Norway

Hi, Dad. This is what I thought about when I heard of the murders in Norway. I see how things are now being shaped by many. Sonny Jim (the murderer) is a self-admitted non-Christian: he thinks Christians are mentally weak. I looked at his manifesto in order to understand why anyone would have done what he did. What he did, the murdering of innocent and defenseless children, had a serious impact on me, and that is why I took the time to try to understand, and share with you my thoughts. I believe that this tragedy is being cynically used by those who want to make profound and tragic changes to our country.

Love,

Christopher







I add my voice.

I will be taken from pillar to post for stepping away from the Plantation :

I am not ashamed of the good West African, Anglo-Saxon, Irish, Seminole, and Choctaw men and women whose blood runs through my veins.

I love them. They were good to me. They gave me good things to eat and protected me from harm when I was small and helpless. Because they loved me.

People are people. I’ve stepped away from Identity Politics.

I am not ashamed of them, the men and women who made me. I am no longer ashamed of myself. I will not deny my Blood, or the beautiful Judeo-Christian principles expounded by Washington, Jefferson, Adams, and the other men who put their names to the Declaration of Independence.

I will not deny my Heritage.

A great deal of effort has been made to shape and morph me into something that the Grandmothers who taught me my prayers would have never recognized. Through our schools and universities, a great deal of effort has gone into shaping me into an uncaring, thoughtless, pleasure-only-seeking ghoul.

My Mother got to me before the Change-Makers did: she taught me how to read and think for myself. She showed to me windows through which I could see whole and different worlds: She put my little hand to her throat and lips when she read to me, when she taught me that ideas and ideals are real and have real world consequences.

Ladies, your God-Given power is enormous. Yours are the hands that rock the cradle. Betty Friedan and the other Marxists who lied to you did you no good. We Men are not your enemy. We care about you, we are obsessed with you, and we are in love with you. Do not be deceived by those who want to change your natural relationship between your Man and your Sons. We love you. We need you. We are nothing without you.

My beautiful Mother could not step into the pitch-black night out of a C-130 with 180+ pounds of gear and weapons to defend the Helpless and Weak as I did. But she gave me that strength and moral clarity. She and my father, the love they gave me, made it possible for me to put the lives of others before my own.



There are those who want to eviscerate our Heritage, our Freedom, who hate the Judeo-Christian reality of America, who want to make the world into an image that will suit them, and so through doing, they must harm the children. This is grossly wrong and unfair. I do not want the innocent children to be enslaved by anyone. Those poor babies do not have a chance against those who are filling their innocent, trusting minds with “Change”. The indisputable medical facts are being ignored in the furtherance of an agenda that will end in misery and death for our children: They are teaching children “Tolerance” and “Acceptance” right this very moment, against the will of so many parents, as they carefully, consciously keep from them the values and Beliefs that made them Free. It is not fair.


Socialism must be understood and recognized for what it is. We must stand up to those who are assiduously working to change the fabric of our nation. Their Man-Made Paradise has failed catastrophically over and over again. Everywhere. By their works will they be known:

The blood of the millions all over this world put to death by the purveyors of Socialist Utopia screams out to us to be vigilant.



We must read. We must tell to our friends and neighbors the danger we and our children are in. We must tell the truth.

Research. Read. Do not believe a word written here, or told to you by those who have their own plans for you and your Freedom. Go straight to the sources of information and decide for yourself.



I’ve read the quran. Closely. In English and Farsi (DLI). Read it. Do not be lied to. Read it for yourself. Pick it up and read it. The hubris of Socialist leaders in Europe has created a nightmare for millions of living, breathing human beings there. Those leaders thought that they could use Muslims to realize their vision of a Socialist Utopia. Hubris has its rewards. The Muslim tail is now wagging the dog in Europe : our European brothers and sisters have already lost their Freedom.


Saul Alinsky, Antonio Gramsci and Georg Lukacs, the ACLU; the disciples of that self-styled prophet Marx. Read them. Understand Identity Politics and how there are those who want to fundamentally change the country you are going to bequeath to your children. These are the dangers we are facing, the loss of the Freedom of our children.

