The Narrative

Quicunque captures vestram conversationem vestram patriam captures.

Literal translation: “Whosoever captures your conversation, captures your country.”

 

Today’s translation: “Control the narrative, control the nation.”

Society has always insisted upon distractions. In the modern, socio-political realm it’s now known as “The Narrative,” which includes corporate sports, movies, and TV serials, as well as the “news.” Simply put, The Narrative is a story that’s presented in multiple ways as a drama reflective of “real” events. It need not be truthful because “truth” has been made so relative as to become irrelevant. Instead, there is the System, consisting of two essential flavors: the Establishment (normative control mechanisms) and the anti-Establishment (controlled opposition), with The Narrative supporting this System.

Sometimes it is satisfying to listen to a talented orator. Brexit Party leader Nigel Farage comes to mind. But in general I care little for loud-mouths. I never have, though I admit that some people have “the gift of gab.” Talking-the-talk is typically a social skill that’s used to fill-in awkward pauses in order to keep folks comfortable (most being uncomfortable with less slick speech or silence).

Yes, despite whatever end it serves, a steady stream of talking (as with most writing) is usually just needless yapping. To me it often sounds like “the hard sell.” Either a talker is selling him- or herself, or is trying to “create demand,” viz., turning a vague “want” into a must-have “need” (or perhaps a “truth”) that is superior to all others. In the end, people buy from salesmen and -women they like, trust, respect—those they wish to emulate. And don’t be fooled: celebrities in corporate sports, movies, and TV serials, as well as all those who broadcast or are covered by the “news,” are all sales-people.

Combining talk with images is even more powerful. Pictures transfer information into the brain and usually do so more efficiently than a lot of words. TV and movies, video streams, commercials, limited hang-outs (shows and sites that offer partial truth while omitting crucial truths)—these are all meant to fill us up with whatever a broadcaster wishes to put into our brains.

Stadium sports are littered with corporate logos. Excitement from watching the action opens up the brain to a subtle conditioning. (And shows associated with athletic events have now become weird spectacles that feature the twilight language of synchromystic symbology.) TV offers an additional layer via commercials. And now sports commentators are taught to read off bit pieces as if these are part of their monologues, a new stunt meant to lead viewers to other mind-numbing venues, products, or events.

Books and magazines were long ago reduced to being place-holders for The Narrative. Of course in modern society one often hears that no one reads anymore. Still, we see oodles of magazines in doctors’ offices and other places we must wait (while CNN blares forth); reading material is mass-marketed just like any other product, as long as it is System-friendly.

But don’t give up reading about what intrigues you, oh reader, especially what is written, self-published, and reported by independent iconoclasts.

 

Don’t become a “social construct.”

Now, I’ll be the narrator…listen up:

 

The above snippet briefly sums up the System and The Narrative. We simply must be more mindful of the subtle programming that is embedded all around us and whose productions some choose to passively absorb. Whatever flavor you choose, the System is always trying to drag you in and make you true believers in its seductive-yet-deranged brand of consensual reality and culture trance. Don’t buy it! Don’t become a “social construct.”

Turn it off; tune it out. Beware, brothers and sisters—beware!

Replace The Narrative with your own humble-yet-powerful being, your own thinking and discernment, prayerful contemplation, research, quiet time and constructive activity. If you do, you’ll be a smarter and happier human being, one who is not beholden to unseen powers that have created the System and continue pushing The Narrative to keep you chasing your tail.

 

Memes Rule

A positive development over the past few years has been the use of the meme in the cyber-war to turn people’s heads inside out. Memes state the truth while being concise, witty and poignant. The “missing” Ruth Bader-Ginsburg meme at the top is one such example. But there are loads of hilarious red pill memes out there. Here 's a sampling:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are ten more memes here in video format: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AuThCLysJh4&feature=youtu.be

 

This video meme, How to Paint Like a Socialist, is absolutely priceless: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ButjQKGGH4

 

And the funny thing is, the libs can’t meme. I’m afraid they have lost all sense of irony and humor, although this one was brought to my attention by a blue piller: 

 However, it's somewhat unclear who memed this one first:

 

It seems Chucky is bit ruffled by all the to-do:

 

Looking at his wife, you gotta wonder about ol' Chuck:

 

Remember: “Control the narrative, control the nation.”

