

In the first book, On Mars, Jason stumbled across the escape pod to a 3,500 year old derelict spacecraft.

The AI for the ship then informed Jason that due to him having some traces of alien DNA, he was now the Captain of a massive alien Starship. That ‘should’ have been good news. But bad news was was that Jasons DNA had a second trait, one that shouldn’t be there… The last time that someone had one of the forbidden DNA aspects, that was what caused the last war that left the ship a derelict.

Now, in the second book, with the ship finally with a a full crew, and outfitted with the most creative weapons that Earth had managed to come up with. They take off to their first interstellar destination, a Mauron shipyard, that turns out to be run more like a penal colony.

While their ship is in the repair bay, they get attacked by a state of the art Felinog battle ship. The Felinog were not counting on the unusual Earth weapons that had been added, and some very creative tactics.

Who are the Darkness? Who are the Claws? Where does Jason and his ship fit into their conflict?

What new secrets hides beneath the fake ship, on a world that shouldn’t be where it is?

FROM CHRISTOPHER WOERNER: 202208 Message in a Bottle

This is another collection of the last month worth of pamphlets I’ve published. Edited, polished, surrounded by news headlines I didn’t have any specific comment about but wanted to include. If we’re still around in another month or so, I’ll put the last few booklets together as a standard book as I’ve been publishing for years. If you’re one of my massive legions of fans, you know the drill. If you’re new, you can give me lots of money and find out. That’s a win-win, right?

But I’m still covering current events and analyzing whatever I can, I’ll continue doing that for as long as possible. I know I keep saying that we don’t have much time left but the world keeps getting worse and I only need to be right about this once time.

Either way, I’m still putting this out to anybody who can make good use of it. At this point, that’s about all we can do for each other. I hope you believe the same way, because there are far too many people who don’t, who ignore reality at all costs, who are destroying everything it took centuries to build just to prove they can.

We need inspiration, we need hope, we need a sign that there’s something more than what those creatures are foisting upon the world. Here’s my attempt.

FROM CHRISTOPHER WOERNER: 202207 Fulcrum

Polished and collected, this is what I’ve been putting out for the last month. Current events, observations, thought on the world falling apart, just hoping I could get this done before it finally happens. We need to turn this around now or it’ll get much worse.

Vignettes by Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike.

So what’s a vignette? You might know them as flash fiction, or even just sketches. We will provide a prompt each Sunday that you can use directly (including it in your work) or just as an inspiration. You, in turn, will write about 50 words (yes, we are going for short shorts! Not even a Drabble 100 words, just half that!). Then post it! For an additional challenge, you can aim to make it exactly 50 words, if you like.

We recommend that if you have an original vignette, you post that as a new reply. If you are commenting on someone’s vignette, then post that as a reply to the vignette. Comments — this is writing practice, so comments should be aimed at helping someone be a better writer, not at crushing them. And since these are likely to be drafts, don’t jump up and down too hard on typos and grammar.

If you have questions, feel free to ask.

Your writing prompt this week is: STANDING

Taming The Black Dog

So…. this time line. This wretched, depressing, aching time line… Or perhaps just this time, where we must confront the death of our ancestors illusions.

I’m not going to apologize for the Cassandra moment, yesterday. Yes, I know, Cassandra didn’t get half the kicking around she deserved. And yet I guarantee to you the worst thing of all was to watch folly unroll twice: the one she’d seen inside her head and then the one before her eyes.

It is a curse to be able to look ahead, and see the most likely path, and then not be able to stop people if that path is absolutely suicidal and stupid.

Having seen the left build the narrative to hide the coming theft, (and the staggering scale of that theft) I don’t know what to do. Nothing, I suppose, just like I could do nothing when I saw how stupid the lockdowns were.

(And don’t get me started on those of you who seem to think being ruled by decree by unelected persons is really better than throwing it to your representatives, even when the decree is nonsensical and made up out of whole cloth.

Did I die and wake up in the 11th century, or something? Yes, I know your representatives are idiots. And you think the perfumed, princely judges aren’t? What? they’re Good Men, made to rule? Give me a break. Think. No, this isn’t about that vote, but hearing libertarians defend ex nihilo decrees of unelected officials turns my stomach and makes me think this really is the stupidest timeline.

Yes, solid interpretations of law might stand, but bullshit that is even flimsier than Roe will eventually be overturned. And then what? Are you going to threaten to kill judges? Is that the idea?

Leave alone my beliefs on this. Or your beliefs on this. They are nothing to the matter. Look at what you’d prefer: a real and clear law, written by representatives you can toss out; or the drunken word-spinning of a toking judge granting you things because it’s what he likes?
I have often argued against things I believe right, because the process matters. And these days, taking processes out of the hands of those we can’t punish is EVERYTHING.
But perhaps I’m alone in this. May the yoke be light on your neck.)

This morning, the black dog isn’t tamed. But he is quieter.

I’ve always said that communism would have to die here. The virus came here, even as it destroyed its structures in other countries and took the host with it. Here it hid in our universities, our arts, our intellectual life. And we’ve been strong enough and rich enough to live with it, as a sort of chronic condition.

However, the only way to kill it is to see it. To have it break free of containment and try to kill us as it killed others. Only then can we target it, kill it, remove the malware from the human system for a while.

So it has to die here. And it’s not going to die peacefully. Oh, perhaps there will be no war as such — who knows? — but hunger teaches very sharp lessons nonetheless.

Already, whatever the left thinks, our trust in our system is gone. They didn’t need that barbed wire this time, but as they tighten the screws and more of the system collapses they will need it. And it won’t avail them.