The loss of Freedom has consequences, amongst them slavery and death.

Their Freedom, the Freedom of our children, is not our’s to give away lazily, with ease, thoughtlessly in our pursuit of cheap and tawdry pleasures. We do not have that right.

Our Children are being shaped and formed this very moment by those who have an agenda that is at exact cross-purpose to our beliefs and their health and welfare. Look at the CDC statistics for yourself. We must protect these babies from those selfish liars who wish nothing good for them.


People are attacking the Christianity that undergirds our Freedom through this tragedy in Norway in order to take our Freedom, that which was won for us by those who came before, and is our's only to protect for our children.


Women are standing up, speaking out for our Children, our Future, and I am proud of them. We must not let them stand alone.



Boys, it’s time to stand up and be Men. Educate yourselves. Be strong. Be Men.

Hi! Dad and I had such a wonderful time with our kith and kin that I have been forced to take it upon myself to share a dab! These are some songs that are (mostly) pretty happy, and reflect the happiness that I witnessed and enjoyed with the Guices and Calhouns et al. It was awesome! The vibe was real and loving. I will not talk about the food. No, I will not. Suffice it to say that you can take the folk out the country, but you can't take the Country out the folk: I insisted that those ribs and fixins be transported across country by any means necessary. It worked out. Thanks, Dad!

Just wanted to say "Hey", and share a happy (or introspection-inducing) tune or two. There should be something here for everyone!

Peace, Love

Christopher




A Box of Chocolates


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLetyIPrbEc

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TuKeSUUK-A4&feature=related

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http://www.photo.md/personalities_info.php?id=6&lang=rus

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XpqqjU7u5Yc

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5FIfYOL19_Y

Intertwined

The Golden is Everywhere.

It is in the trees created by Him.
In the Light created by Him.

In the World created by Him.

In the towering structures created by the Children He created.

The rivers He made.
The mountains and The Earth and the Stars.

Space and Time.

Our minds.

Beautiful Gifts.


His Children strive to honor Him.

We love Him.

We create.

Like Our Father.

The Perfect One.

In His Image.

From the Dust of Stars.

He created.

Because He Loves.

He Loves His Children.

When we are at our Best we see Him.
And we love Him.

And each other.

When we see Him.

He is blinding.

Blindingly Wonderful.

Blindingly Beautiful.

Through everything we see acts of Kindness.
We see His Will.

We are His Children.
And He Loves Us.


It is difficult to See Him.
It is painful.
He is so Bright.


He shows us, His Children, through the Beauty of The World He has created who we are.
Who we are to Him.

How much He cares.

Who and What He Is.
We can choose.

He Loves us.

We can choose.
We can choose what we wish, where we wish to Be.

It must not be this way.

We don’t have to do the things we do.


We can fulfill His Wishes.

We can know Happiness.


We can be Good to each other.

Michael Jackson

There are many who are not kind.

He was kind and good and told to the people of the world the wonder of Life available to them, what had been shown to him.

He was given wonderful gifts for which he would be punished.

Through his song, through his voice, he shared that which he had seen.

He shared with the world the Love and the Vision that had been afforded to him by our Creator.

If they would only be kind to each other, good to each other.

He did this for Love.

Love was in his heart.

He was given wonderful gifts which he did share.

He brought Joy to many.

And he is gone.

And we love him.

Intertwined

The Golden is Everywhere.

It is in the trees created by Him.
In the Light created by Him.

In the World created by Him.

In the towering structures created by the Children He created.

The rivers He made.
The mountains and The Earth and the Stars.

Space and Time.

Our minds.

Beautiful Gifts.


His Children strive to honor Him.

We love Him.

We create.

Like Our Father.

The Perfect One.

In His Image.

From the Dust of Stars.

He created.

Because He Loves.

He Loves His Children.

When we are at our Best we see Him.
And we love Him.

And each other.

When we see Him.

