Up Early, But Very Different

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I am not the type who thinks he is led by The Holy Spirit to do much of anything until The Holy Spirit comes crashing in. He doesn’t just knock on the door of my consciousness, He burglarizes it.

This morning I awoke around 3:45, nothing odd there. I check the train schedule, see that Train #98 the Northbound Silver Meteor is running on time. I dress and go downstairs to watch it pass through Ashland on the Virtual Railfan Ashland Live You Tube Channel.

And this is where things changed. I turn on the television, switch the channel to EWTN, the Catholic channel. The program special, A Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing, a biography of the Leftist (Marxist?) radical Saul Alinsky was being presented. It put into context the Leftist/Marxist infiltration of the Roman Catholic Church and how the so-called “Social Justice” movement has diverted The Church from Her Mission of bringing souls to God.

The questions followed. What am I doing? Whom do I want to follow? Who or what owns my life? You know, all the questions we avoid facing, because we know we won’t like the answers. All of the steps I took, the decisions I made that malformed and misdirected my life came into focus.

I needed to see that program and the following program, unrelated to the first, about chastity education and human sexuality. It was a perfect segue, because I came of age during the “sexual revolution”. I acquired a lot of notions around human sexuality that did not serve who I am as a human being and a child of God.

I have a lot of “unlearning” and deconstruction to perform. I feel or I suspect I am not alone. The falsehoods of the last fifty years, maybe one hundred fifty years that shaped my life are becoming apparent in the present turmoil. This redirection is a daunting, but not hopeless, task.

Some of you, and many of my nonblogging friends, will think I am off on another tangent. I, too, wonder that. But the time is “out of joint”, as Shakespeare, put it. The working synthesis of Progressive Thought has exhausted itself, lost its momentum. The inhumanity of atheistic materialism is all too apparent. The dystopias of Huxley and Orwell loom before us. Human beings can choose to be the commodities that social planners would like us to be. The unborn and the aged are now but the most expendable of these human commodities. The fate of the aborted and the euthanized will soon come to all of us, if the demonic has its way.

Unless. We. Change.

Sitting Here…..

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…..thinking about eating. I do this a lot. Food is my drug of choice. Flavors and taste, aroma, the act of chewing, masticating a cube of, say, stew meat as the tastes of the spices cross my palette. Then the willing submission of a banana, when the salivary amylases make quick work of Mother Nature’s phallus of sugar.

….thinking about my sexual need. Longing to have my prick, teased and pulled, rubbed and fondled, hardened by an all-enveloping mouth, then thrust into a wet and eager cunt.

….wondering when my wife will come home, to give her narrative of labour in the Big Red Store. She will recount the sale of disinfectant wipes and Tide© Pods.

An aside: Did you know that women once made a vaginal douche from Lysol©!? In my youth, there was a drawing of a woman in a nurse’s cap, sharing the, uh, “recipe” on a panel of the carton. I didn’t know about douching given my anatomical limitation. Still. My skin is crawling.

Another aside: The poet Vachel Lindsay committed suicide by drinking a bottle of lye. (Drano©)

… waiting for trains to pass. The Virtual Railfan microphone picks up ambient music. There is someone who likes 70’s “soft rock” music or whatever you call the musical idiom where Tony Orlando & Dawn are classified. People are walking about crossing the tracks, until the next train passes. The freight trains have hauled intermodal freight, tanker cars, bulk chemicals, and refuse destined for a landfill. The Amtrak trains carry people, all masked and socially distanced. Most likely they aren’t thinking about Lysol© douches.

This is my Sunday, so far.

There Is Always Russia

It is 3:00 AM in Richmond, Virginia USA. In Moscow, Russia it is 10:00 AM. The faithful are worshipping at a magnificent Chutch filled with icons. They are chanting their chant form, знамены,

This is the Russia that defeated Hitler, the Russia that tossed out the Communists after 75 years. The spine of this nation are the women in baboushkas, dressed for a morning in the 40s (8°C).

The priests reverence the altar, the Body and Blood of Our Lord have been sanctified. The camera now zooms in on an icon , most likely from the 18th, possibly the 19th Century, Madonna and Child.

As a people the Russians prevailed over Hitler, then Stalin. They wear the masks against COVID, but do not practice rigid social distancing. A virus doesn’t phase them that much. They chant, along with choir. A grandfather holds his granddaughter as they reverence two icons.

The people who know they are sick, who ask for healing will receive it.

I should go back to bed.

Not A Time For “Gotcha’s”

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I have been watching a major American political party collapse over the course of the past year.

We’ve seen the culmination of several ongoing scandals, involving money at the core, in just the last week.

We have a juvenile understanding of politics in America, on a par with how we follow sports teams and athletes. We are basically fans, giving only secondary consideration to how our team and standard bearers will exercise power once they attain it.

The major parties, Democratic and Republican are more analogous to sports conferences, The National Conference and The American Conference if you will. Within the party/conference are factions analogous to teams, e.g. The Clinton Faction or The Bush Faction. A party faction in power would dole out the largesse, such as cabinet positions, ambassidorships, a ride on the space shuttle, an unmerited burial in Arlington National Cemetery.

The House of Cards began its collapse in 2016 when an outsider ran for President and won. All of a sudden how the parties did business came under scrutiny. Within the administrative state, career civil servants wielded power, unelected power, though many did have a party affiliation. A young civil servant may begin their career 25-30 years ago when one Party gains power, then rise to high levels of authority as the party to which they are affiliated gains or regains power. They are ideaologically sympatico with one party or the other, and will exercise their partisanship on their federal government job, rather than merely at the ballot box.