Already people are ignoring them, or doing things to rub their faces in their own stupidity — busing illegal aliens to DC and NYC is a chef’s kiss of wonderful, let them choke on the shit they spew on the rest of us — and ignoring their decrees in myriad way. All their vaunted rulings come apart in their hands like rotted cloth.

Perhaps we have to experience the full measure of misery plus some. It is certain the elections won’t be cleaned up without it, nor the true bankruptcy of Marxist thought exposed.

Cults usually have to die out by having their prophecies disproved over and over and over again.

Yes, millions will die for the fantasies of the lords of internationalism. But the stench of corpses will wake up those that remain.

It is not what I wanted, but it is what it is, and humans — as is said of Americans — only do the right thing after they’ve tried everything else.

Perhaps it has to get worse before it gets better.

I was vouchsafed, long before all of this started, a certainty the republic would survive this. That it would return and endure. Now, I don’t require you to believe that. I don’t believe it half the time (I really hate woo woo stuff.) And I don’t know if this will be in time, or in the future. But it doesn’t matter, does it? The Republic will survive. That’s all I really need to know. Whether it coincides with my mortal and limited life is immaterial. I believe in verities that stand eternal, and it is their survival and manifestation in this world that matter.

Meanwhile…. well, as grandma said… we’ll eat the bread the devil kneaded.

But even devil’s bread will keep you alive. It just makes you angry and bitter and determined.

Listen to Steve’s suggestions on what to do now, to try to clean up the vote. And if that doesn’t work, stand by to fight another day. Because some things are worth fighting for.

The truth is, there will be a lot of unnecessary suffering and pain, because like the fictional puppet masters, these people are too stupid to keep slaves.

It’s acquired stupidity, dinned into their skulls early and often, but it is stupidity.

In the end, we win, they lose.

Put a leash on that black dog. Take him for a walk. I’m going to clean up the list of names to thank, and then start assembling the collection of USAian stories. I’m also going to finish setting up DSR to reissue and work on BOR.

Life goes on. Life went on in bombed out Beirut, and it goes on for us.

We are fortunate to be in a country where the deaths — even if it takes five or ten or fifteen years to get rid of the Puppet Masters — of famine and deprivation are likely to be minimal. We are a feisty people, with resources. We’ll manage.

And we’ll learn.

The burnt hand teaches best. This one will need to burn to the bone, I think. But we’ll learn.

May the Author in his mercy not make us taste the full cup of evil, even if we deserve it.

Now leash that dog. Take it for a walk. And be as bright and productive as you can be. Only that will cushion the fall. And perhaps avoid some deaths. And get us ready to build again.

Me, I’m going to sling words. It’s all I’m good for. And sometimes it’s enough.

It’s Cassandra Again

Were you by any chance planning to sleep this weekend?

Well, oooh boy, do I have the cure for that. Think of how much you’ll get done if you stay awake from here on.

Look, I have bad news. You know how my mind works, right? I pick at little odd details and pick and pick and pick, until a pattern shows up.

That’s how I was sure the fix was in in 2020, because it made no sense for them to be holding the “campaign” they were, unless the fraud was so massive they knew they could win even if only 1% voted for them.

Lately what’s been disturbing me is the abortion vote in Kansas. Not the vote, per se, but the stuff surrounding the campaign and everything around it, including a massive, bizarre campaign (coordinated, though of course there were many, many stupid volunteers. There always are.) of stealing yard signs for the pro-life side.

Look, the left always vandalizes yard signs, and flags and– It’s who they are. They can’t stand dissent. But multiple sources reported this; reported it as spreading all across Kansas, including the remote areas.

Now, I ask you — that was the thing that got to me — what sense does it make?

Unless, of course, they want to make sure the people on the ground have no clue how their neighbors voted. Unless, of course, they want to make sure signs are more or less in parity with the pro-life slightly lower.

And then you stop and go “Uh?”

And then the brain starts ticking. Two things to go into this: I’ve been suspicious about the Dobbs decision from the beginning. Not that it was wrong. Leaking it was a major issue, and I’m convinced they were hoping to get enough groundswell against overturning Roe v. Wade that they wouldn’t need to follow through with the decision. (Remember, they think abortion is as important to EVERYONE as it is to them, and to them it is a holy sacrament.)

But the groundswell didn’t come, so they had to hand the decision down. And the linchpin here is Roberts. You know they have something on Roberts. I know they have something on Roberts. We don’t know what it is, but we know Roberts is their puppet. So why did he let that decision go through?

Because there was no groundswell against it. And it is IMPERATIVE to the left that abortion be not only a big hairy deal, but that people become convinced it’s the most important thing for Americans ever, and that we’d overturn our system of government to secure abortion. That we’d “elect” these idiots, who are destroying us on purpose, to secure abortion.

Okay, okay, bear with me. The mid terms have been looking bad for them. As bad as Biden looked, in August, going into 2020. So, they have to do something.

The ink hadn’t dried up on the Kansas vote, before there were articles, in practically the same language in EVERY SINGLE MAJOR PUBLICATION saying that the abortion issue was so important that maybe the midterms weren’t a loss for dems.

EVERY SINGLE major publication. On command.

So, the Kansas vote. Was it clean? It might have been. Other than the yard signs I have no proof that anything was interfered with. There are rumors of Dominion machines suddenly showing up everywhere, but I’m not involved in politics in Kansas, and I don’t know how to check that. I suspect Dominion because supposedly 1/3 of Republicans voted against the amendment. And uh that 1/3 is awfully familiar from 2020.

I also suspect Dominion because the left doesn’t leave this kind of thing to chance. (I’d appreciate some serious research on this from those of you on the ground and with the ability to look. I can’t.)

But it might have been clean. Even my friends on the right in Kansas were sure this amendment made it possible to completely forbid all sorts of abortion, including medically needed. The snowjob on this was amazing and nothing was correct. (And MILLIONS were spent from out of state.)

