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Nestor & Achilles in Homo NGO Land
Why Not Write to Sell? Part 4, Sunset Saga Spoiler
Big Tony. You are out there on those narrow, misty nighttime, Oregon roads, in this rain, risking your life to feed a nation of fat pigs. You have asked me to finally write the conclusion of The Sunset Saga, and here, where I write my best it seems, I am partially spoiling it before rendering the story ending. So, I leave it up to you—and SS Sam too—as to whether you read on.
-James, Tuesday, 11/9/21
The corporate future, ruled by homosexual and bisexual medical experiments, that I developed for The Sunset Saga and Organa, is I think a realistic near future. Far future settings have ages of intervention, where near future is regarded as anything from a few years to a few centuries out, with Orwell's 1984 and Star Trek, for instance, both near future settings. My near future offerings include, Uprising, American Dream Boat, The Consultant, Ghost Snatcher, Ditcher, Beyond Rainbow Bridge and Last Whiteman.
Some classic far futures are Jack Vance's Dying Earth, Poul Anderson's Vault of Ages and Gene Wolf's Book of the New Sun. Far future settings I have made include Prentice Dolphin, Confessor, Supplicant's Song, Reverent Chandler and the base time frame for the Sunset Saga, A.D. 2900 where perverted genetic engineer, world raper, David Bowie-looking Caligula of the future, Hyman Maxim collects genius dinner companions and extinct human races as slaves with which to stock his generation ship for his god flight into the Cosmos. Basically this asshole is like our current infotech moguls with ancient despotic flare.
As the story progresses some inconsistancies in time frames develop as nerd black scientist protagonist Charlie Robinson recedes ever more into the background. However, his brutal semi-retarded action hero buddy, Jay romps from time to time and place to place in service to a genius gimp from another age, Three-Rivers. What is more, there are other handicapped characters, that Bracken will be found avenging, carrying around, rescuing and even wheeling up the street in a wheel chair.
There is Arrow-Holder, the thumb-sucking Algonquian retard who carries an arrow like a scepter and thinks of Bracken as his pet demon.
There is “Da Playa from da Himalaya” Eddie, a hoodrat fuckup from East Baltimore who makes friends with Three-Rivers while Bracken is beaten the dogshit out of a bunch of Baltimore police, and then insinuates himself into the time traveling operation as “Eddie Scientific” a transformative loser.
There is Jay's adopted brother, Randy Sterling Bracken, evil racist who gets involved by chance, kidnaps junkies to use as time travel weight for hauling more gear, and then abandons the poor fucks back in time unconcerned even if they are bringing HIV with them into the past.
Jay comes and goes, is in and out of jail, prison, the stone age, black ops centers, Plantation America, ancient Hellas and the far future what spawned him, going progressively insane, still obsessed with helping little gimps and nerds like he did with Charlie way back when.
It becomes clear after some time, that there is no time travel going on, that the Event Capacitator kills the “traveler” then sends a copy of them elsewhen. So the Bracken brothers, a drug addict and an adrenaline junky, are going insane as they become tenth generation copies of their original selves. It might be of interest to the reader that this is exactly what happens to fighters like Jay and drug addicts like Randy as they age normally in a toxic, therapeutic society.
Back to the ever-diminishing Charlie, based on my sixth grade schoolmate who had no friends and called me an idiot in front of our classmates. Then after I sentenced him to a beating every day after school—like three months—I lost all of my friends and he gained them as he regaled them with tales of my secret punches that left no marks, etc.
I did chase him down the once and hit him and he fell over and refused to fight back, exactly as Jay and Charlie meet in the beginning of Big Water Blood Song. Then, he asked me to come home with him and play with his toys. I did, and as we walked back through the alleys. These two older kids who must have been 16, just like the kids who used to torment me, looked at Charlie as if he owed them something. Charlie just smiled and winked at me as if I were a starship trooper in powered armor. I predictably slathered with a thirst to rip their throats out, such an emotionally wrecked psycho I had become when hitting 120 pounds at 11 years and becoming very athletic and violent over night. It was like being a pitbull walking a mouse home past two cats.
Charlie's mother was very concerned about him making it home, that he insisted on walking even though he was picked on after school. But he assured his mother, as he introduced me as “James West,” actual real life clone of Robert Conrad, action TV star of the adventure series The Wild Wild West, that with a real TV hero besides him, he had nothing to worry about. Charlie had set this whole thing up and recruited me as his bodyguard.
As I began framing the Nestor/Achilles of the same age but relative uneven prowess together, cast forward into our anti-heroic time, I recalled also Jonathan Legate at Trinity high School in Wash. PA, crushed by a school bus that was leaving him behind. I remember those times, when we would cheer on the weaker children and the school bus drivers would callously pull off with the door open and the boys and girls must leap on in at the run.
