What Should I Write About?

So, I asked people what they wanted me to write about and they’re not giving me much. Some want me to write about the 2016 GOP presidential candidates, specifically, why I think Donald Trump has been planted into the process.

To be honest, it seems like a waste of effort to write about politics and politicians. I read what people write in defense of their guy/girl and it’s like reading Tiger Beat. People in the same party are ready to tear each other’s eyes out over criticism of their candidate.

It’s like electing a savior. Isn’t that how we screwed up last time? Did I mention Trump? I did.

He playing you all and it's depressing to watch. But, like the present occupant of the White House, Trump's candidacy is not the problem, but a symptom of the problem: the intentional rot of the American political process. It's dead, Jim.

Any more topical suggestions?

Please contribute to Juliette’s Projects: A Roof Over My Head, my Storage Facility, my new novel, this blog, and my Internet--to keep them going and to the COFFEE fund to keep me going!

Down-Sizing My Storage Space

Of course, you remember--and helped save--my belongings at Public Storage. Well, one of the reasons that the account became overdue is that there are valuable things inside of the container which I have been trying to sell for almost two years via both eBay and Craig's List.

One of these items is, actually, a whole bunch of items: my great-aunt's old china. Surely one of you knows someone who could use it.

Dinner Plates

Salad Plates

Cups and Saucers

Coupe Bowls

Dessert Bowls

There are many things in the storage which I won't sell--including a bit of dinnerware that belonged to my great-grandmother. However, I think that this ware could use a new home and be put to good use.

If you live in SoCal, it would be easy to swing by. I promise I won't hurt you!

Please contribute to Juliette’s Projects: A Roof Over My Head, my Storage Facility, my new novel, this blog, and my Internet--to keep them going and to the COFFEE fund to keep me going!

Why, Yes, I am Paranoid

After some nice words and even nicer fund-raising by Bill T. Quick on my behalf, I opined that I often feel as though I'm spinning my wheels as far as blogging goes. Confirmation: as readers know, I sometimes go back into the archives of my old blog and pull out something for a contemporaneous occasion. But saying "I told you so" over and over again gets tiresome.

That said, I told you so.

Remember this?

It’s the exact same tactic as this.

And this.

The West is being Herded.

“Conspiracy theorists” have been ridiculed over the decades. So I suppose that the reverse ethnic cleansing facilitated by the governments of two Western entities is mere coincidence. And, though there are many other reasons that our situation isn't as bad as that in Europe, the primary one is this. (The secondary one is that the human beings used to invade America are, primarily, Christian.)

The heads of government and the wannabes know this. That's why they keep making gun-confiscation noises almost every time a person demonstrates the Fallen nature of humankind using a firearm.

Almost every time. The exception?

Gun control advocates remain silent on the homicide rate in Chicago; the highest in the country. Chicago also has the country's strictest gun-control laws.

Hmmm.

Jim Young/Reuters

It's as if all is going according to plan in places like Chicago and our leaders want to see Chicago-type numbers spring up all over the country. Nah, that couldn't be...

It isn’t paranoia, when your government is trying to get you killed.

Thank you, family and friends, for helping me save my earthly inheritance! You are the best!

Leftist Target Painting and Tribal Shaming

I haven’t decided on a candidate for president. However, I’m fascinated by the Left’s response to GOP candidate Dr. Benjamin Carson. His fearlessness mixed with soft-spoken unflappability is powerful. And this quality seems to have the effect of burning coals on the collective heads of the Left—when it’s not causing said heads to explode.

For this reason, the word is out on GOP candidate Dr. Carson. It started with his September remarks on whether a devout Muslim should be president. Like all of the other “controversial” remarks he has made, Carson wasn’t’ just volunteering information. He was asked whether a president’s faith mattered by Chuck Todd on Meet the Press.

CHUCK TODD: Let me ask you the question this way: Should a President’s faith matter? Should your faith matter to voters? 

DR. BEN CARSON: Well, I guess it depends on what that faith is. If it’s inconsistent with the values and principles of America, then of course it should matter. But if it fits within the realm of America and consistent with the constitution, no problem.