The truth is that the “right to abortion” in the Kansas constitution is way more flimsy than Roe v. Wade. I didn’t know how flimsy, or what the amendment would ACTUALLY have done (let’s say were I there, as a libertarian or even a LIBERTARIAN I’d have been forced to back the Amendment, okay?) because who the heck reads decisions in another state? But Neoneocon did a deep dive on it, and here it is: Trying to iron out the meaning of that confusing Kansas amendment vote on abortion

The decision on which this right to abortion rests not only is spun up wholesale from nothing — SERIOUSLY, go read neo — but could be taken away at any time. You see that “if the State has a compelling interest and has narrowly tailored its actions to that interest?”

What that means is that given the right kind of “atmosphere” (I’ve always said that making abortion and contraception illegal will come from the left) a Kansas government could declare that the state is losing population and it’s in its interest to ban abortion.

What the amendment would have done is make it explicit and kick it to the legislative bodies, forcing legislation to make abortion legal to x time IN LAW not in some nebulous “the supreme court of the state found this.”

THAT is not how it was spun. In fact the entire campaign was “support our constitutional rights.” and such nonsense.

So– The vote might — MIGHT — have been clean. The disinformation was so enormous that I read about priests not being sure. (Though to be honest, if I were a Catholic priest voting for an amendment that, no matter how cast, might make the “right” enshrined into law would give me pause.)

The only two things I have against its having been clean (and obviously I can’t prove anything) is the campaign to steal signs (but leave some, I hear. Like…. every third one) and the fact that the left doesn’t leave its Potemkin build up to chance. If it wasn’t clean, I can’t say how it was done. Again, I’ve heard of Dominion machines, but I don’t even know how to look that up.

It’s just that the “smell” requires it have been rigged. The same way that a confusing battle over decisions from the bench and wanting to make things explicit MUST be cast as a battle between “right to abortion” and “all abortions banned.”

Because now, when the uprising before the decision failed, and the uprising after the decision fizzled, they have something they can point to and say “The right to abortion is so important that the American people swung as one to support the democrats.”

In fact, I expect the “polls” to show that over the next two months or so, and I expect it shouted everywhere.

I’ve heard reports of Dominion machines in Missouri too. I’d like those of you who know how to search to find out how far the infection spread. I bet you everywhere.

You see, they stole 2020 in front of G-d and everyone. They were forced to it. But they weren’t going to be able to do 22. Not the way public opinion is. Not with things like “Let’s go Brandon” going viral overnight.

So they had to build ONE cause celebre that made it plausible. That they went to abortion, it’s not a surprise. It’s not only their sacrament, it’s also something people don’t talk about every day on the regular. So it’s perfect to build a narrative of backlash around.

And a SEEMINGLY pro-life (but actually pro-law and representation) argument being defeated in Kansas was ESSENTIAL to build that narrative.

Now, they can safely use Dominion and all their old methods to flip the midterms, no matter how bad it is, and if you say it was stolen, they’ll say “you always say that.” And they’ll start cracking down on “insurrectionists” who don’t believe it was all aboveboard.

Mark my words, as you should have marked them in the fall of 2020, leading up to the elections: the fix is in.

Look, BGE said, and he’s right, there will be no FAMINE in the US. They’re talking famine so that the shortages and hunger can be “we saved you from famine.” They’re already trying it on.

In the rest of the world, including Europe, millions are going to die of lack of heat and hunger. But here? It will be uncomfortable. Maybe very uncomfortable.

But not enough they can’t pretend we care about abortion more. And not enough that reasonable people will be SURE it was fraud and theft.

And so there will be no revolt. The mushy middle will remain mushy. Until there is real and incontrovertible famine, and things are destroyed so that it will take a century to build back to where we are.

So. That’s it. That’s Cassandra, and why I was staring at the ceiling at six am this morning.

Now… what are you going to do about it? What can we do about it?

I need research on dominion machines. I need their history, what they do and the shenanigans of 2020 really exposed. (The false flag of Q-anon rendered any mention of this “crazy conspiracy theory.” I need that reversed.)

And I need this theory disseminated far and wide. Yes, it sounds crazy. That’s the last protection of the left. Their scheming and propagandizing IS crazy, and makes those who see it seem crazy. (Go back and looked at what I said before the elections and their later admission of “fortifying” the elections. Go look. It also sounds crazy, but it was true.)

But it’s time. It’s time to follow Revere in our own midnight ride, this time through the internet. (Which is good because I can’t ride.) They’re laying the ground work in for the fix again.

We need lawsuits. We need enough protest now to scare them, and I don’t know how to do that; how to start that. Any of you who has the ear of a legislator or someone else with enough pull to go after Dominion and other insecure voting, do so. We’re obviously being denied the right to a Republican form of government wherever fraud is prevalent. (Yes, including fraud by mail.)

It’s time to STOP all that. It’s time to be as loud and as meticulously researched as we can be. And it’s time to prophesy. Because we can. Mark my words, the polls turn around as of this week, even though most of the country couldn’t care less about allowing late-term abortions, let alone about a vote in a middle-state, while they’re being starved and invaded by the numbers. But all they need is an appearance of verisimilitude to make people hesitate before they say “it’s obvious fraud.” THAT’s what they’re working to get.

It is our job to make sure they don’t get it.

It’s time to make sure people know. Go ring that bell. Go to every place you can reach and warn them.

In the end we win, they lose, but we can’t take another 3 years of ruin and invasion. It must end. It must end now. And elections must be secured: paper ballots, purple fingers. If they have another three years, there will be famine here. Yes, that will lead to revolt, but the damage will be horrific.