I recall reliving this as us losers on the back of the #22 Baltimore City MTA bus, going down Highland Avenue towards Edison Highway, cheered on a tall black man who the bus driver would not stop for but determidly ran the bus down and blocked its path, gaining entry a hero and to our applause.
One day, when I was in good fight shape around 2001, I was leaving work at Metro #45 Fort Avenue to catch my bus, when I saw [I can still hear the roar of it shifting into second gear] that bus pass me from two blocks away, out on Fort Avenue. The bus only did about 20 MPH on Fort Avenue that time of morning and stopped every block to pick one or two people up, upscale white office people headed to the Inner Harbor.
On the back of the bus was a little skinny black dude who worked at the Dixie Cup plant down the end of the line. He encouraged me to catch the bus, me assuming he would get the driver to halt, if only I would run. The #1 bus only came once an hour. So, no longer the fastest 13-year-old in Washington, PA, and having been soundly trounced in a foot race against Earl Stackhouse, former Captain of the Lake Clifton High School track team, at age 20, now in my 30s, I yet had that knucklehead notion that I could not lose a race and I tore after that bus, that had a 2.5 block lead.
I had to catch it before it hit Riverside five blocks up Fort Avenue, because then it would coast down hill and all would be lost. I caught that bus in front of Lucky's grocery—across the street from that and Cox's Pub, with two blocks to spare, the driver never having halted a second for me, only letting on one or two at each stop and gunning it. That driver sneered at me in disgust and the white office folks looked away out the window in embarrassment. But the few black dudes on the back of the bus greeted me as one of their lowly own—a hero of the moment having won one tiny victory against the evil world that hated us so for the mere condition of our birth.
Check out the map on Google. I started by the dumpster on the side street by the grocery parking lot and caught that thing at the dogleg two blocks short of Riverside. That is where the character of Eddie Scientific, who oddly takes Charlie's place in Jay Bracken's life just like Three-Rivers did enters the Sunset Saga...
In the beginning of the story, right after the scene based on the event I described happening with my dumb ass and Charlie at age 11 with the teenagers, I wrote the scene where Charlie Robinson was attacked by two big men [he at a tender 15 ears of age] and is brutally rescued by Jay.
Spoiler here:
Recalling that I dedicated this story to Jonathan, who died on the pavement holding his school books under a bus, and that Charlie goes down with his collectible card collection under two big adult thugs [patterned on real 21-year-old thugs I ushered off from the tender necks of 100-pound teen card players near D.C. the year before I began writing Of the Sunset World] it should come as no surprise, that Charlie Robinson never became a scientist or a church founder, that Charlie was stomped into a coma, and after serving time for killing the two tugs, Jay returns guilt ridden over Charlie' plight to hold his hand in the assisted living facility.
Also, Charlie's mother reads adventure stories and history books to her comatose son and asks Jay, in between prison stays and prize fights and such, as he holds Charlie’s shrunken hand, to tell of his misadventures, which she notes bring some signs of cognition to her son's otherwise dead face. Mrs. Robinson is convinced that Charlie can feel Jay's [just as Three-Rivers can in Thunder-boy] unusually strong heart beat, a heart that is trapped in a world for which its cadence is hopelessly out of time.
So, there is an ending to the time wars in which Three-Rivers and Jay join hands one last time against the machine that brought them together—that is one ending.
Then there is the other ending, which I will half-spoil here, in which Jay gets all coked up, beats the shit out of a bunch of pigs after headlining on a fight venue where he was shot up with performance drugs, and, all he wants to do when he knows he is going away to prison forever is to visit Charlie in his coma bed one last time and hold his hand so he can see Mrs. Robinson smile. Jay's last heart beat when his life of adventure catches up with him will have a transformative effect on his bed-ridden friend.
The second half of that last chapter and the epilogue, I will not spoil. But there is no time travel. A comatose boy who never came to manhood but lies in a bed has mixed the tales of adventure and history books read by his mother with the awkward yarns of misadventure related by his loser, prize-fighter friend as he races towards an early end, Achilles-like, against both jealous gods and slavish men.
It was supposed to be a surprise, but it may not be written and will in any case, remain unread.
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Posted: 2022-01-24   reads: 103   ©2021  james lafond
Under the Simp Hand
Why Not Write to Sell? Part 3, Sunset Saga Exposition
“One side stands on the sacred
mountain attempting to raise the
ancients from the center of the earth...”
-Brian William Jewell, Sanity's Edge, lines 1-3, from Meditations on Madness, page 36
In 2009 I wanted to finally write a big novel, the start of a 21-volume series on time travel, which would enable me to set fiction in various periods of interest, and necessarily in the future. For, so far as I know, time travel has yet to be developed. Of course, there are entire categories of science-fiction readers who will never read a book on time travel because they say—in their infinite omniscience about the cosmos—that it cannot be done. [1]
But I wondered, if it could be done, what might it be like? In other words, if people had this capacity, what would they do with it?
