Creating Reality

The synchronicities are piling up…

I was just going to present you with this idea, and explain how a facet of truth gets twisted by con-men, be they the many fake “priests” of religions or the snake-oil salesmen of politics or the zombies of TikTiok attention-farming, and then… before I can do this, I come across this post instead that explains how today the fake, the simulacra of the digital world, actually shapes the reality we think we experience. He mentions and experience he had that perfectly captures the average normie NPC mind and how it operates:

A couple of years ago, my wife and I went away for a weekend to Donegal (the second most beautiful county in Ireland) the following week, I mentioned this trip in passing to a man I know. His response was immediate: “No you weren’t.”

When I asked why he thought I hadn’t been drinking stout in Donegal, he explained that he had seen nothing about it on Facebook. There were no photos, no posts, no sign ins, no digital trace. Since it had not been documented online, the event itself was treated as doubtful. This is hyperreality in everyday form. Reality no longer confirms representation, representation confirms reality. What is not documented increasingly struggles to be believed.

He further explains another important aspect of this form of mass hypnosis, the endemic apathy:

The News

Hyperreality is especially visible in modern 24-hour news culture, and in the incessant podcast commentary that now attends it. Most people never encounter wars, disasters, or political decisions directly. What they encounter instead is a constant stream of commentary: expert panels, graphics, opinion threads, and moral scripts telling them how to feel about it, and which side to pick.

What circulates is not the event, but interpretations of the event.

This produces a peculiar condition: people feel intensely informed and emotionally activated, yet largely powerless. One crisis replaces another with no resolution and no memory. Reality does not conclude; it refreshes. As Jacques Ellul observed, beyond a certain point information no longer enlightens but paralyses. Hyperreality doesn’t really need censorship, because it depends on saturation to achieve its goals.

And finally he mentions his possible partial solution:

Resisting the Hyperreal

For most of us there is no clean escape from hyperreality. It is not a platform one simply logs off from, but an environment in which we now live, and any promise of total withdrawal is usually just another performance within the same system.

Resistance, therefore, may not mean exit but reorientation.

It begins with restoring confidence in lived experience. What you have seen, done, and known in time and place matters, whether it is documented or not. Reality does not require validation by platforms to be real. To trust one’s own experience again is already to weaken the spell. It also requires a refusal of compulsory commentary, a hard one I know, but not every event demands a response, a position, or a ‘performance’. Much of what passes for engagement now, actually serves the circulation of the hyperreal, rather than the truth. Silence, in this context, is not apathy but discernment.

Hyperreality feeds on speed and intensity, it loosens its grip where life slows down. Walking, manual work, sustained attention, unmediated conversation, and reading oh reading! all recalibrate the senses. They remind us what life really feels like, when it is not optimised, framed, filtered or curated. Place and time matter here too, hyperreality flattens them, rendering everywhere interchangeable, and everything temporary. Returning to the same ground, the same paths, the same people, and the same rhythms restores weight to existence. Perhaps the most difficult resistance (certainly online) is choosing depth over visibility. Doing things that will never be seen by the masses, writing articles that will never go viral, or make you money. Caring without display, working without signalling, living, actually living, without documentation, without hyperreal images. Hyperreality depends on appearance, it weakens when our attention is withdrawn from the need to ‘appear’.

Hyperreality is the sea/goldfish bowl in which we swim, it cannot simply be wished away. But it does not have the final word, wherever reality is allowed to impose itself again, through bodies, limits, memory, place, and time the simulation falters.

This, is essentially why you have not seen me comment on the Russian war for many months. Or on everyday politics at all.

It is why I am getting myself ready to play with Cowboy Action Shooting and figuring out how to survive with power even in a grid down situation.

It is why I am building a throwing bowie knife from scratch, and trying to secure and improve our family home as a priority over the next few years while I also try to maintain and improve the farm and possibly our food supply.