It’s time to work. I don’t even know how to. This is the extent of my sounding the alarm. The rest of you find your ways, no matter how small and ineffective.

Make a great noise. Blow it open.

I’ll be here. Wide awake and terrified.

Tied to the Madman

There is a poignant scene in one of the Giovanni Guareschi Don Camillo books, (set in mid-century Italy, where communism and Catholicism are fighting it back and forth. They’re humorous, profoundly human, and easy reads. The stories are like 200 words each.) in which, during a period of high strife, the priest goes out to bless the river. Btw, if you need examples of how to be a flea on the side of the commies, that character is terribly subversive in little ways (as well as liking to hit them on the head. I might have taken him for a model when I was a pre-teen. Sigh. And Comrade Don Camillo is the best book for how to turn things on their heads if you’re in deep hiding in a lefty stronghold, either professional or geographic.)

Anyway, in the little village on the Po river where the priest and the communist mayor fight it out, the river is an ever present danger, and people cope with it the way they have coped with such things throughout history: every year the priest goes to the river and blesses it, in the hopes that it will become (I am remembering in Italian, the English translation is probably different) “A well behaved citizen and stay within its bounds.”

Now, this is not magic, of course, and the priest explains that. Blessing the river does not guarantee that the river won’t burst out of its bed and flood the village (later on in the book there are accounts of a flood, and if you think that a book can’t paint a picture, be sure it can. For the rest of my life, I’ll carry the image of the priest saying mass in the deserted and flooded village, while across the river, on the safe bank, his flock who fled the flood kneel on the muddy soil at the tolling of the consecration bell. BTW Guareschi is the writer I’d like to be when I grow up. Trained as a journalist, he uses minimal words, but the images stay with you.) It’s just that blessing it gives people hope it won’t, and allows them to live in a precarious place, at a precarious time without losing their minds. (It is important to remember that whatever else humans are, they’re creatures of ritual and habit, and sometimes those are the only panaceas for difficult situations.)

Well, the communists have their dander up, so they tell the priest they want to march in the procession to bless the river with their flags and paraphernalia and the priest says no, they say anyone in the procession will get beaten. They demand the priest cancel it, and people lose their minds. So, the priest says he’ll go alone, if needed. Needless to say, the communists follow, in what is an intimidation maneuver (they have no new moves, really.)

So, Don Camillo, without looking back, gets to the river and prays that the Lord will keep the river within its bounds. And of course, because he knows the audience at his back, he says “If the houses of decent people could float, I’d ask you for a flood like Noah’s. But since the houses of decent people are made of the same stone and brick and sink like the houses of scoundrels, I beg you to make the river behave.”

In case you’re wondering what went wrong in America, and why we are where we are: we forgot our houses can’t flood.

While the business of America is business, and we went about being business like, realist and productive, like a nation composed of middle class people who just want to live in peace, we let our institutions of learning, the government and every other “official” mechanism get infested with Beardo the Weirdo. (The females are worse.)

While the rest of America and the rest of the world recovered from the craziest ideas of the mid sixties to the mid seventies “Everyone must have sex with everyone else! Kids are sexual! Swallow all the pills that make you see weird things! The noble savage was totally a thing, and if we become savages we’ll be noble! The west is the worstest civilization ever, and the rest were all peaceful, sweet and wise” we didn’t realize, or didn’t care that the universities didn’t.

This was stupid, because we are in fact tied to the madmen.

From the universities came the people who staffed the media, the government, the arts, and the knowledge industry all of which are, yes, addicted to credentials.

People ask why Trump was so bad at hiring for government: Well, because he had to mind credentials, and credentialing is now corrupt at all levels, from your elementary school kids to the highest judges in the land. (Hello Queijada Brown, you incredibly ignorant and stupid creature. I don’t know if you started stupid but having achieved the level you don’t know what’s a woman is quite a high mark of how far you’ve come.)

Trust me on this. There are people who are still knowledgeable and productive in their fields, but even in stem this means that they had to learn a lot on their own, and a lot of it against their training. Yes, there are still good STEM programs, but they’re not the ones you expect, and they’re despised by all right thinking — and wealthy — people.

As for non-stem, what happened to it was the result of trying to make the soft sciences into “Science”. Most of the studies are irreproducible. Most of the cherished shibboleths are as useful as blessing a river against floods: they might make you feel better, but they really don’t do much more.

The problem being that instead of being faced with reality and reigning in, Academia and the “factories of (mostly counterfeit) knowledge” were ignored and allowed to spin more and more out of control.

And most of the insanity pouring out right now is traceable to that. As is, btw, the assumption that the insanity means you’re “smart.” Because it’s associated with the “good” credentialing institutions.

That whole discussion in the old post about “if boys and girls were fed the same and had the same expectations set, they would grow up to be exactly alike” is what went into the universities in the seventies. It’s what I was taught as “science.” There were “experiments” that indicated this. (No, not really. What they indicated is that countries with better nutrition had their women grow taller and be stronger. No one looked at the boys.)

The whole “The world is coming to an end because humans are a cancer upon the Earth” whether from overpopulation (Snort giggle), overusing water, growing too much food, etc, were accepted “science” of the seventies (and mostly based on the “work” of Paul Ehrlich who is really a horror novelist masquerading as a futurist. Also, who wouldn’t know things like why we pasture cows in certain land, etc or even the water cycle if it bit him in the flesh part of his back. In fact, the man is a running (Screaming, moaning, idioting) advertisement for what a little bit of knowledge of statistics can do to a weak brain infected by perpetual panic and a greed for money.)

The whole “eat the bugs” is based on that and also on that old chestnut “Diet for a small planet” which was considered sane as late as the eighties. (It should be called “Diet for idiots who don’t realize we don’t live on spiney oak, but cows and goats do.”)