The answer, was, I mused, that different kinds of people would do different things with that technology, some selfish and some altruistic.
On this site, way back on the fiction page, from I think 2012, is a short novel titled This Design is Called Paisley it is a Sunset Saga side story, like the Sunset Saga inspired by my life experiences. I will discuss the generation of these two stories as investigations into the human condition along with the objections lodged by some few readers. [2]
To my knowledge, only three people have read The Sunset Saga, SS Sam, patrolling the concertina wire compound on the Chilean-Bolivian Border, my friend Tony and his 11-year-old son Dominic. All three have professed to enjoy the series. These are likely to be the only readers, I think, since in the next installment of this article series, I am going to give away the ending. In this article I give away the plot secrets revealed over the first 5 novels written, which I have done in the posthumous prequel that heads the list below.
The Sunset Saga is comprised of:
-1. Out of Time, a prequel written to settle the problems readers had with my slow oblique exposition, as the story is written without God's vantage, with the reader only privy to what the various characters know of their condition.
-2. Big Water Blood Song, the first half of the original 1300 page Of the Sunset World
-3. Ghosts of the Sunset World, the second half of Of the Sunset World
-4. The World is Our Widow, ¼ of Pillagers of Time, a massive sequel to Of the Sunset World
-5. Beyond the Ember Star, part 2
-6. Comes the Six Winter Night, part 3
-7. Thunder-boy, part 4
-8. Beyond the Sunset Veil
-9. Den of the Ender
-10. God's Picture Maker
-11. Seven Moons Deep, written over 8 years from 2012-20
-12. Organa a barely related side novel, set in the same two future time frames as shown in Beyond the Ember Star, The World is Our Widow, Den of the Ender and Out of Time
-13. Astride the Chariot of Night, Jay Bracken's thread from God's Picture Maker and Seven Moons Deep, published beginning in 2012 with By This Ax! And God of War.
-14. WhiteSkyCanoe, the conclusion of The Sunset Saga, written in my mind in 2009, which I have not permitted myself to write as I am superstitious about writing endings first. The 7 time travel novels I was going to write, Like the Archimedes Event, The Minos Event, The Alexander Event, and The Prophet and the Demon are either entirely discarded or placed in this final volume, which will eliminate all time travel not necessary to wrap up the narrative threads.
The narrative is conducted in alternating threads between protagonists with internal monologues.
The premise is absolutely liberal progressive, but the execution is brutality realistic, which means that conservative readers hate the premise and progressive readers hate the execution. That leaves libertarian types who read fiction, which I think is less than 100 people world wide.
The characterization is based on the Iliad, with the two key protagonists Charlie Robinson, an African American quantum physicist imagined as an aged and wise Nestor cast forward to the end of Time into a young body as weak as his old form, to collide with Achilles, in the form of Jay Bracken, a hyper-masculine, stupid, West Virginia redneck with a time preference so high that it's off the African charts, who runs into Charlie in a Baltimore City high school in the late 1990s and who is the fastest man on earth.
Initial readers scoff at a white man being fast and a black man being smart, thinking I was trying to be edgy in a liberal way. But Achilles was the fastest of men, and when I was a teenager, for a brief year, I was the fastest 13-year-old in Washington County Pennsylvania. I knew for a time what it was like to be an Achilles, hated by my gym teachers, beating up and terrorizing rival students and doomed to ultimate failure in all things.
Two female readers rejected This Design is Called Paisley for the black scientist. Lynn, even sent me various genetic studies demonstrating that junk DNA and other things absolutely bars any person of African descent from being a brilliant scientist. Even my staunchest reader rejected the premise!
The problem was, when I wanted a teenage Achilles and Nestor to be reunited in Baltimore City, the environment I knew the best and needed to write in, I based their meeting on my meeting with a nerd named Charlie at Pleasant Plains elementary school in Baltimore County and my eldest son's meeting of Dante Justine in far rougher Baltimore City schools a generation later. So, Jay was a composite of Dante, Achilles and my 13-year-old psychology. Charlie was a composite of my oldest son, Charlie and Lewis, the only black kid in my Baltimore County Junior high school, and Jonathan Legate the smartest kid in Trinity High School Washington, PA, who was killed running for a school bus overburdened by his books. I further laid in a tiny Asian kid who I body-guarded for in 2009 against giant black thugs near Washington D.C. as the template for Three-Rivers, the ultimate and transformative main character of The Sunset Saga.