CHUCK TODD: So do you believe that Islam is consistent with the constitution?

DR. BEN CARSON: No, I don’t, I do not. … I would not advocate that we put a Muslim in charge of this nation. I absolutely would not agree with that.

I’ll leave aside the theory that America already has a Muslim in charge.

Of course, the leading Muslim Brotherhood entity—CAIR—called on Carson to quit the presidential race. (It occurs to me that CAIR believes that it controls blacks--a mindset which, likely, stems from 1400 year-long and counting pillage of Africa by Islamic entities ranging from the Ottoman Empire to Boko Haram.) But the other-directed Carson ignored the snarling of those wolves.

The following month, in the wake of the Oregon mass-shooting—during which the shooter reportedly targeted Christians--Carson was asked what he would have done under such circumstances. His response:

Not only would I probably not cooperate with him, I would not just stand there and let him shoot me, I would say, ‘Hey guys, everybody attack him. He may shoot me, but he can’t get us all.'

Related to the previous question, Carson was asked by CNN’s Wolf Blitzer about the Jews, murdered by Hitler and his minions:

The likelihood of Hitler being able to accomplish his goals would have been greatly diminished if the people had been armed.

I find it interesting that people fabricate offense at Dr. Carson’s remarks. They claim that he is blaming the victims of these crimes, but it is actually the accusers of Dr. Carson who betray their own mindset. They are using a subset of Rapist Logic. Perhaps the Oregon victims and the Holocaust victims should have just urinated on their assailants.

The Bielski Partisans, a less well-known Jewish Resistance cell during WWII, however, fart in the general direction of the perpetually offended.

The Bielskis had been a Jewish farming family in the nearby village of Stankiewicze [Belarus], and the brothers knew the region well. Their familiarity with its geography, customs, and people helped them elude the German authorities and their Belorussian auxiliaries. With the help of non-Jewish Belorussian friends, they were able to acquire guns. The Bielski partisans later supplemented these arms with captured German weapons, Soviet weapons, and equipment supplied by Soviet partisans.
(...)
After World War II, in 1945 Tuvia and Zus Bielski emigrated with their families to Palestine. They both fought in the Israeli armed forces during the 1948 war that established the Israeli state. They subsequently immigrated to the United States.

But even before these interviews, there was University of Pennsylvania professor of dog-whistling Religious Studies Anthea Butler:

This was in response to the fact that Carson is insufficiently concerned about the Confederate Battle flag being flown at NASCAR events.

And, in response to Carson's Holocaust comments, actor Seth Rogen--who is Jewish--put forth this eloquent argument.

Fuck you @RealBenCarson.

— Seth Rogen (@Sethrogen) October 9, 2015

I doubt that Dr. Carson cares what such people call him or say to him—as a man of true education and real accomplishments, it is certain that, in the past, other black Americans have slung ugly racial epithets in his direction. This is the lot of black Americans who break out of the disease of anti-intellectualism which besets all too many of us.

But, Cobb says that this is dog-whistling and I agree because the “dogs” have been barking and growling since then. It’s the painting of a target.

Most of the Left's tactics against conservatives who are black are meant to incite shame in the targets. The interesting thing about this flawed tactic is that the Left assumes that race-based epithets—like “coon”--will do this because most blacks are "proud" of their race. But, for a person who does not believe his race to be inferior or superior, racial shaming rolls right off of their backs.

Of course, the attempt must be made to shame free men like Carson in order to bring them back under the protection of the Left Wing. (A secondary purpose is to induce fear in black observers who have the potential to become free—to shut them up.) But, ironically, neither Butler nor any other of Carson's critics on these matters are quite up to the shaming task for the following reason.

A person like Dr. Carson, whose spiritual foundation is in Christ--rather than in his skin color, his tribe, or in Leftist Patronage--cannot be shamed in this manner, nor, likely, in any other. As my friend Steve Graham once said, for Christians, Jesus the Christ is our race, creed and color. We fly another Flag and find protecting under another Wing.

And, for all the mud which has been slung in Carson's direction, he has not apologized nor backed off of any of his assertions. The truth needs no apology.

