I’M A PRETTY TOUGH GUY

The world’s gone mad and I don’t give a shit. Stolen election? “Pandemic”? “Vaccines”? Masks-and-Marxism got you down? Like a temper tantrum or mild symptoms from some malady, it will all pass. However, while it is blooming like a drapery of algae in a lake, it sure seems like the end of the world. Is the sky really falling? Again: Who cares? Not me. (Or, as Jimi Hendrix once muttered: “Fall mountains; just don’t fall on me.”)

Seriously! Put down your fear porn long enough to gather some common sense; untether your hive-like mind from the web; unplug and take a deep breath; go out and get some sun. Pick up a pipe and smoke some good tobacco; wet your beak on something. Free your mind from the garbage-in habits of the new screen-gazing, whether it’s a computer screen or a cell phone. Yes, you’ve sworn-off TV only to find this new “navel-gazing pastime.” Well, free yourself from the “tyranny of the frequencies.”

I’m here to tell you a few things.

Doing weird tasks is therapeutic. As a fellow who is just now finishing up the building of a shed (the project had sat in my head for over ten years) I somehow feel qualified to sermonize. And while I’m tooting my own horn, how about that vegetable garden that finally got planted in spite of weeks and weeks of self-inflicted procrastination (is there any other kind?). Big bushy tomato plants now thrive, started from seeds and now growing like crazy. I had lots of other kinds of seeds. Unsure of how to sow them, I finally threw 'em all together in a little box, then willy-nilly sandwiched them in between a few bags of humus and covered the whole mess with straw. So…stuff is happening, in spite of myself; despite my own captivity to the modern digital mind-feed illusion of news and views.

And although I am not really free, I don’t mind if I celebrate, to a degree, that I am not as enslaved as the garden variety cultural mutant out there. Yes, I went even deeper than the usual rabbit hole spelunker. I hitched my wagon to the Von Reitz crowd and became an “American National.” That was a big and long-overdue step. After years of writhing around in “sovereign-man-land” it’s comforting to find a more comfy home among organized dweebs who actually know their history and the political terrain, not to mention a deep bag o’ tricks—documents-at-the-ready—that can be executed and recorded, to make it all formal, known and final. Yes, be it now known, all you emergency worker law enforcement types, you shall not detain or interrogate this man, a man that may be lawfully armed against your intrusions!

Ah, but we’re getting too excited, too anxious. We must, at all costs, be calm and look for the nearest exit. I’m up now and moving. Hey, there’s a signpost up ahead—it’s…the Twilight Zone. Yes, I’m in that gray, grey space between fact and fiction, truth or consequences. I’m flailing away in an in-between-state. It’s not a constitutional republic, for sure, and it’s not the digital simulation most all are living in these days…wait a minute. I’m pushing at the bar. The door is opening. And a blinding light is flooding in. Yes! Wait for it!

It’s…the world outside the theater. But then, it’s just another theater. It’s a drive-in. No. It’s a walk-in. A “walk-in” has entered me. It has violated my body, my mind, my soul. Like an archon or a vax it has no facts; and while I watch this new movie [It’s only a movie. It’s only a movie.] my reality has been stolen or changed. It’s as if somebody’s trying to fit me with a toupee! Trouble is—I’m not bald on top. But they just won’t leave me alone, these damn interloping quick-change experts.

Time to wake up and have some coffee. Strong coffee with cream and some string beans—something to climb on. Yes, somewhere over the rainbow there is a land of giants and all the other stuff they yanked our chains over when we was young. Yes, as much as I’d like to deny it, I’m just as hungry for diversion as the next chump.

Better to scurry back to Plato’s cave; it’s dangerous out here. Better yet, I’ll just burrow down in my honey badger den and dream of fricasseed libtards and lizard men on the gallows.

It sure is nice to get away from all that Internet chatter and such. I was beginning to go mad—as mad as the world around me—as mad as they make it. But I can take it, cuz I’M A PRETTY TOUGH GUY.