So, with those influences, and wanting to use my Harm City urban blight work as a setting platform, I had to model American Achilles as the bodyguard of a nerd as Nestor stranded at the end of Time. In 1990s Baltimore, that nerd had to be black, like my employee Derrick White, a tender-hearted upstanding clerk who gained my unlimited admiration by being braver than me and my security guard combined, all 120 pounds of him.
So, even if I had been told ahead of time that no black man could invent a time machine, it didn't matter, he had to be black in that setting. No white nerd has attended Baltimore city public schools since I pulled my oldest son out in 1990.
Also, in science-fiction terms it does not matter. In the story, Charlie fails as a physicist and starts a science-based religion. Hundreds of years in the future, his acolytes discover his hand-drawn plans for a time machine and build it so that they can come back and get their Messiah into the Future. Their stated goal is to use these devices—for there are seven or nine—to go back in time and save extinct peoples, like the Native Americans.
Groan thinks the conservative reader.
But this is bullshit. The advanced time jumper base being set up is just a means of abducting people who were going to be genetic dead ends anyhow, and use them as breeding stock for an evil mastermind's generation ship which would take him to a far star as the god of his people. He also wanted certain brilliant men like Aristotle and Archimedes and Hiawatha [taken right before their untimely death] to be his dinner companions and wished the most beautiful Native American woman, the Lady of Caftochecie for his concubine. Rather than a progressive rescuing of Natives from European aggression—and of Neanderthals from modern human aggression—the entire operation has for its purpose the staffing of an inter-stellar palace of Caligula in space!
Groan and puke says the progressive reader.
Enter Three-Rivers, a handicapped Iroquois genius who, like Charlie, wins Jay Bracken's savage heart [Bracken turns out to be a genetic weapon designed to rape Neanderthal woman and form a seed population to farm for robust time slaves] and the two, an Achilles and a Nestor [indeed in Behind The Sunset Veil Aristotle is horrified by Bracken's bestiality and names him “The Beast Achilles”] revolt against their 29th century master and his 23rd century agents and 21st century puppets, and start a time war, a brutal retard and a sly gimp against The Apex AI Machine.
So, the black scientist failed in science and fades into a manipulated obscurity as his high school friend and protector assigns his brutal urge to be violent on behalf of the innocent to the little Indian Vegan [yep, the brat has a protein allergy]. Three-Rivers verily comes to the future he calls “The Sunset World” in order to learn at the knee of he who he calls Burnt Man, who he imagines is Bracken's [who he knows as DeathSong] creator. As it turns out Burnt Man, being Charlie, is an imprisoned puppet of a great and evil conspiracy of superior designed humans.
I wrote Out of Time because it takes the reader until Thunderboy, to finally figure this out. I had not originally understood how much an American reader demands to have godlike abilities to understand the book from far beyond the perspective of the protagonists, and had hoped they would be satisfied with knowing more than any single protagonist, of which there are near two dozen.
In the next installment I will spoil the ending of the as yet unwritten last novel. So, SS Sam and Big Tony, you might want to skip Part 4 and go to Part 5.
Notes
-1. The research for Seven Moons Deep would lead to the Plantation America history series which has exceeded in volumes and words The Sunset Saga
-2. This Design, number 5 in this series, will use that short novel to discuss the use of life experience in fiction.
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Posted: 2022-01-24   reads: 82   ©2021  james lafond
Cube in Print
The Redaction of Bronson Caan: A Novel of 2121
Cube
The Redaction of Bronson Caan: A Novel of 2121
By
James LaFond
Hardcover
USD 17.29
Usually printed in 3 - 5 business days
Bronson Caan works for his parents in the family business. Born in 2092 to Cube Combat Promotions, Bronson is literally the Adam of his kind, the first purpose-born Cube Fighter. Patterned after two action movie actors of the Late Pre-World-Order Age, Bronson Caan is the prototype combat celebrity—a striving, bleeding and conquering masculine fetish icon conceived and promoted for the diversion of a post-masculine world. Cube is the story of his redaction.
Cube is my attempt at a serious prediction of the future for the sport of MMA. If you prefer reading electronically, just join Substack using the link at the top of the main page to get rest of the novel installments.
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Posted: 2022-01-24   reads: 82   ©2022  james lafond
Of the Gimp Hand
Why Not Write to Sell? Part 2, Self Help and Journalism
My friend David Lumsden wrote a biography of Sifu Richard Bustillo, a leading light in the Jeet Kune Do fraternity. It was a good book and sold well because it had a built in readership in the Jeet Kune Do world, a certain number of guaranteed sales. I have no such fraternity, no style, no school, no art. Indeed, David made no money on this book, but donated it to his teacher's estate. Hence, my writing on combat arts has no built in readership. Nor do I have fame as a pro athlete or credentials as some kind of martial arts guru to garner a distribution base.