Were the partisanship just limited to protecting, say, the snail darter or Common Core, the prejudice would be annoying but not overbearing or too detrimental. But what happens when the political faction leaders are corrupt, e.g. they enrich themselves and their families / cronies? The party loyalty of the career bureaucrat enables the corruption of the faction leader to flourish.

Civil servants in the Department of Justice tried to “throw” the 2016 election. They failed in their mission and were caught.

Now corrupt figures in the previous administration (Obama/ Biden) have been discovered. Family members of administration leaders are alleged to have taken millions, perhaps billions, of dollars from potential adversaries of the United States of America.

Discovering corruption is no longer a “gotcha” moment. The question of leadership and service by loyal elected officials has now been raised. There no longer exists any perverse sense of smug satisfaction.

This is a tragedy beyond calculation. The nation has been damaged, on a par with not merely the 9/11 attacks or the Watergate cover-up, but Pearl Harbor. Actually the damage done is more like Fort Sumter, because we’ve done this to ourselves.

Words Fail

I have nothing to say.

There is pain, heartache and I don’t know why.

I have a good life. I’m grateful for the blessings in my life.

I have walked away from many things that offer only regret and grief.

Hope this feeling is over soon.

Typically Woke At 3:00 AM

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It is 3:13 AM Eastern Time, North America. I am watching a Russian Orthodox Liturgy from somewhere in Russia. It must be a special day because the cathedral is well attended for a Thursday morning.

I have been busy the past couple of days, throwing trash out, putting boxes away,vacuuming dusty carpets, and cleaning in general. It is an oddly sad time, the clutter is like an old friend, as is the chaos, it exemplifies.

Back to the Russians, for a moment. These monks can sing!!! A Capella. There is no organ.

The Russians don’t seem particularly worried or guilty about being white. We Americans think that the garbage, literally garbage in some cases, we fret about are the concerns of the entire world. Truth be told, some very powerful people want to, like to, strive to, mess with your head. By that I mean, disturb your world view to make you and everybody else more receptive to their point of view. Uncharitably, we denounce such activity as ” brain washing”, or propagandizing, but if you, or a loved one is involved in this enterprise, then chances are, you prefer the term “Public Relations”.

I will not participate in the collective lie about “white privilege”. Sorry. I’m white and my life is pretty damn difficult. The scourge of substance abuse has affected me. I have known loss, betrayal, estrangement, the death of loved ones same as everyone else. If you cut me, I will bleed, just like Shylock

I’ve had enough..

What If?

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Love doesn’t look like what we think it should look like or feel like?

We all run around with ideas in our heads about love, or,more accurately put, sex and relationships, that we get from movies, TV, romance novels and, especially, pornography, of what we think love is.

We come across a human being that we like and we aren’t afraid of them and they haven’t hurt us yet, so we pursue this relationship, really not much more than carrying on a verbal and nonverbal dialogue. If the person doesn’t blow us off, we continue the pursuit, the inquiry as to whether this person, might actually love us or fall in love with us.

But are we in love, do we want to fall in love, or are we merely pursuing validation that we are not the horrible person that we are afraid we are in our most private and destructive thoughts?

Maybe finding True Love is the Search For The Holy Grail. As a goal, it is unattainable, but we will not be deterred.

How would we know if we found True Love, by the intensity of the orgasm, names together on a deed, children? All of these are questionable indicators. Yet we press on. Perhaps the best we can do is take what the other has to offer.

29 September. Awake.

I went to bed around 11:45 last night, after cleaning up the dirty dishes, pots, and pans. I don’t know why I even expect to sleep through the night.

I know that I can find a Russian Orthodox. Mass on You Tube, broadcast live from St. Petersburg. The liturgy will calm me. Will it cause this sadness to leave? Who knows?

I’m watching a train pulling intermodal freight containers somewhere to load on container ships and take, either empty or full, to a port , somewhere in the world. There they will be emptied of their contents and filled, or simply filled with factory output of that region and shipped somewhere else in the world

Industrial output continues, despite the dystopian diatribes, because we need the shoes, chinos, machine tools, auto parts, condoms or brassieres the world’s factories produce. It is that simple.

Sorry folks. Our minds may think any number of thoughts, but our feet will always need shoes.

“It” Creeps Back In, Then Leaves.

I’m sitting here and negative thoughts, midnight black humour, creep back in to my consciousness.

In my dystopian nightmare, funeral homes will offer “End Of Life” Care, including euthanasia. The funeral home would advertise free euthanasia with every “pre-need” cremation or burial package. I know. That’s sick. Really, really sick. Just try and get it out of your head.

I’m trying to get back on track. First Justice Ginsburg dies. Then I watch some “British Hangman”Albert Pierrepoint videos on You Tube. And pretty soon, the macabre had seeped into every pore of my body.

I’ve started an emergency course of Cartoon Therapy. Popeye. Yes. I’m going with the big stuff. Maybe a nap is in order

Later This Afternoon

Rather than the nap. I took my power walk. I saw my neighbours and the dogs. Pekinese, Beagle, Yorkie(?), and, new to the neighbourhood, a French Bulldog. (Yes, they are cute!).

So with the miraculous help of my neighbours and their pets, it’s looking better. I feel the fresh air deep in my lungs, the simple beauty at the cusp of the seasons.

2.4 miles of restorative exercise.