He is blinding.

Blindingly Wonderful.

Blindingly Beautiful.

Through everything we see acts of Kindness.
We see His Will.

We are His Children.
And He Loves Us.


It is difficult to See Him.
It is painful.
He is so Bright.


He shows us, His Children, through the Beauty of The World He has created who we are.
Who we are to Him.

How much He cares.

Who and What He Is.
We can choose.

He Loves us.

We can choose.
We can choose what we wish, where we wish to Be.

It must not be this way.

We don’t have to do the things we do.


We can fulfill His Wishes.

We can know Happiness.


We can be Good to each other.

Scintillation

He saw the beauty of the world.

He did not deserve to see it.

But he had.

He had seen. He had heard.

It is blinding and deafening in its Beauty.

It struck him down-not of a purpose-it was only shown to him.

It is what it is.


It is so Beautiful.

Beyond Beautiful.


The Lord whispers through trees and light.


He is Everywhere.
It is overwhelming.

But he was glad to See.
Even though it is painful.
It is painful to See Him.
It hurts so much.


Devastatingly Beautiful.

Mind-shatteringly Beautiful.

The Perfect One is Kind.

And He has created a Beautiful World for His Children.

If they would only accept It.

He saw the beauty of The World.
If they would only See.

The Beauty of The World.

The Return of The Dreck

The towering mountains glowed red.

The white, the blue-green, the beige, the black, the brown were melting into an orange ochre that melded with the brilliant setting of the planet’s star such that it was not possible to see where celestial beauty ended and terrestrial agony and death began.

The atmosphere crackled and snapped as the air began to change in its composition.
The thousands of generals and their aides assembled would soon be incapable of breathing.

The lava slowly flowed towards them in swift rivers that swept away tree, stone, and earth. The assembled body of the Imperial elite masked their minds. They calmed their minds. The primal, natural fear that threatened to erupt from each and every one of them would have been-if made known-disastrous.
Fear-in the presence of a Dreck-was suicide.

The young Valerian-Dreck prince struggled with his rage and spiraled towards the heavens to be away from them. He sent the congealing bolts of matter and light that coalesced around him and through him into the mountains miles away from the throng before him.
For a moment he had lost control.

How could they have failed? How could they have made his presence necessary?

He did not want them hurt. He did not want to kill them.

Yes, they had failed the Emperor.

But he did not want them dead: he had been to The Academy with the grandfathers of some of these men; he had seen their grandmothers as young maidens wooed; he had seen their fathers grow tall and strong and fit for The Service of his Emperor.
He had seen his friends, and then, their sons, grow old and die.

He would not destroy them. They had, however, through their incompetence and gross dereliction of duty put him in a situation:
He-and he alone –would have to face the Emperor and explain their continued existence.
He, and he alone-and infinitely worse-would have to face the Witch-Lord himself. His sire.

The Valerian-Dreck prince calmed his mind. He became present to the reality at hand: he stopped the movement of the molecules that were rapidly approaching the cadre of elites. The lava began to slow, then froze. A cool, bracing breeze began to cool the valley: he wanted the minds of these men to be sharp, without distraction.
He hovered above them, before them.
Gazing upon the stock-still generals he blanketed them with his attention. To a man there was a focused intention to conceal fear, weakness. Good. Their gallant-yet-feeble attempt to conceal their terror made it possible to spare them. The easily discernible-overwhelming, stark, raving- terror of the junior officers surrounding them contrasted powerfully.
The prince would spare them all.

He calmly, regally reflected into their minds such that there would be no confusion:
“96 STAN. I shall return. This rebellion will have been quelled, or not. If quelled, good. If not, I shall destroy this world, with you on it.”

The assembly of generals and their junior officers watched as the Witchling spiraled away. They all knew how fortunate they were.
Many had beloved wives, darling children, hopes, dreams that they desperately wanted to keep and to have and to hold forever.
They wanted to live.

They all thanked God that the Witchling had come, and not the Witch.