My numerous books on fighting cannot sell well for various reasons intrinsic to my person and the field of information that serves as my source material, both being unpopular. For instance, The Logic of Steel demonstrated that cheap blades and shanks are often in play and that expensive quality knives almost never show up in real encounters and further, seem to offer no advantage. Hence, knife sellers, manufacturers [the very people in a position to promote the work] and afficianodos deplored the work. Had I made up some stories about certain brands of knives being used to defend against bad guys, this book might have financed a retirement.
In my broadest category, urban survival in the Harm City series, the most unique work I did was the only onsite book telling the story of the 2015 Baltimore Purge, War Drums: Forty Miles from the Big House. However, the only folks interested in such urban unrest are either “back the blue” cucks who claim, with no knowledge, that there either was or was not a general race purge depending upon their ideology, or are Black Lives Matter types who also deny a general race purge and mark the event as a sacred uprising. Again, in a bipolar world, an exposition of facts is abhorred by any who have an interest in such a touchstone event from either pole of the dualistic lie that is our shared false narrative.
There is only one self-help book I have written which has potential to sell, my best-selling site e-book, Your Trojan Whorse. I think this book could be marketed to fringe male readerships. However, that type of marketing requires a lot of promotional work. Men like Bronze Age Pervert and Jack Donovan, who have made good book sales, have done so thanks to a heroic level of promotional work which I am un-qualified for. I am not media savvy, not on social media, and am not good looking.
Men looking for masculinity advice are young and want to look up at a paragon resembling their aspirations dispensing advice, not down at the declining loser on the wrong side of life which they fear becoming. Masculinity readers like to get such advice from men in their prime with handsome looks and bulging muscles, not some worn out old twerp. I am also uninterested in promotional work. When my brother and I had raffle tickets to sell for the Cub Scouts I gave mine to him and he set a sales record as I day-dreamed on the back porch.
Hence, most of my writing work is essentially unsalable and I knew that. I did all of this information-based self-help writing and weird urban journalism for only one reason, to learn how to write and write well. I wrote some 150 books trying to learn how to write. I actually got paid about a nickle an hour learning how to write. That seems like a good deal to me as I know people who have spent a decade or more paying off student loans. I got paid to go to a school in which I set my own hours and never left my room.
I regard all the writing I did before 2017 as my amateur apprenticeship in the craft and the work written since as my professional output. For it was December 11 2017 when I decided to decline income not derived from writing and to devote myself exclusively to the art of creating readable, useful and insightful books about the human condition; books that might be enjoyed by some boy of the future who sits day dreaming on his single mother's back porch rather than completing the social credit survey necessary for him to graduate from American Lie High.
Some of my fiction writing also falls into the category of writing exercises. For instance, Hurt Stoker, a book that has sold only 4 copies in 7 years and was panned by Takimag readers who claimed I was aping a southern folk writer who I have never read or heard of. I think it was some guy named Kentucky Williams. Hurt Stoker was a character development writing exercise.
My few hundred readers at the time, counted but 30 fiction readers. These were mostly white identity militants who hate black people and liked me for telling the truth about the color of American crime. So, Hurt Stoker, features a carnival operator of color, Whiff Gleason, an actual Confederate Negro of an alternative earth where the Confederacy successfully resisted the War of Northern Aggression. I wanted to up my writing game, so serialized the book on the site. I think the first six chapters feature Whiff [a former Negro League shortstop with a115 batting average] standing on the back of a giant pickup truck with a noose around his neck put there by three Pittsburgh area NFL fans who had driven down into Maryland to lynch a negro for purely recreational purposes.
I didn't get many reads. But a good dozen people were following it. Eventually, a friend of mine, a self-described “evil racist” messaged me and asked, “Enough already! Get that Negro off the tailgate!”
I had done it. The story was an exercise in developing reader empathy for a slick-talking person of not just another race, but of an enemy kind. The fact is, Whiff is the perspective character, not the hero, who is a low-done, hillbilly, criminal, army deserter and murderer named Stoker. Stoker was waiting in the writing wings waiting for a reader to plead for Whiff's milk chocolate life of grift and gab. The three NFL fans never had a prayer. The ill-treatment of both races in this novel mean there can be no popular readership, as everybody will be offended.
For the final installment of this series, I will actually spoil the ending of The Sunset Saga, some million words of fiction with a cast of over a dozen protagonists and scores of supporting characters. For there is no other way to field the complaints by the numerous readers offended by my character development and story lines in that, my largest work of fiction.
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Posted: 2022-01-23   reads: 152   ©2021  james lafond
In Uncle Sham's Shadow
Why Not Write to Sell? Part 1, History
“Its a big book, kind of dry. Why don't you write to sell?”
-Frank, January 13, 2021
This kindly man, who invited me to his table for Christmas was commenting on Cracker-boy. Well, history is perhaps the worst selling category of writing and takes the most work by far. That is why I never wanted to write history, but historical fiction. Then I discovered that my historical science-fiction was going to be regarded as fantasy, as the supposed history of America is a many-faceted lie.