(Thanks to Breitbart and Twitchy)

Thank you, family and friends, for helping me save my earthly inheritance! You are the best!

Re-Post From 2008: View From Under the Bus

Originally post at my old blog seven years ago. I'm re-posting in response to Jeremiah Wright's address at the 20th anniversary of the 1995 "Million" Man March which occurred this past weekend.

A pre-response, if you will.

*****

20 Wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them.

21 Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven.

--Matthew 7:20-21 (KJV)

Finally, I’ve finished listening to all of the Moyers interview and the batty NAACP address by Barack Obama's pastor of twenty years, Jeremiah Wright. And, in addition, I rewatched that display of ego, half-truths—aka falsehoods--and mundane bad manners from Fox that first ran live yesterday morning. And, of course, I listened to the original sermons which brought the reverend's teachings under large-scale public scrutiny. Could you have put up with Wright’s posturing in the pulpit for twenty years? Confidence and peacockery can be entertaining as long as you know and are consistently reminded of where the focal point is—or, in this case, Who it is.

I heard Wright—the self-proclaimed Christian, preacher of the Word—mention the actions and methods of Jesus Christ and those of some who purport to be his followers. (I also heard him claim that abortion was a right.) But what Wright did not talk about was the purpose of Jesus Christ and of course he wouldn't. Because that’s where Liberation Theologies and mainstream Christianity part company. That's a crucial fork in the road; one leads to Damnation while the other does not. But don’t take my word for it. You decide.

I'll tell you what: I've never heard such a long line of strawmen strung together and wrapped up in the Word of God in my life--someone at another site call it a 'Lie Burrito'--but I only have enough time to address a few items.

Excuse my English (and pardon the pun) but who gives a DAMN about skin color, type of clothing and style of music when it comes to the realm of saving souls and keeping them out of Hell? Why, Wright and BLT’s “founder” James Cone do. As a matter of fact they worship these things instead of the Creator. Wright rightfully claims that Christian missionaries of Europe fell into error and sin back when they were bent on converting the natives of all lands. Not by the act and desire of leading others to Christ, but by making Christianity about something other than Him, His Sacrifice, Resurrection and the purpose thereof. The missionaries bound up Christ in themselves and their own culture. But Wright now is mired that same error while condemning the missionaries for it out of the other side of his mouth. Beams and motes indeed.

Guys like Jeremiah Wright care about self-centric totems of race, culture and vengeance more than they care about leading their flocks down the straight and narrow path. They need these totems to fill the void of self-doubt and that need is filled by navel-gazing religions like Black Liberation Theology and one of its parents, the Nation of Islam. Yes, BLT is a progeny of the NOI, Christianity and Marxism—a bastard child, to be sure. It’s an I-deology all right and Wright has sacrificed the eternal souls of those who believe his lies and are grateful for his good works. He has sacrificed these upon the altar of race and culture. (My own pastor says that God has special plans for shepherds—pastors—who mislead their flocks.)

Wright's megalomania is such that he couldn’t even bring himself to hold his peace for Obama’s sake—that’s one of problems inherent in allying oneself with narcissists—and even had the nerve to be guarded by the Fruit of Islam, Daddy’s the Nation of Islam’s security force.

The most infuriating thing about Wright is his attempt to cover himself using other black people, black Christians, by saying that attacks on him weren’t really about him but about the ‘black church.' And then he wants to fling around epithets like "Uncle Tom."

Let's be clear. Neither blackness, African, American or European origin, American nationality or American allegiance need a defense because such a defense would inherently be just as erroneously-focused as Jeremiah Wright's jeremiad. Ethnic origins aren’t things to be defended, denigrated or repudiated or sworn allegiance to--my own heritage stems from this continent and two other continents--these things simply are; these facts are existential. Nationality is special: it’s existential but can also be voluntarily retained or released. And allegiance to any entity is entirely voluntary, but no one has to prove his/her allegiance to this country as part and parcel of a repudiation of an ethnicity or heritage. Those days went out with FDR.