Worse, this garbage which had no contact with reality went into the universities in the mid seventies, and what came out is even crazier.

“Men and women could be exactly alike” (ignoring the true science of human biology) went in and what came out was “you can be any sex you want, and sex doesn’t really exist and gender is a construct.”

And the problem, ladies, gentlemen and curious aardvak is that we’re tied to the madmen.

We, the people who can still find reality with two hands and a seeing eye dog still need credentials. We need to hire people — doctors, or lawyers, or engineers — with credentials. We need to send our kids into these factories of insanity for the credentials. It’s all very nice to say “My kid won’t see the inside of a university, ever” and of course there are trades you can learn that are just as lucrative, but in the end it amounts to giving up the fields that require university credentials to the madmen.

And we’re tied to the madmen, who have now decided all knowledge is white supremacy and they’re just going to award degrees and posts depending on your paintchip color, your sex (which doesn’t exist, but it’s essential, nonetheless) and your impeccable Marxist beliefs. (Hello again, Queijada Brown, you sub-moronic life form.)

So…. What do we do? I don’t know. I know our houses won’t float any more than the madmen’s. But I also know that a flood is coming.

And that afterwards we’ll still need some institutions and some credentials, and that–

Well, what can’t go on won’t.

Part of that feeling you have of an impending storm that levels all things? I think metaphorically we’re getting ready for Noah’s flood. And like that one, it will be worldwide.

But be aware the waters will recede, no matter how awful the cost.

Build your arc, whatever shape that might take, so you and yours can come safe through the flooding. Move to a safer place, establish a network you can trust, make whatever preparations you need. (And here, I’ll point out Noah was right: two by two is easier. Don’t try going it alone. At least have friends.)

And, knowing the Huns, and who you are and what you do: learn. Lay in stocks of knowledge: real knowledge, real things, and real equipment to procure knowledge and real equipment to build and make real things.

At the end of this, we’ll need to rebuild the networks of knowledge. And some of us are addicted to the stuff and can’t help it. Read, write, practice. Learn whatever you can, even if it seems silly at the time.

Get ready to take the weight, because the structure is screaming and groaning, and the waters are already rising.

Be not afraid. Be prepared.

The Problems of Group Work

Okay, I know what you’re thinking.

You’re thinking I’m about to go on a lunatic rant about that one time the 7th gradebiology teacher had us do group work, and I did all of it and only got a portion of the grade.

And you’d be… not completely wrong.

Back then I considered a love for group work the province of mediocre teachers. It was slightly above “Call me first name” or “you’ll teach me more than I teach you” but on a par with “the class will vote on your grade.” (What? You think I’m joking? Laughs in “you must not have gone to school in a revolutionary socialist country. I hated that with a purple passion on account of being obnoxious and widely disliked. I eventually found out threats, early and often got me the As I had actually worked for, but I still hated it muchly.)

By the time I was 11 I had two ways to deal with group work: If forced into a group with pudding heads, I told them I’d do all the work, we’d have an A, please for the love of Bob – Heinlein – smile and shut up. Nine times out of ten this worked. The tenth they insisted on attempting to think and hurting grade. (And filling the classroom with a burnt smell.)

The other way to cope with it was to throw fits and sulk until the teacher let me pick my own group.

Then pick my fiends who then as now, tended to be creative geniuses.

This last often produced sublime results. I think it’s what the better teachers were aiming for. There is only one problem with that: you have to know your group, and be on the sort of terms with everyone that you can say “no, that’s crap. Try this.” without terminally breaking the working relationship.

So, what is this in the name of?

What you’re looking at is any bureaucracy. Any bureaucracy ends up being group work, and unless you are high up (and in the US not even that, if you’re a GOP president, because they’ll scream bloody murder) it’s with “randomly assigned functionaries.)

Now bureaucracy was “invented” in the west by Louis XIV, an autocrat who could remove you because he didn’t like the way you tied your cravat. (And what removing meant you don’t want to know.)

It worked well for a structure with a smart and ruthless leader. (For a value of well, and for a certain size of country. I have personal opinions on Louis XIV. I ain’t gonna go down that rabbit hole. (And you think you have beefs with Lincoln!))

It works horrendously for a government where the heads and nominal heads change every few years. Not only are we being governed by group work, we’re being governed by perpetual self-aggregating eternally self maintaining group work.

One in a hundred might be the kind of person who does the work anyway and tells everyone else to shut up. The rest? Some of them, heaven help us, are trying to think. The rest are trying to look good for teach/party line.

So, what can be done about that? Isn’t bureaucracy needed?

You know…. I don’t think it is. Not at federal level, in a country the size of ours. The vast array of federal bureaucracy should be dismantled for everything, and devolve to the lowest possible level at which things can be run: state, county, parish, city, whatever.

My only quibble is with stuff like the military which, though it’s not being used that way, is intended to fullfil the actual Federal duty of defending the border. I have no idea how that would be organized at the lowest possible level, or if any re-organization is possible. The system is opaque to me. But I’m sure some of ya’ll have ideas.

Anyway, this rule by group work gotta end, because honestly it doesn’t work. Not in school, and certainly not in real life.

The Bad Plotting Society is at it AGAIN

UPDATE:

Okay, first of all, and to get this out of the way: We’re still working on the thank you post, partly because not only are people still donating, but we’re finding out people SOMEHOW missed that for donations $10 and over a “shoutout” on the blog was included. So I’m still getting panicked emails from people who didn’t put a note in the donation.

So, statement of where we are below:


YOUR DANGER IS MINIMAL. My intention is to thank people by first name, last initial, unless requested to use full name/full name already used on the blog.