A door of the vast, sleek craft orbiting the planet opened as the Valerian–Dreck approached. He gently alighted within the well-appointed craft and greeted his people. He thanked them for their solicitude.
He dined in solitude. He regarded the world below him and hoped.

Seven billion men, women, and children.

Eleven thousand Imperial generals. Fourteen million Imperial men-under-arms. How could they have failed? How could they have put him in this position? How could they not know?
Had they not seen? Had they not heard?
Now, he would have to face the Emperor. And The Witch-Lord himself.
Perhaps he ought to have made all of this easier…it could be so much easier…

No. He couldn’t do that.

The Witch-Lord would have come to this world and taken the atmosphere. He would have deliberately ended the existence of every sentient and non-sentient being on the planet. He would have cleaved it in twain and altered its orbit.

He would have then sent it straight into the bright, beautiful star from whence it had come.

For the sake of Mercy he now had to prepare himself to see The Emperor, and The Witch-Lord.” Why do they live?” “Why have you disgraced Us?”…. “ Why do you bring shame upon your House?”

And the withering stare of his Lord. Being in the presence of his Lord, his father, who despised him.
All of this and more.

Regardless of the outcome here, The Witch-Prince would now endure the horrible, awesome attention of his Sire: for reasons unknown, the Dreck could not mask themselves from each other.

He would stare into a depthless, infinite, mirrored void in which lurked and lived his only and greatest fear: that he would see his reflection, that he, The Witchling would one day become The Witch.

That this meeting would transpire was a foregone conclusion. This, plus the task at hand would require strength and focus. He would need rest: unlike the Dreck who could never rest nor sleep, he could rest, in a fashion.

He stepped over to the large window facing upward and outward to regard the ocean of stars surrounding him. By slow degrees he cleared his mind and released himself of the bonds of space and time to visit a wonderful, magical world where he would replenish his spirit, restore his soul.

Once there, he breathed easy, deeply.

He walked across lush, verdant fields, his feet bare on the rich, fragrant soil. He ran his fingers through gently undulating amber waves of grain. He uplifted his face to behold a sky rich and deep in its blue, and to be touched, caressed by a warm and soft wind warmed and animated by a beautiful, beloved, long-ago vanished star called the Sun.

Almost all of The Children of the Diaspora had this deeply imprinted ability, this race-memory, this innate talent to assuage their profound sense of the loss of their ancestral home and each other: they had developed a way to commune with each other and to be together though they had been scattered across the stars and throughout the known worlds.
During these times of quiet, joyful communion, the Valerian-Dreck prince could only feel a profound sense of sadness for the only two creatures in the known worlds whom he otherwise dreaded, the only two creatures in the known worlds who could conceivably destroy him, do him harm: the Emperor and The Witch-Lord.
Neither of them had ever been to this place.




Deep, deep in The Ancient Time far, far and long gone, The Original, The Ancestors had seen their wonderful star, The Sun, verge upon red. It was soon to envelope the solar system and all the Life in it.

The Original, in Their great wisdom, had discerned this coming catastrophe soon enough to adequately prepare for it: they pin-pointed other stars, other worlds which could sustain not only human life-but all life as they knew it.

They constructed millions upon millions of vast crafts capable of transporting themselves, the beasts of the air, land, and sea. They made provision to carry away with them vast quantities of the air, water, and the earth itself; all flora, all fauna, basically, everything would be taken with them, next to nothing would be left behind.

After several Earth centuries, they were ready, and they calmly fled.

They went in their hundreds of millions to hundreds of worlds of different sizes and compositions-but all capable of sustaining life comfortably-within their galactic reach.

The Titanic undertaking was colossally successful: billions were properly and happily relocated and restored to the business of “normal” life.
However, given the very scope of the enterprise, it was only natural for mistakes to have been made.

One case in particular was tragic.

The case of the world named Dreck.

A terrible mistake about that world’s suitability for life had been made.

The atmosphere was toxic and super-heated, and the surface itself was scorching. The instruments on the crafts carrying several million human beings critically malfunctioned upon entry into the atmosphere.