As for the quote I wanted you to think about (but without getting the meaning of it wrong), it was this:

“ What if I told you that there was no coincidences, but rather that everything that happens is a response to your own vibrational frequency? ”

If you take this wrong, it is deeply hurtful and offensive. Say your child died horribly, am I saying it’s your fault? No. I am not saying that. Unless you actually caused it, of course, but not in this vibrational sense.

You see if our minds and unconscious is actually modulating reality then only a very disciplined mind that FEELS its way towards what it wishes to experience can actually hope to achieve some of that experience. And it is not easy to describe how you need to operate that feeling in order to have its constructed reality come to you, but I have tested it for 13 years now, and it does work.

But there are also all the other people on the planet, whose undisciplined subconsciouses are being driven by the TV and the mass media.

So… how can you possibly win that fight?

Simple: create your own bubble of reality and reality affirming truth. Based on PHYSICAL reality. Nothing does that better than playing with your children and working on your farm and not watching the news or reading a “news” paper (they are not news, they are fear propaganda.

So… stop. Do something outside, and for all that is holy, make friends IRL.

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This post was originally published on my Substack. Link here

Even our worst are still the best.

This post was originally published on my Substack. Link here

INT: Kitchen making Coffee for the wife.

Me: Pouring cream in her coffee mug. “Tell me when.”

Wife: “When”

Wife: Walks to cup. “That’s not enough cream!”

Me: Shaking head, splashes more cream in the mug.

Wife: Huffs as if now there is too much.

Me: “Silly woman.”

Wife: Makes a face.

Me: drinks some cream.

Wife: “You should get some life insurance since you’re hellbent on clogging your arteries.”

Me: “Hmm. Nothing wrong with me.”

Wife: “Yeah, since you got the all-clear from your doctor, and your bloodwork’s all fine, now’s the time to get life insurance.”

Me: “Nah. That would just give you motive! ”

Wife: Not skipping a beat: “I already have plenty of motive! The word you’re looking for is security! ”

Maybe giving her the ivory handled .32 ACP with engraved finish for her birthday was not the wisest move. But then… what better way than to keep one’s situational awareness sharp, eh?

Silver lining guys, silver lining, that’s what a successful marriage is all about!

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This post was originally published on my Substack. Link here

Now, now, before all you harridans start your screeching because of the subtitle up there, take a look at this. I know, I KNOW, it’s a graph, which reminds you of math class, which makes you sad, but it’s okay. Really just look at it. See how the pretty line falls to the floor like a plane crashing and burning? You know what that is?

No, never mind the economy. Never mind society collapsing. Never mind the birth rate. Let me tell you about the one thing that REALLY matters to you:

That line represents your own happiness.

Honest to God. Now, bear with me while I teach you some basics, but at the end I will show you why men are pretty much to blame for all this too. Just don’t skip there right away.

That line is basically the self-reported effect of the question “how happy are you with your life” over the last 50 years.

Yeah. Hard to believe, I know, but those poor enslaved women of the 1950s who had to keep house, cook and clean and feed their own kids? They liked their life. A lot more than you like yours. And your excuse that they were all crazy, or duped, simple bitches? It doesn’t really wash.

If I were a woman, I would not care at all about politics, I would worry about looking pretty, being personable and agreeable and making a man that will look after me so happy he wouldn’t even think of straying. And look, even as a man? If I didn’t have to work like a damned slave in the salt mines at all sorts of things, looking after my own children? If THAT was all I had to do? Cook, Clean, do some washing, and look after the kids?!?!? Fuck, what a PLEASURE.

It’s EASY.

Okay, yeah, I said it and I don’t care if you are crying now. It’s fucking EASY!