If you prefer I don’t mention even first name and initial, want to make sure I thank you by full name and haven’t already told me that in comments OR wish to be thanked by nom de blog: email me at the bookpimping email, give me both what was with the donation, and what you want me to use. While at it, if you qualify for math death, tell me what to use for that.

Tomorrow morning I will take the various forms of input and send the data to the completely confused “What do you mean here’s more?” Team Hoyt and with luck and a following wind, we’ll start sending certificates and do a thank you post by Friday. Keep fingers crossed. There are other um… unscripted rewards that will be announced here, so be patient.

Onward to today’s post:

The Bad Plotting Society Is At It Again

Woke up this morning to find out that the PRC is saber rattling over the visit of Lych Pelosi to Taiwan.

Never mind they would never do this ever ever ever if the US weren’t in the control of the Junta of Usurpers whom they own and control….

What you have to ask yourself is why the PRC is so “OFFENDED” over the actions of a country whose elections they subverted and whose current “rulers” (Snort, giggle) the PRC owns unequivocally.

Kind of like you have to ask yourself why Biden encouraged Putin to invade Ukraine, then turned around screaming Putin was the worst evah, all the while of course, behind the back using Putin to broker our unconditional surrender to Iran and also exempting Russian energy from a lot of the actions.

What you have to ask yourself is: Are they that stupid? Or do they have a plan.

I’m here to tell you that you don’t have to choose. It’s both.

Yes, they are that stupid. Yes, they have a plan.

I’ve tried to post about this plan before, but we got lost in the weeds of “But Ukraine, so corrupt, very bad, wow, wow, wow.”

As someone who spent most of the time she was cognizant of the cold war in Europe I’m here to tell we are not at home to “sainted Putin.” Sorry. We know KGB horrors when we see them, even if they’re still sliming around after the fall of the USSR. We also smell “dreams of reconstructing the USSR” a mile off and are here to tell you three things before the subject is closed:

1- This didn’t happen because Ukraine was wearing a short skirt. Yes, Ukraine is corrupt. So are most countries just now, including ours. You think that gives Putin the right to invade us?

2- If Putin had been allowed to get away with this with no rebuke or resistance, he planned to use those street signs printed in Russian, pointing the way all the way to the Atlantic ocean off Portugal. Yes, they existed. Yes, the USSR had plans to invade all of Europe very fast and confront the US with a fait accompli. Yes, they might have managed it had we been stupid enough to re-elect Jimmah Carter. No, Putin doesn’t think it’s too late.

3- No, life wouldn’t be any easier under Putin’s boot than it is now under Germany’s boot, in the extent of Europe. Russian rule is always the same. They strip their colonies and treat the invaded like serfs. At least all Germany has done is pasteurize Portugal. They didn’t actually BOIL it.

Now, for zee stupid plan of our stupid would be rulers:

As I said, this is try #2.

Let me explain: Yes, they want a war. Actually all of them: Russia, China, the EU, our blights in power.

Why do they want a war, the bigger the better and the more horrific the better?

Well, you see, for would be elites whose hold on power is tottering, war has several benefits:

A war distracts the populace from you stupid blunders like oh f*cking up energy supply and destroying agriculture. Not to mention what you’ve done to the chain of supply. Or the unalloyed stupid evil of the last 2 and a half years with lockdowns and insufficiently tested vaccines which people everywhere are getting “wise to” and not particularly happy about.

You can blame every issue, including famine on “the war.”

You can declare/seize war powers and under the cover of those powers remake society and economy without anyone being able to stop you, because if they try they’re “traitors” and “side with the enemy.”

Biden thought a war with Russia was prefect for this, since the democrats have been telling themselves for years now that the “right wing” (Anyone to the right of Lenin) sides with Putin and loves Putin. They expected all of us to unabashadely start praising the old KGB horror, and this would allow them to point at us as pro-Russia traitors and get a bunch of Homeland security acts to suddenly cover us. The more delusional of them might have expected to actually have been able to put anyone who disapproved of them or rightly pointed out the election was stolen into internment camps. This was their path to total control!

Except we didn’t play, the Ukraine didn’t play and to an extent Putin didn’t play. (All his talk of nuking us is either null and void due to decay (and resale under the table) of their arsenal, or he’s not quite sure that the response to such a thing wouldn’t be a fast turn around in US government followed by the mother of all retributions.)

So Lych Biden was reduced to blaming Putin, talking about how dare we talk back to him in a time of war (as though two other nations shooting at each other meant we’re at war) and trying to blame price hikes on Putin.

None of this worked. Not one d*mned thing. And his throat clearings to the extent that he would totally declare war powers for the war on hot weather also didn’t garner the massive support he keeps expecting. (He thinks we’re all as dumb as he is, or tripping balls as much as his son.)

But he needs a war. And he needs war powers to declare that anyone who doesn’t believe him and isn’t 100% behind his program is totally a traitor to the nation and must be arrested. And he needs a war, so his minions can hold on to power and he can continue feeding at the trough for the rest of his very short life.

And China needs a war too, because their people have gotten helloffroggy.

Hence, this is “let’s start a world war, version 2.” This time with Taiwan.

Of course both sides of this “posture and preen” gambit need a short victorious war. How they think that works for both sides, I don’t know, but I believe they’re each lying to the other.

They do, however, desperately need it. China is collapsing and we’re not much better off. If there’s actually — and I believe there will be — hunger in the US (and famine elsewhere) this fall they need to have a war to blame it on.

They need a war to allow them to be as brutal as they want to be on internal dissent.

They need a war possibly to reduce population and leave the survivors too shell shocked to rebel (they’re trying many ways to reduce population.)

They need a war to put US down.

And this is the new gambit. I don’t think it will work. Certainly not to the extent they expect it to.