Here’s what I do come to defend, to stand in defense of: Christianity and Christians who are black. Jeremiah Wright defames both and speaks for neither and little obscure me will not let him use either as fig leaf. Yes, our ancestors in this country and our kinsmen across the water fought to be just as Christian as other Christians—as Christian as our brothers who are white. And many of the latter stood for us and side-by-side with us—not because of us primarily but because of the One Who is Primary. Has that particular battle been won? I say yes, though the war continues. But Wright not only continues to fight the battle, he willfully misunderstands the nature of the War and identity of the Enemy. And by doing that, he becomes the tool of the Enemy. That’s his choice, but not mine and not that of those who focus on the Redemption offered by Christ instead of getting upon the Cross themselves.

To quote myself, there is no “black church.” There is only the Church.

Word to Obama: thanks a lot, "brotha." Nice pastor you have there.

UPDATE (2008): Of course, just as I finished, Obama holds a press conference to distance himself from Wright.

Sorry, Senator [sic]. You can't shake off this Tar Baby that easily.

Ms. Malkin live-blogs it.

UPDATE (2008): I'm getting an Everybody-lanche. Thanks. I just try to listen to the Holy Spirit.

UPDATE (October 12, 2015): It occurs to me that Black Liberation Theology is an inversion of my theory, outlined here in 2014. It's getting a bit of new traffic.

Thank you, family and friends, for helping me save my earthly inheritance! You are the best!

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Old School

My Walk Through the Valley of Baka, Part II: Living With the Enemy

The following is the first part of a slightly edited report which I submitted to the authorities at the temporary housing facility. It is a documentation of the ongoing and very strange behavior of my first roommate, Elena Compton (not her real name). It may seem a bit dry, but I hope to give readers yet another idea of the spiritual warfare that went on at my former residence. And I did not document everything she did—for instance, I left out descriptions of the obvious markers of the occult which she left in the room.

 I’m certain that this woman was a plant from the Dark Powers and Principalities. Bright side: 1) if the Enemy felt the need to plant such a person so close to me, I must be one of God’s. 2) This document resulted in me getting what I wanted: a room change. My subsequent roommates were good ladies.

Nonetheless, I’m glad to be away from that place.

Oh yes and Language Alert!

Who Will Speak for Me?

This ridiculous story has inspired me to wax poetic.

Clemson University issued an apology to students on Thursday after what appears to be a small group of students were offended by an annual Mexican cuisine event put on by university dining services.

Clemson Dining’s “Maximum Mexican” night, has become a student favorite over the last several years, and this year was no different.

Everything was going great. Students were loving the food and festivities. Except for two students, who took to Twitter to voice their displeasure with the school’s decision to host such a “#CUlturallyInsensitive” event.

Here I go!

They came for the chimichangas, but I wasn’t Mexican, so I said nothing.
They came for the bratwurst, but I wasn’t German, so I said nothing.
They came for the potatoes, but I wasn’t Irish, so I said nothing.
They came for the sushi, but I wasn’t Japanese, so I said nothing.

So when they came for the fried chicken, collard greens, ham hocks, black-eyed peas, macaroni and cheese, and...wait. What was I saying?

Be right back.

(This meme also works well with booze.)

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Overtaken

"All these blessings will come upon you and overtake you if you obey the LORD your God…”

--Deuteronomy 28:2

As I’ve mentioned before, I lost my old house through foreclosure. Most of my other belongings are in paid storage, but some of them were and still are in my former neighbor’s garage. About three weeks ago, when I moved into my apartment, my VA case worker gave me a ride over to the old neighborhood to pick up some things from the neighbor. So I got to see the reborn house.

I knew that it had undergone an extensive remodeling and had been flipped, because I looked up the address via Google. So, when I was in the neighborhood, I decided to knock on the door. A pretty, young woman named Carmen answered the door and, when I told her who I was—with some confirmation—she was thrilled to allow me to see what had been done.

My former home is beautiful.

Carmen said that when she saw the house for the first time, she hugged the walls and told her husband, Pierre, that she wanted to grow old and die there. I didn’t get to meet Pierre that day, but Carmen invited me back for a gathering they were planning and that gathering was yesterday.

I had totally forgotten about the invitation—due to my storage situation, now resolved—but I received a text message reminder from Carmen. So I got on the bus and went over there.  Carmen and Pierre are originally from the Philippines, so their gathering featured some delicious Filipino food, of which Carmen would not let me leave without a container.