First of all I would ROUTINE the fuck out of the daily tasks. The washing, and cleaning takes no more than an hour daily. The cooking may take more if you care about the other humans probably enjoying their food, but say 3 hours a day for three meals, hell, call it 4. Then you have to wash and clean and dress the little creatures when they are small, wipe their arse, that sort of thing. Say another 2 hours. And there you have a 7 hour day. If you can get a maid for a couple days a week you re-stack everything so you can even get a bit more free time. And I tell you, the kids would have a LOT more fun with me too. Because bath time would be quicker and in summer may simply be: “You’re under arrest, strip and take the hose-wash” I mean, you don’t want them to end up in jail right? And what better way to make sure they avoid it?

You got all muddy and your clothes are done? Here’s a bucket and soap. Enjoy. Oh you’re hungry? Better rush that cleaning job then son/daughter.

And you know what? The kids never resent me for teaching them these valuable and character building lessons that can pretty much all be bullet-pointed under the heading: Figure it the fuck out.

Of course, I do help them, but today, my son did all his Italian work on his own with a dictionary. The “help” he was getting from sisters, mother, teachers, is no help at all. And a google translated phone image is worse than no help.

Use that dictionary boy. When the pages are worm from use, guess what? You’ll know almost all of them in there. You wanna speed up the process? Read it. Yeah. Read the dictionary.

The point is, in life, there are no shortcuts.

The long way round is usually best. If you truly want a shortcut you have to usually be 10 times better than everyone else and work 10 times harder. Then it will LOOK like a shortcut to others, but you’ll know the cost.

So… ladies… you want to be treated like men? Good luck to ya. You’re going to die alone and your cats will piss on your dead body before they even think of eating it.

You wan to win? Play to your strengths. Be a woman.

BE

A

WOMAN.

Now, how did we get here?

Weak-ass men.

Weak, weak, weak, incels, gammas, and of course, always, Satan’s minions, the parasitic Talmudians who prey on human beings, and inevitably mass-murder them, as they did by killing some 60 million Christians in the “Bolshevik” (read Jewish) revolution.

But the problem has always been those losers who can’t get laid by simply approaching a woman and honestly asking her on a date. Those guys suffer from the male equivalent of female hysteria. Ladies, you know how you become an unfuckable harridan if you don’t get picked down properly? Well, men become radioactive pests to pussy when they don’t and can’t get laid. And they begin to hate and envy those men who can and do.

So they come up with schemes and they about for decades and centuries to attain power, be it from the local homeowners association to the PTA, to Academia, to the halls of finance, to political office and lawyering and all the rest of it.

Then they begin to implement rules and regulations, to prevent men that would have crushed their heads against the nearest wall for some of the shit they now say on the internet from afar, from simply being men. And at the same time they tell women being able to spread your legs for everyone at all times is great and empowering. Because they hope that way they too, once in a blue moon, and bluer balls, they get some too. Not lovingly, not passionately, not with sober and willing intent, but you know how it is ladies, when you’re in a desert, the shallowest pond of camel piss will seem as a spring brook to you.

And they will continue to hate the men that can get the spring brook on demand. And the women too will begin to resent the other women who can get the guy that looks like the fetching palm tree in the oasis.

And such is the war on humanity created.

And where did it start?

Protestantism.

The reduction of the nuance, respect, cherishing love, protective cordoning of female emotions that is dogmatic in Catholicism, got mechanised and reduced and simplified and chopped into neat little squares for inclusion in a spreadsheet, just like the Industrial Revolution did to human beings, and men (and children) first, so Protestantism did to women, reducing them to less effective men.

In protestant beliefs, a woman is a “helpmeet” that either has to shut up and obey, or is to be pedastalised beyond any fault.

In Catholicism women are understood and treated and cherished… AS WOMEN.

They make babies, they are our mothers, sisters, lovers, wives. They do NOT need to deal with the world. They need with the minutiae of their children and husbands and friends. They will know which fabric each child is allergic to or which flower is their favourite, or how many pebbles they have stuffed in their pockets. A father need only know they have eaten and have some clothes on, pretty much, to enjoy and have fun with his kids. Bu they feel cared for and loved by their mother, while they feel excite and serious by what they do with their father, they can feel excited and safe by what they do with their mother.