I’m also sure if it works it won’t work the way they expect. (As in, they won’t be in power, to any extent, even faster.)

I also want to put forth a word to our friend’s in China. Abducting and eating Nancy Pelosi would be a bad idea. A) I believe she’s mostly made of formaldehyde. B) you’d put us in a heck of a bind, making us try to figure out how to attach a thank you note to a nuclear warhead. Perhaps a hologram that deploys ahead of the bomb and says “Thank you guys. You did us a solid. Now eat radiation.” But you know, such things are finicky to plan and it’s not like ten rednecks just started designing the system in their garages. Not at all.

But, at any rate, my husband told me I should tell you what the plan obviously was (I might or might not have been ranting at him about it) so you know.

Yes, it’s a very stupid plot. But in their heads it all makes sense:

World War>Outlaw deplorables>??????>utopia.

Remember these are the people creating the newest Hollywood plots, the ones with more holes than a burst net.

Now, if only I were sure that when they fail to get China to nuke us, they won’t nuke us ourselves, I’d sleep a heck of a lot better.

The Weirdometer

I’ve been a science fiction fan since I found out it existed. This means I’ve always been unimaginably weird. No, I’m not calling you names. Trust me on this. I was more unimaginably weird than thou.

Why? Well, because when I fell into science fiction (and before it I’d been trawling even weirder experimental fiction stuff, looking for what satisfied the itch) I was a very young Portuguese girl. (ten or eleven.)

Reading as a pasttime was already fairly strange. At least in our place and class. I was supposed to devote my days to making endless yards of lace and embroidery against my future wedding. (Only I was clumsy and ADD and besides I was sure such an event would never happen.) If I must read at all, depending on disposition, it should be either lives of saints or romances. Or, if I must insist on being an insufferable blue stocking, then “litcherature, history and philosophy.” (SF saved me from that later fate. I once scared one of my brother’s friends by trying to discuss Camus with him. I was … 8. My brother found it terribly funny.)

Being unimaginably weird means you have to have boundaries and defenses, against letting it leak into the “real life.” Because once it leaks into the real life it’s all up. You become like my classmate (I never knew she was that interesting) who at 25 decided she was the reincarnation of a Portuguese Queen of centuries past, and then lost completely the thread of reality. (“They married her off,” mom says. “Because the fields and farms had to go to someone, and the guy didn’t mind if she wandered around with a vacant look and talked about the weight of the crown and her husband the king’s illegitimate children who might dispute the succession.” Could have been worse. I didn’t have fields and farms.)

Science fiction allowed me to do that, because it had no hint of being reality. It might, perhaps, become reality sometime in the future. But not in my lifetime, and anyway, it’s not as though most of what I was reading had any chance of coming true. Why, the dates had passed for some of them. (Most Heinlein.)

I compensated for my little, strange pastime (worse, I wrote it but that was even more secret, at least from the adults.) by being sane as a brick in real life. I knew what was possible, what was impossible, and stared unblinking at the depths of human insanity and depravity.

In fact I used to say I was never innocent. This is not precisely true. I mean, guys, like most people here I needed sky writing to understand the whole male-female thing. I mean, I was long on theory, but it took me till 18 to be kissed for the first time, and then only because the guy was also Odd and ASKED. I’m sure others had been trying to give me signs and I was completely oblivious. (The Irish side is obviously O’Blivious.)

What I was never was unduly credulous. I wasn’t niffy naffy about human depravity. I never clutched pearls and said Oh me, oh, my, no that’s too horrible to believe. Partly because the outer edges I’d been trawling before I ran away with the science fiction circus involved all the mythologies, including the unspeakably weird ones, the crazy that was Dr. Fraud, and all the other psychological theorists.

Also I was born with a broad streak of darkness through my soul, one I’ve been aware of since I was two or so. (I watch myself all the time. You really don’t want to see THAT let out. Sometimes she wakes me in the night with her thoughts. And truly, #teamheadsonpikes is just the beginning.)

I kept myself under strict parameters of acceptable behavior and thought. This included what I was willing to believe and not believe. And what I was aware other people believed that made the weirdometer oscillate really fast and then become a kumquat.

Naming it the weirdometer was courtesy of a real estate agent we contacted to find us something in Denver when we were moving from South Carolina, without the money to go and find a rental ourselves. She interviewed us and then decided — and was frank enough to tell us — we classified at the edge of the Weirdometer, and would be happiest in Washington Park. (For those who know Denver, remember we read “artsy” and “intellectual” and back then I made most of our stuff, from furniture to clothes to food from scratch and pinged everyone’s “earth mother” vibe. It wasn’t quite true, but there is no name for the weird I am.)

She explained the concept of the weirdometer, and what made it scream and whirr around, and it was pretty close to mine.

…. Okay, an example: I once went to the Natural History Museum in Denver (mild weirdness for a mom of toddlers, but not abnormal, besides, I had the kids as a beard on that one) and they had a big exhibit (one of those traveling things) on earth movements. I didn’t realize (then) there were continents before Pangea. (Look, I went through school in the seventies, in Portugal. I think the Piltdown man was still in our books.) So I went home, fired up the internet (imagine the modem screaming sign and coutersign, I think this was around 96) and went traipsing through the hamster infested darkness to find more.

I found this amazing site. Perfectly accurate on the geology for something like ten pages. And then …. and then the weirdometer screamed, smoked, and started gyrating. Because the last ten pages or so were about the intelligent dinosaurs orbiting the Earth in a spaceship, and returning to the home they’d left and–

That was the weirdometer. And I was probably too “tight” for a science fiction fan and writer as it was. Or as I told my (then) best friend, who broke in when I did “We’re too sane for this field.” (After enduring a publisher lunch that was all about crystals, auras and something crazier I no longer remember. Atlantis maybe.)