 

Enough of us are reclaiming our liberty, viz., sovereignty over ourselves, so that a critical mass has begun to build. Instead of The Narrative controlling us and therefore our nation, the People are wresting back control of The Narrative in order to control their nation.

If the trend continues, USA, Inc. may yet yield to the real United States of America (i.e., the republic, not the mutated corporate fiction it has become). America was set up as a republic, not a fascist corpocracy or a democracy that tramples the liberty of individuals by majority rule; it is not supposed to be an administrative state that curbs freedom and justice by means of a biased bureaucratic fiefdom with a myriad of regulations.

Many corruptocratic, covetous entities wish to continue to feed off of America’s great bounty. The nation today continues its struggle to throw off the yoke of covert control by Britain and other ubiquitous-yet-mostly-unseen globalist usurpers. However, and again, via the self-realization of our sovereign liberty We the People are gaining back control of The Narrative. By so doing we institutionalize our beloved Republic as the one and only System we need—one nation under God wherein we are free agents able to be fruitful and multiply. Make no mistake: liberty is a spiritual gift and this nation was brought forth to nurture and preserve it.

 

Thus we come to realize a deeper truth: “Control The Narrative, control the Nation via the sovereign union of We the People.”

 

Over the past hundred years or so The Narrative has been a fantasy-reality distraction. It need not be so. The Narrative can be brought into closer alignment with truth—for only a truth-reality can properly undergird a functioning System that is a Republic designed for self-government. Let’s kick the money changers out of the temple of both God and government. Awaken, oh human beans! Sprout and grow like bean stalks into the heavens above!

Love & Hate: Two Sides of the Same Coin

A long time ago I dated a girl who was fond of saying, “Love and hate are two sides of the same coin.” Are love and hate opposites? Both manifest in relationships as "issues" are worked out. So it might be more accurate to view love and hate as polar complements. She was right.

 

I always thought there was truth in her quoting this old saw because when we “hate” someone or something there is almost always “thumthing thimilar” within ourselves about which we are unsettled—or that we find unsettling. Deep down we might very well suspect our own frailties-of-character to explain any spurious negativity coming from us, all the while condemning others for the very same shortcomings we are unable to fully apprehend in ourselves. But importantly, there is a spiritual dimension to this as well.  

Christ’s message of love, viz., to love one’s enemies, brings the spiritual aspect to bear upon this enigma; we win people over by our love, not through our hate. But if hate is the “other side of the same coin,” then one’s discernment into perceiving “hate” that is coming from another might ultimately be understood as that other’s ignorant, or perhaps better said, “awkward” or "tough love" way of caring. Could that be?  

 

My old girlfriend’s reference to a “coin” probably threw me off. After all, think about a dirty old coin vs. the purity of love; i.e., reducing/projecting an intangible and mysterious essence-of-being, love, onto a side of a coin—well, the analogy itself is unsettling.

 

However, “hate” can more easily be identified with a coin: the love of money, bribery, blackmail, “buying the love” of another, money as prompting the materialist urge—yes, hate seems stamped into that coin.

 

And yet, giving alms, the giving of coins, money, to the poor and the needy…isn’t that an act of love? (Some might say it is an act of “enabling,” i.e., it enables a bum to go out and buy the daily bottle of Wild Irish Rose (by which that bum’s family, if still holding on, is further neglected—and what of the “family of man,” cheated by the self-abnegation of one-of-their-own?)).

 

Thus, I’d say that the opposite of love is “indifference,” benign neglect. I can think of three examples: 1)The bum who is indifferent to his or her family by the selfish act of feeding that hungry ghost of addiction; 2) the bum who ignores another, while ridiculing him, mostly behind his back; and 3) the bum who ignores and avoids being a role model for the younger generation.