Their are only three ways to sell history, and by sell I mean getting on a best-seller list and being able to live off the royalties:
-1. Novelist Crossover
Shelby Foote, a respected novelist, was asked to write what has turned out to be the best-selling book on The Civil War.
-2. Journalist-Media Personality Cross Over
The best example of this might be Mister O'Reilly, the Fox news conservative didact, who has placed his name on the work of relatively unknown history writers laboring under his editorship.
-3. Academic who Can Somehow Write
Such rare characters as Eric Cline, who wrote 1177, a book on the Bronze Age Collapse are quite rare. Such a character has to write a book for his university, and if it is actually readable it might get picked up by a publishing house for general sale.
I have no hope of ever writing a history that sells, as I have no credentials, no media following, no institutional backing from news organizations or a university press.
However, had I had one of these qualifications, I would not be able to get published through any of these channels unless I lied, obscured and misrepresented the plight of the hundreds of thousands of European American slaves. I have actually declined three offers by book agents to shop Stillbirth of a Nation to standard publishing houses. I know ahead of time that I will not knuckle under to editorial demands that I use anachronistic terms like “indentured servant” to promote the weird white picket fence fantasy of Colonial America.
I might be able to get a lot more sales writing a half-truth book that will appeal to conservative race fetishists, by claiming that white slaves had it worse then black slaves, for which I have found no evidence.
I might be able to write a book about how much worse African American slavery conditions sometimes where than what liberal Americans believe, for they were even more bestial than commonly envisioned. But in order to sell this book to people interested in the history of slavery, I would have to obscure much of the reality I have discovered, and I will not do that.
Without a popular fan base, there is no way to write honest history that will be tolerated by the literary establishment. American history is an ongoing deception in which I will not engage. As for ancient history, I expect the Sons of Aryas and Beasts of Aryas books to remain beyond the pale for conservative and liberal history readers as I do not concern myself with the ideological costume drama of the 1930s and 1940s as a critic. Neither will I satisfy the fringe white race fetish reading market that I have access too, due to a lack of certain ideological and racial opinions in these texts.
I was blessed to even learn to read, at the late age of ten. I then toiled for 20 more years to learn how to structure a sentence and then a book, having no idea how to use the English language and having never passed an English test. Somehow, through reading osmosis I imagine, I was further blessed with a gift to write in an informative and entertaining fashion. Unfortunately, my search for the truth and inability to adopt an ideology, has cursed me to unsalable status. I will not squander my blessing on trying to make money writing and thereby selling out, when I could simply manage inventory for a food retailer if making money was my concern.
The only reason I ever consented to chase the dollar—and it was a disultory chase engaged in with but half a heart—was to support a wife and children. I no longer have a woman, and my sons are better at making money than I ever could have hoped to be. There is no longer a reason for me to make money in excess of what I need to survive.
So I write as a parting shot at the rancid heart of that evil world that has hated, tormented, negated and lied to me at nearly every turn upon its twisted axis.
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Posted: 2022-01-22   reads: 192   ©2021  james lafond
Winter Spirit
A Man of God Offers Wintry Peace for Americans Walking Satanic Ground: 12/10/21
[Crackpot comments in brackets. Soon the shortest day of the year comes, when us yeti sons should feel closest to our kind and most distant from the civic mind. By the time this posts the fallow dawn of the Third Year of the Crispy Christ, Floyd shall be here. The novel I plan on writing in January is about working class Christian resistance to corporate internationalists eradicating medical heresy circa 2050.]
Hello James,
 
I've just donated 15 USD on your website. When you confirm their arrival, would you mind sending me the draft of Beasts of Aryas? I read Blue-eyed Daughter of Zeus, didn't get everything but still liked it.
[This was very kind. The reader is even helping with draft typos!]
Hillbilly chemist time. I noted your use of coffee to calm your seizures. As an unfortunate coffee addict, I combine it with L-Theanine (tip of a tea spoon of the white powder into a mug of coffee). Alone the substance makes you sleepy, with coffee it removes the jitters, leaves only the wakefulness. I use it to stay longuer in the zone, you might want it to sustain larger amounts of caffeine. It's a popular combination in nootropic circles, for its (apparent) complete innocuity.
[I will definitely be looking for L-Theanine.]
 
I remember vaguely an article I recently read, from some new agey traveller to Peru, gone to meet a proper medicine man in south America. The healer immediately pointed to a "blockage" somewhere, due to overuse of Mary Jane, adding that the locals used it parcimoniously since it makes one "permeable" (e.g. to bad influences). Tobacco, however, they smoke liberally as it does the opposite. Borrowing a nicotine patch/chewing gum from one of your hosts should be a cheap experiment.