I have many things about which I’m grateful to God. But I never expected this quiet, peaceful feeling I have about my old house being owned by someone else; I grew up in that house. But seeing those two beautiful, generous, kind people in their house makes me happy.

Thank you, God, for the unexpected blessing. And, thank you, Carmen and Pierre, for being the agents of it.

Thank you, family and friends, for helping me save my earthly inheritance! You are the best!

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Old School

Less of Me

Many of my Facebook friends and Twitter followers know that, a couple of weeks ago, I posted that I have lost 30 pounds this year--from 194 to 164. I probably weigh less than that now.

When asked how I did it, I said that I used a modified South Beach diet along with another method. That other method was fasting,along with, of course, prayer.

To be sure, losing weight wasn't my goal for the 8-day fast. This was the collective goal--->to get the Holy Spirit's guidance in three areas: 1) my personal relationships, 2) my then-upcoming move, and 3) to boldly intercede in prayer for an individual even with push-back from that person and from another person.

So I got what I prayed for and lost a little over a third of that 30 pounds as an added benefit. My flesh has been changed in more ways than one.

For now, donations will go toward my storage fees. Here are some of the things I have there: my great-aunt's Vintage Crystal, a valuable chalk rendering of my great-uncle, a 52 volume set of the Great Books, 2 computers, vintage refinished bedroom furniture, vintage table, chair and mirror set, most of my clothing and...well, you get the idea. Please help me get it out so I can put it in my new apartment!

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Old School

My Walk Through the Valley of Baka, Part I

I made the same reference in the last post; it's from Psalm 84. Baka (בָּכָא) means 'weeping' and the operative preposition is 'through.' I didn't do much weeping, but you get the idea. This has been on my mind for the last few months as I watched the behavior of many people at the homeless housing. And it's interesting that my sojourn in homelessness occurred in the San Fernando Valley.

Almost on a daily basis, I read or listen to Christian commentators. Many of them discuss eschatology or break down scripture. But one topic has interested me: missionary work in Third World countries. Oh, I don't feel lead to do it, but I find a consistent observation fascinating: that the evil side of the supernatural is often more undisguised and overt in African, Central American, South American, Middle Eastern and Asian countries than in the USA and Europe, due to the prevalence of non-Christian and/or occult practices in many of these places. Observers have also said that this often makes prospective new converts in these places more open to God's supernatural manifestations than is so in the First World.

We "sophisticated" Westerners--even Christians--tend to scoff at the otherworldly. But what are incidents like this, this and this (ad infinitum), but supernatural manifestations? Jesus healed demoniacs; and I bet that, if those demoniacs had lived in the 21st century, they'd be posting manifestos against God and everyone on social media before they went out in a blaze (pun intended) of glory--or before the Son of Man had mercy on them.

But I saw nothing so horrendous. However, I saw things that my previously sheltered state rendered me powerless to explain using "rational" means. Was the homeless facility in which I lived a portal for the Enemy? I'm sure it was; it was an aggregation of fear and hopelessness, which is what the Enemy is selling. That much I know.

Day after day, I could sense the evil working in the homeless facility, as I mentioned in the last post. Occasionally, I would allow those feelings to affect me, but it was never for very long. Prayer, reading the Bible and regularly attending church would push those feelings back. But it was a constant effort. (One of my prayers is that I don't let up now that the attacks are not as overt.) I'd say that I wasn't all that successful, as my writer's block might indicate.

And a few times, I got to see the works of the Enemy up close.Let's talk about a guy named Dean.

Dean,* a Navy veteran, was slim, had long brown hair and blue, glassy eyes. He walked around the courtyard of the facility in full ramble mode. If one actually listened, it sounded like gibberish--usually. And, usually, it involved Jesus. Dean's main theme: that he, himself was Jesus.

I heard of one supernatural incident in which he was the star and saw one myself.