 

If indifference is the opposite of love, what is the opposite of hate? (Note: if love and hate are polar complements, perhaps finding the polar complement to indifference is key.) Is it caring and affection? It would seem so.

 

However, I would proffer that “real law” is the opposite of indifference. Real law (natural law and common law) is the embodiment and standardization of time-tested values that are enforceable against people whose actions run contrary to them. Another way of expressing the honoring of law, then, is to hold “traditional values” with regard to others for the greater integrity of society (“integrity” meaning cohesive, thriving,  flourishing—and not only in the materialistic sense).

 

Getting back to the example of handouts/giving alms—Is NOT giving a handout to a bum indifference? Maybe. Or maybe it’s more in the sense of “hate,” as in “I hate subsidizing this behavior. So this bum may think I hate him or her but I am exercising tough love, not hate; the object of my hate is the person's underlying pathos.” (Could the underlying pathos be that they are“breaking some law” by begging for handouts?)

 

Some say, “Can we afford to take the chance they are NOT in real need?” (—No, the poor bum must eat.)

 

Others say, “Can we afford NOT to take the chance they are in real need?” (—Yes, let’s not feed the estoppel against the greater integrity of society.)

 

Well, the deeper we go the more complicated the psycho-spiritual calculus gets. Words and essays have their limitations. Suffice it to say, though, that if love and hate are two sides of the same coin, then their opposites must similarly correlate. You do the math, er, the accounting, er,…whatever…

 

The importance of making these fine line distinctions is to encourage a society of sovereign, liberty-loving individuals who come together and inter-connect for a noble and common purpose. The opposite of that is a “que sera, sera society,” a population of intel/media-brainwashed dolts  who wouldn’t know love or real law if it hit them in the face.

 

The wrong side of the coin, hate and indifference, means denying God, elevating technocracy above the natural world, accepting and tolerating perversion, and showing no regard for those hard-won, unalienable rights of humanity. Logically, then, the flip side, the love and lawful side of that same coin, honors the obverse of such mangled values, does it not?

 

The Two Roads

It was New Year's Night. An aged man was standing by a window. He mournfully raised his eyes towards the deep blue sky, where the stars were floating like white lilies on the surface of a clear calm lake. Then he cast them on the Earth, where a few more helpless beings than himself were wandering on toward that inevitable goal—the tomb. Already he had passed sixty of the stages which led to it and had brought from his journey nothing but errors and remorse. His health was broken, his heart sorrowful, and his old age devoid of comfort.

                                        ***

…with one despairing effort he cried aloud, “Oh youth return! Oh give me back my early days!”

                                        ***

And his youth did return, for it had been a dream visiting his slumbers on this New Year's night. His errors only were no dream. He thanked God fervently that time was still his own and that he had not yet entered that deep, dark cavern where poison flowed instead of water and serpents hissed and crawled.

Alas! The “aged” man’s youth returned.

 

On this first night of the New Year, a tele-ported future was laid bare to him; the sudden impact of sixty years-worth of going down the wrong road hit him with a Holy Ghost-like fury.

 

Similar to the protagonist in The Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, this man wept tears of shame, regret, and grief, longing to go back and make things right. And he did go back—though not as an old man who had seen the errors of his ways and who would, thenceforth, right all wrongs with the full vigor of Christian love and charity.

 

Instead, this “aged”-yet-still-young-man discovered he could back-track earlier in life to pick up the right road, thus sparing the world of the hurt and desolation he would otherwise spread throughout the greater part of his life. That is, he did not need to become a Scrooge who further debased himself and inflicted difficulties into the lives of others (such as on Morley, his former partner, and on the Cratchit family of Tiny Tim).

 

Compared to its Dickensian counterpart, the saving grace here is that earlier course correction voids those past and present harms that would otherwise be caused by an unregenerate person who continues on into a ripe old age.  

 

As such, then, this is a tale of a sooner accomplished redemption.