[It is an irony that I have been careful not to use blood vessel construction agents like tobacco and coffee, not starting coffee until age 43, in order to maintain maximum cardio ability, and now, in my decline, I am seeking constriction to counteract this neurologically triggered dilation.]
 
I'm not saying your neurological disorder that no physician can explain is caused by forcibly awakened ESP slave children in some government compound, but only because it sounds crazy.
[I would be honored if this is the case.]
What I am saying is that if you like the Bible, Philip K. Dick and end-of-19th-century seers, then you may like Rudolf Steiner. His work has been peeking out of the memory hole for a few years now, a lot of it available as free audio books. Juicy bit, from 1917:
 
"I have told you that the spirits of darkness are going to inspire their human hosts, in whom they will be dwelling, to find a vaccine that will drive all inclination toward spirituality out of people’s souls when they are still very young, and this will happen in a roundabout way through the living body. Today, bodies are vaccinated against one thing and another; in future, children will be vaccinated with a substance which it will certainly be possible to produce, and this will make them immune, so that they do not develop foolish inclinations connected with spiritual life – ‘foolish’ here, or course, in the eyes of materialists."
 
The free audio material is here:
 
Winter is good time for introspection, so my recommendation is his introductory book, Knowledge of the Higher Worlds and Its Attainment:
 
Faxxination still, from the Greek Orthodox Christian side this time:
 
Some of the important parts:
 
[relayed from a brother who took the first shot] "Day and night I constantly saw Satan in front of me, his face 20mm distance from mine. I went to sleep at night, and felt him hugging me, and I would get cold all over. I would read the Salutations (Χαιρετισμούς) to the Virgin Mary and I would feel as if my blood was burning in my veins. I felt a foreign presence within me and it was judging me."
[I have a close friend who has had very negative results from this injection. From my small sample, it seems that the people who have grown sickest from it are highly intelligent skeptical types, as if there is something particularly counter to free thinking in it. The much less healthy folks who believe the news, have not reported bad side effects to me. Those who have are free thinkers since plagued by nightmare or its echo.]
 
"To a faithful person of God death does not exist, this is the reality. We have forgotten this and we presently fear death. Not only do we fear death, we also fear being fined, possible imprisonment, and prosecution. In NO case can a person call themselves a Christian if they fear death. When a person fears dying, they become an idolater or an atheist."
[Beautifully complete statement of modern metro-physics. I will avail of Steiner when I have regular wifi. Thank you so much for that. These fiendish vampires are tampering with our very design.]
 
This is preached publicly, and the national TV is working overtime to gaslight them of course. People are told to unmask as they enter monasteries or even some churches. So there's still hope. If Steiner is right, things look ugly on your side because you are literally walking on Satan's turf, among his chosen people, who are being prepared for the coming of his incarnation.
[I see hope that some humans will survive the zombie imposition matrix every day. I also see, every day, many many folks alone and in cars wearing masks, walking in the fresh air, wearing masks. I suspect that this is a psychological Great Flood, a kind of Noah event of the mind that will separate the soulful social chaff from the consumable human grain. I intend to remain unpalatable to the taste of the slathering beast so many of those I care about actually witlessly worship. What a fascinating time to be a writer. I am blessed. The main difference I see between my heathen view and the Christian view, is that the supernatural agents of the Christian God outnumber the Fallen Third. My view is darker, that only a fraction of the heavenly host serves The Creator and that most of Heaven is now aligned with Hel as predacious eaters of human souls. My ambition in afterlife is to poison my devourer or at the least, taste bad. [1]]
 
I Hope the winter soothes your spirit.
-Dimitri
Thank you, Dimitri.
The gray of winter has tended to be a healing time and I hope to complete some worthy work in The Captain’s camper, down the way from The Colonel’s Grief Locker.
Notes
-1. I have no desire to bring any person to my view of the metaphysical. I am just explaining my view. This disturbs my Christian friends, that I reject the idea of my Salvation and tempt Damnation in seeking Oblivion. Of course, the atheists and the satanists are very religious, believing more fanatically that there is no God than baptists believe that there is one, and use the threat of Oblivion to seek Salvation on earth just as the church uses the threat of Damnation to sell the more sensible Salvation of the after life. The atheists contend that only Oblivion awaits. The Christians contend that only Damnation and Salvation await. I contend that all three post life states await. To the extent that I entertain the notion of reincarnation, I do so as an aspect of Damnation.
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Posted: 2022-01-21   reads: 381   ©2021  james lafond
Moon Moth and Earth Cream
SH and the Crackpot Discuss Jack Vance and Groceries: 12/8/21
Tough customer!   I admit I mostly listen to audiobooks myself these days.  