Women are not less effective men. They are a different thing from men. They are to be protected from all sorts of things, and first and foremost, from their own wild emotions. And a woman who IS protected from them, in time, will learn to control them better too. For they learn in serenity and acknowledged protection better than Mendo, who tend to learn more by overcoming hardship and challenges while retaining a cool head.

So yes, it was the leaders and powerful men that sold out. Gave up, or ignored the sneaky worm-tongues sliding around instead of stomping on their heads as soon as their forked tongues exited their heads.

And if humanity is to survive properly, worthily, and with dignity, then, rest assured, that the pedovores must be strung up high every last one. Without quarter, without mercy, and relentlessly.

And the only men that can do this and retain their humanity are those that have a TRUE connection to a loving God, yet understand the necessity of doing a necessary evil.

Such men have really only ever existed as crusading catholic knights, and the occasional noble pagan like some samurai, some ancient Romans, Spartans, Greeks, or other pre-Catholic tribes and so on.

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This post was originally published on my Substack. Link here

As some of you know, I will be taking up Cowboy Action Shooting (CAS) later this year (lots of stuff to order for it) in my continuing quest to totally ignore Clown World and its enfaggotised minions, so as to teleport myself and all of you, gentle readers, into a better world, a world where you can run down bandits for bounty when you take them in, dead or alive.

As I was lucky enough to be given my chosen CAS persona, Jonah Hex, I have been building a “bowie knife”, that probably weighs around 2kg, because, well, in the comics, if he throws it at some guy’s chest, he inevitably skews them dead. Now… I happen to have some knowledge of terminal type wounds, and well… maybe if you have said 2kg style bowie it might work, if the planets align, and so on. But anyway, if you want to see that you need to go to the YT channel (assuming the video loads, because once you take a 20mb video and edited it in iMovie it become 2Gb, so we’ll see).

AAANYYWAAY, the Bowie build is pretty time consuming, and as many of you know, patience is not exactly one of my virtues, so, when I found a fully rusted axe head… I promptly decided to cut a branch of olive tree from a fallen one that had been left in the field after the last storm, then shape it a bit, hammer the axe-head onto it. Which I did stupidly with the back of the machete instead of a hammer (because impatient) and so the machete blade snapped like it was made of glass, which either means it was going to fail anyway, or that I have mutant strength. After I hammered the axe-head on (with a hammer this time) Also hammered a piece of metal into the wood to cause an expansion of it so it stays firmly attached to the handle. I still need to tie some rope, or better yet, wet leather to the bottom of the shaft, so the wood holds together, but anyway, after I finished it, I decided to try throwing it and… well, who knew, I am a natural. Stuck in the tree first throw. I was going to be done but my son said to film it, so I gave him the phone and did it again.

Honestly never tried this before but it’s fairly easy to do.

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This post was originally published on my Substack. Link here

Aryan girl at bedtime (trying to avoid bed): Dad, I’m scared, what if a monster comes in the night when I’m sleeping?

I sit on her bedside

Me: There’s no such thing as monsters baby.

AG: But what if there is?

Me: Even if there was they can’t get in here, and even if they did get in here, no monster is going to survive. I’d kill them dead.

AG: But what if they are a zombie (she’s smart, probably thinking zombies are already dead…)

Me: No zombies would get to you, they are slow and stupid, and I would bite THEM before they can do anything.

AG: (exited and without hesitation) Yeah! And then they would become normal!

Me: uh… (I was just trying to get rid of her objections)… laughs… ok, yeah…

AG: Yeah, you can bite them and make them all normal. Thanks dad! (Gives me a hug and kiss).

Me: Okay my baby. Goodnight.

AG: Goodnight dad.

Just between us, readers, I still think I’d go for the time honoured tradition of shooting them in the face, but, eh, if you’re not willing to bite zombies to turn them back into normies, for your little girl, are you even a father at all?

This post was originally published on my Substack. Link here