 

The surreal and ghostly transportation of Scrooge in The Christmas Carol might be a gift endowed by an All Merciful God to just a few incorrigibles. So don’t count on receiving this “grace at the encounter.” Better to correct one’s own errors and the sooner the better, as this morality tale, taught to me by my grandfather McGuire, finally intones us to do:  

Ye who still linger on the threshold of life, doubting which road to choose, remember that after years shall have passed and your feet have stumbled on the dark mountain, you will cry bitterly but cry in vain, “Oh youth return! Oh give me back my early days!”

 

Slogging On

Many times I’ve thought of pre-composing Aunt Janet’s eulogy. And I picture myself standing before the “mourners,” dumbstruck. But I won’t be there. I’ll be gone. I’ll book a flight to anywhere. I won’t be there for the funeral. It won’t matter then. Nothing will matter. The rest of the family be damned. They are undeserving of anything further from me.

 

When Janet dies I’ll sell her car. I’ll empty the bank account and cash out as beneficiary. I’ll disappear.

 

No I won’t. I’ll be sad for some time, remembering. I’ll show up at the funeral and say a few choice words. It will all pass in slow motion. Then it’ll be over. I’ll gather up my life, my thoughts, and consider my granddaughter. Her middle name is Janet. It seems I’ll forever have a Janet to take care of.

 

I’ll drive around in my ’74 MGB sports car, wondering which way to go, what to do. Maybe I’ll take an excursion to Africa, a safari. As ever, I will have too many options and will make seemingly nonsensical choices. Those choices will take me to more useless places, more collected experiences. Yet these choices will be tempered by Faith.

 

I’ll be somewhere warm, at a café overseas, sipping a drink and looking out over an expanse of sea. I’ll be wondering about life, then, as I am now. I’ll rent a room above a cantina and go down from time-to-time to play the piano. I’ll have girls come visit me every now and then. I’ll take long, lumbering walks to nowhere in particular. I won’t have a cell phone. My computer will not be wired up for internet; it will only serve as a machine to produce more writing, more useless drivel that no one will read.

 

No, that’s not the way it will go. But I won’t eke out a living anymore as I have been. I’ll rid myself of that horrid mortgage. I’ll move on. My house here on Ednor Road will soon be just another memory. But what of my marriage? Will that, too, be yet another memory hole? Perhaps.

 

What will be the shape of society when Janet bites the dust? Will a civil war be waging? Will Trump be dead? Will globalism descend like the shadows of buzzards’ wings over our once great nation? Will there be too much turmoil to get out?

 

What will become of this old guy? At almost 65 I’m finally feeling frayed at the edges. My working life is behind me. I work only fitfully now, trying to stay in shape. It’s all just a lot of tail-chasing, really. But I’m as tired of the alternative take as I am the old fake-stream news.  

Where can I go where
Alumni magazines
Won’t find me?
Where can I hide
From the zip-boom-click-bang
Evening news?—
The pittledy-poo-da
Newspaper punditocracy?

Life has been one big practical joke. The world is laughing at me, but I don’t care.

No, I don’t care about much, except that I worry for loved ones coming after me. How will they manage? How can they cope with the madness of this world? Do they know that they are Spirit-beings devolved into debauched human form controlled by THEM? Shouldn't I say something? No, we must all find out this frightening truth by ourselves; it will do no good to say anything; experience is the only true teacher. But can’t I, shouldn’t I tell everyone I care about that THEM-that’s-got-is-THEM-that-gets?

Yes, I’ll say something. I’ll let the truth out just enough to linger in the backdrop of their minds, just like Granpap did with his old morality tale, that poem: The Two Roads.

…A shooting star disappeared athwart the churchyard

    Such are the wasted days of my life…

Such is the sad truth of the world today. Success breeds more contempt than failure, though failure is contemptible in its own right. How we struggle to tell it like it is, only ending up falling into the illusions of our own dreams. And fall we will, hoping for the gift of grace, though forever grasping for it in fits and starts.

 

In the end, life grinds us down. We must delight in the folly of it all. Yes, I must laugh and say to myself, “I did my best”—and be done with it. Oppressively sad or true? Don’t fret; just smile and move on. Keep moving on, tired old soul, keep moving. Slog on.