Because I’d trolled the outer edges at an early age, I was jaded and frankly not credulous at all.

So, what is this in the name of?

Well, it occurred to me today while washing all the dishes from the dishwasher (we do need to replace it, and when we do I’m tempted to take it out in the middle of the field and use it for target practice) plus yesterday’s dishes, which I didn’t even attempt to put in the dishwasher, that if you’d taken any of my serious posts from the last year and shown them to me when I started this blog, I’d have scrambled backwards away from it, and wondered if I had gone completely insane or perhaps found a hidden stash of hallucinogenics.

Look, let alone believing — knowing — the election was stolen, if someone had come to me back then and said you couldn’t believe any of the news reports, not even at their core, discounting the bias (I always knew they were left biased) or that what appeared to be a worldwide pandemic was really the spread of a relatively mild disease (which was probably cooked in a lab and expected to be more lethal) inflated and made scary by an international cabal who wants us to live in mega cities and hit bugs, while they outlaw agriculture and plot to have as many of die as possible, I would have said that person had broken the weirdometer.

I used to start laughing when someone mentioned vast international conspiracies, because…. well, three can keep a secret if two are dead, but more importantly because the things these alleged conspiracies wanted to do were so completely and thoroughly insane. And obviously could not and would not ever work.

…. Look, it’s like this: I saw cracks in what we were fed by the unified wall of disinformation of the news-entertainment-education industrial complex.

I can’t help it, seeing cracks in logic and “reality” is what I do, and what initially sent me trawling through the waters of philosophy, anthropology and deep history, before I was old enough to articulate what I was looking for.

But the thing is the wall was unified. And thus for the purposes of real life, which I was determined to hold onto was “real” and what must be followed.

I remember when I first fell into political blogs, instapundit (which if you guys remember, back then was way closer to “center right”) was my natural anchor, not Ace of Spades, let alone anything wilder. And a blog like mine has become would have scared the pants off me.

Well–

Well, the masks have been coming off for a long time. And I can toll the beads of my disillusionment with consensus reality in the monstrous rosary of the last few decades. A major one was figuring out that the fraud was immense, amazing, more than I could have imagined in my darker moments. In 2008. In Colorado Springs. Which is why I laugh and point when you guys — bless your hearts, you know who you are — tell me it’s something like 10%. Dear Lord, I don’t think the Democrats have won a clean election since Clinton, and that’s probably because I wasn’t paying attention when Clinton was elected. And right now I think they’re running solely on fraud, which is why they felt confident with a potemkin campaign in 2020.

But now–

Well, the last two years have been a lesson in what is real, and just how insane the so called “elites” have gotten.

Part of it is … almost painfully normal human behavior.

Create an impenetrable screen, and tell people that behind that screen they can indulge their worst behavior, impulses and fantasies, and people will. And after four generations or more with no punishment, those impulses and fantasies will get very…. interesting.

This is basically what the media/entertainment/education industrial complex has been doing for the very rich and the politically connected (particularly on the left) for the last hundred years give or take twenty.

It’s no wonder that behind that screen, they felt safe to become Cthulhu or whatever they think they are. Particularly when their weak minds (hereditary wealth and connections, or even the ability to become rich doesn’t mean they have a spec of introspection, self reflection or the ability to think and analyze reality. As we have proof daily.) were worked upon by the conviction that being materialistic and atheistic was proof of “smarts” and that they were, therefore their own gods.

They’ve run themselves into a place that not only do they think they’re above the rest of humanity, but they are free to treat humanity as a bad, invasive species, that’s in the way of their perfect utopia.

They think they can recreate the garden of Eden, if only they kill everyone else. (And the fact that they don’t realize each of them has a different idea of “everyone else” is in itself amazing.)

This is a madness composed of illusions of noble savages, of separation from reality by great amounts of money and power, of never, in their entire, sterile lives, having been told “no.”

The other day we passed a street corner preacher, who was telling us to repent, the end is nigh. That is not wholly unreasonable. I’ve lived in the South before. I know the “beats” of “normal” for the region. But I swear to you he was talking about lizard aliens being the minions of Satan.

Once we were out of hearshot, my husband made a quip and I told him the problem is that I could no longer dismiss this stuff. Not even if delivered in a crazy voice through a megaphone.

In the last few years, I have had to apologize (mentally if not in person) to so many people I used to consider conspiracy theorists.

And now, the weirdometer is broken. It has taken the shape of a little, yellow, fluffy chick, and intermittently meeps in a piteous tone.

Or, as I told my husband, “What do you tell the conspiracy theorist in the family? Well, you tell him: I’m sorry dude, you were right.”

At this point if I found out that the entire Biden Junta and a lot of their minions are actually lizard aliens wearing human suits? The weirdometer wouldn’t even meep. It might nod. Or perhaps take a nap.

I mean, I don’t think that’s true. I think the theory is crazy-cakes. On the other hand, what the heck do I know, really?
Perhaps I should find the website about the orbiting dinosaurs and send the man an abject apology.

As I said, guys, I’ve been a fan of science fiction since I knew it existed. I didn’t expect it to come true in my lifetime, but I could have accepted one of the Heinlein futures, even some of the more brutal ones, without too much confusion.

But how in holy h*ll was I supposed to guess the future was being scripted by Phillip K. Dick?

I mean, I enjoyed his work, while taking in account he was high as balls most of the time, and then found G-d in an ahah pot. (Which frankly is no worse than a burning bush.)

How was I supposed to know that if you pulled back the curtain of reality, the person typing it out on an old typewriter was intermittently popping Quaalude and horse tranquilizers?

My poor weirdometer has its head under a wing and is sobbing.

I think I’ll join it.