I was sitting on one of the benches in the smoking area having a conversation with someone else and Dean was behind me, babbling. The facility appears to have once been a hotel. The smoking area is a small, area in the corner of the courtyard. It's boxed off by planters which are separated by wooden benches and in the planters are trees in various stages of growth. (Interesting aside: if one sits under the trees, it feels as if it's raining; the trees "weep.")

Dean had an odd habit of pulling the leaves off of the trees and tossing them randomly. But, this time, he was pulling them off and tossing them on my back. I cut off my conversation, turned to him and said, "stop that." I was looking him directly in the eyes.

Suddenly his glassy stare cleared and he responded.

"Get off my land. Go back to your husband." I felt a chill go down my back. I could only think to rebuke him in the name of Jesus the Christ and that's what I did. On the mention of Christ's name, Dean stalked away from me.

The second incident involving Dean is second-hand, but, to me, it's more jarring.

Two other residents of the facility--Rodney and Janice--got to see what I'm about to relay. Neither person is particularly religious (though, after the following incident, Rodney began attending church with me for a time).

The two watched as Dean climbed up on one of the planters described, babbling as usual about Jesus. Then Dean put up his arms in Crucifix fashion and began to exclaim: "I'm Jesus, I'm Jesus!"

"Get the f*** down from there," Rodney said, and, just as he finished speaking, both Rodney and Janice say that they felt an unnatural wind blow between them and Dean; so strong that it pushed the former two back. They saw the wind hit Dean directly, knocking him off the planter, and onto the ground--on his backside.

The word in Hebrew for 'spirit' is ruah (רוּחַ). It is also the word for 'wind.' The Holy Spirit smacked Dean.

Weeks later, Dean ended up getting kicked out of the facility for violence against security and, for months, he hung around on the perimeter of the place--as did several others who had been ejected for various offenses. (Just as I was about to leave, he was allowed back in, as were several other similarly afflicted persons who had been kicked out. And I could feel the level of spiritual chaos rising.)

There are a few other things that happened while I was there, and I will write about them.

*All names are pseudonyms.

Alone Again

My stint in temporary homeless housing is over. And it was a blessing. But those of us who are familiar with how God operates know that blessings don't always feel good; and many times this one did not.

What I discovered in my personal Valley of Baka was how good I've had it nearly all of my life--and how good I still have it. I've been hesitant to say the following about my former residence, but I can't hold it in any longer: it is a portal for the Enemy, for Satan.

And why wouldn't it be? Many people there had been there for years, or had multiple stints of homelessness. Additionally, not only was it a hub of drug usage, but drug sales. I can't prove it and I don't want to do so. But I heard and I saw.

Of course marijuana usage is prevalent there. It's legal here in California and all one needs is a "rec," provided by an on-site doctor at the various weed shops around town. Before my homeless stint, I had nothing against weed smokers. I had known some before and they were pretty regular people--actually a bit calmer and more fun than most. But there's something about the equation of weed and homelessness: it seems to produce obsession. Many of the weed smokers at the shelter stayed high night and day. One could get up in the morning and smell that odor coming out of someone's room. (Allegedly, no smoking was allowed in the rooms. Like almost all other rules at this facility, this rule was spottily enforced, however.) Another proof of obsession: this was all some people talked about: what kind gave the best high, which store had the best deals. Talk about boring conversation!

Other things are used by the residents, however--things I'd barely known about before my arrival: "spice" and meth. And all too many people would sell their prescription medications. (There are a lot of Department of Mental Health clients.) Through these pharmakeia, I got to see zombies. Yes, that's what they were. The worst thing: watching the descent of someone who had been relatively normal.

Hopelessness, drug usage, fights, theft...and cold-heartedness. I observed/experienced all those things. And through these opened doors, I got to see the evil side of the supernatural without its usual cloak. Needless to say, I put on the Whole Armor of God everyday, but I could still feel the harsh, coldness that permeated the place--the unchecked fear. And I wasn't the only one who felt it--symbolized by the perennial knot in the pit of my intestines that is only now going away since I moved into this apartment on the 17th.

My New Living Room

And it is only now that I am able to write.

So I am grateful to God for the opening of my eyes and for the physical and spiritual sustenance while in my own little taste of pseudo-Hell.  Of course, I'm never alone. He's here.