There were a scant hundreds of thousands of survivors.
Of those doomed people, only those who could double and treble the nascent psionic powers possessed by The Original would survive: only those who could transform the very chemicals of the atmosphere into breathable oxygen with the power of their minds would survive; only those who could control their physical position relative to the surface with their minds (to stay off of it), who learned, in other words, to fly, would survive.

Only those who could stay awake long enough, for forever, to focus their constant attention to these tasks would survive.

There were very, very few who could do all of these things.
There were very, very few survivors.

Those who did survive were doomed to a nightmarish existence of never-ending sleeplessness and hyper-vigilance that eventually warped their minds and fundamentally changed their relationship with reality and their own humanity.

They and their doomed progeny became living and breathing embodiments, reflections of the merciless and cruel and insane world to which they had been tragically sent; and they would be ever-after known by all others by the name of that world:

The Dreck.



Word had been sent to the Valerian-Dreck Prince: the rebellion had been put down in less than 80 STAN hours.
Less than a billion people had been destroyed. A great deal of critical infrastructure had been either spared, or only lightly damaged. This meant that the resource-rich world would still be of great value to the Emperor and the Empire.

This was excellent news.

While mop-up operations would probably continue for some few short days, the Prince would now be able to focus on administrative matters that would not entail his personally killing billions of people: there would, of course, be reports to be reviewed; rewards of titles and lands to be awarded to senior officers; there would be wives from amongst the vanquished population (only the most beautiful and accomplished) to be gifted to the junior officers and their most outstanding men.
The disposition of prisoners and other such minutiae he would leave to the generals.




The golden Beauty embraced him.

She was beautiful, as She had always been.

She held his hand as they walked through the forested gardens of the crystal-domed valley, the gardens of Her family.
She loved him, though she knew his mind and the horror contained within him better than he did. He had come from her. There was Love and Kindness inside of Her child. He had come from Her.

She would help him, the world.
She saw across The Arc of Time and knew that Good would prevail.
He could not bewitch Her, his mother, his Angel.

She only loved him. This was Her nature.

“Do not fly about. This may frighten her. You have a lovely voice. Use it…”
He laughed.
“Perhaps you should have “said” that, Mother.”
It was natural for Her to think into the mind of Her child. She blushed. “Do not be clever.”
She laughed.
“Do not cast a spell upon her. You need not do this. Your lives will be so much better if she knows you, if you trust her.”
She stopped and regarded him. “Please. In this, do as I say.”
He held Her hand and basked in Her love. “I love you.”



He cleared his mind and released himself of the bonds of gravity.

He let his feet no longer touch the ground.

Acorns and leaves and small stones orbited around him in ellipses as he rotated in the beauty of a beautiful world.

The daughter of a Baron stared into the sky and regarded him.

His mother had explained to her that he was different, that he could love, that she could love him.

He was faraway. He was obviously the son of a Valerian.

The young woman was known as The Beautiful One to her people, the Valeria, known throughout the known worlds as beautiful, kind, caring, The Far-Seeing.
The blood that ran through her veins was the same blood that ran through the veins of the kind woman that she trusted, that had shown to her a bright and beautiful future.

The enormous attention that suddenly swept across her and focused upon her was shocking.
The objects floating around him clattered, fell to the ground.
She had seen.

“I am here.”

He swept down to her.

“Do not cast a spell upon me.” She was fearless. And it was immediate.

“I never shall. I promise.”

“I will love you, give you children.”

The kindness that flowed from her, that she directed into his mind was overwhelmingly beautiful, bright, shining.

“Forget your pain. You, they, we, my Darling, are good.”
_________________________________________________________________

Their magnificent children brought Joy and Goodness to the worlds.


Pain and suffering ended, The Empire went away.

__________________________________________________________________

All of The Children of The Sun knew Happiness.

And they were happy.

They were good to each other, they were no longer cruel to each other.


All of the Kindred, all of the Children, even the Dreck, had returned.