I put Jack Vance's "The Moon Moth"  here , you can probably right-click-save-as
Have fun.   By the way, why can you never buy normal cream, or light cream at groceries.   Just milk, half-half, whipping cream.    I think restaurants can get it though.   One of those things.
Best
SH
I have read Jack Vance’s The Dying Earth and Amerinta Station, both excellent works, with The Dying Earth a classic of far future science fiction. One of the best short novels I have ever read [in length I think barely in that category of 7,000 to 17,000 words] was titled The Miracle Workers. I look forward to listening to a reading of this story, which SH mentioned in an earlier email involved cultic mask activity.
As for the cream, this is an item that is becoming more scarce. Depending on the location and type of grocer you are dealing with the reasons for this are the following:
The prejudice against sell plain cream is part of the milk identity crisis. I have spent hours trying to explain to old ladies that we did not get rid of “skim milk” that nonfat milk is the same thing re-labeled.
Light cream has always sold slower in stores I worked in and tended to go out of date quicker, partly because people only bought 1 at a time, where whipping cream was used in bigger batches.
With News viewers [being most of us] convinced that milk fat is a toxin by the 1970s, the people who bought light cream opted for designer coffee creamers from Jersey labs. Those who bought light cream through my career were elderly folks. Additionally, foodies, influenced by French cuisine, and buoyed in their health concerns by “the French Pardox,” wanted pure cream. So light cream was essentially replaced by half-and-half and chemistry. Even our milk consumption has been polarized into fanatic camps of opposing nutritional doctrine with fat eaters in the minority. I was always tossing out of date light cream, and the size we handled as of the early 2000s was only 8 ounces.
Labeling is a funny thing. Cream has been re-branded as “heavy whipping cream” based on the fact that it is just plain cream, but when you put heavy and whipping on the label, it sold better than the store brand next to it. So the store brand’s followed suit, imitating the Land O Lakes Butter Babe, who eventually paid for her branding sins with graphic extinction.
Some points on cream are listed below.
-Except for Thanksgiving and Christmas cream is a low demand item, that, if not rotated by the dairy clerk, is liable to go out of date. Milk case rotation is a real problem.
-When heavy cream is in demand, its low shelf pack of usually 1 row, can be bought up by one lady making pie topping or egg nog.
-Most milk cream-almost all of it—goes into the “value-added” process of ice cream making. Those two old hippies in Vermont have first dibs on cow cream. So, if there is ever a shortfall in cream production, it will go to ice cream first.
-In places like Portland, grocers stock heavy whipping cream at 25% of the slotting rate as in rural Pennsylvania and Utah, for instance. Animal fat is politically incorrect in hipsterdom. Not only does this suppress sales and result in the stuff going out of date even when rotated by the clerk, it looks like the grocer cares about the soul and heart of their deluded hipster consumer by stocking plant based creamers instead. The money behind this factory food is used to buy slots in the warehouse and retail case. Something has to go, something with low volume.
-Finally, my crackpot tendencies scream, that since sugar and carbs ignite the human appetite to gluttonous rates of consumption, that a high fat died quashes the appetite. The Grocer wants to sell carbs, because carbs sell more carbs! Sweetened items are called “value added,” because sugar is cheap and addictive—the real cocaine of America. This is one reason why I always preferred African American customers, to the point of looking the other way as each family devoured a rotissarie chicken as they shopped and threw the bones in my dairy case, sucking their fingers as they shopped—because the profits from those ten boxes of pop tarts and honey nut Os alone, offset the loss of the $4 chicken.
-Additionally, cream is being ultra pasturized more often to maintain shelf life, even the cream, I bought at Fred Myers yesterday. Ultra pasturization makes milk and cream creamier, which means light cream will not be processed this way.
Thanks for the fiction link. I will check it out some night as I sit in the dark.
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Posted: 2022-01-20   reads: 402   ©2021  james lafond
Why Eat the Rich?
The Best Reason for a Knucklehead to Hate the Leisure Clawss: 12/4/21
KO = No Gold Medal
Vaxx Zombie Chuck
KO = No gold medal
God forbid you actually have a fighting skill, you get penalized.  What the hell are they judging then?
I viewed this tragedy of a fight, in which the KO loses for the inflictor of it, the victor helpless. I have viewed, and even judged one of these bouts. The Gi uniform and the “hands” that the players use make some of the contact more realistic than boxing. But all of modern popular sports is, so far as possible, an expression of a profound desire to deny reality. In addition, Japanese combat sports are always purposefully artificial in an extreme way, in order to render them into concentrated artistic expression.
I saw a bout like this in 1994 with Sensei Steve that had a similar outcome. The taboo on hurting of an opponent goes, not to Japanese culture, but to the non-contact ethos of Asian-based combat arts as marketed to Americans. This is called kumite [fighting] in Japanese, but in American sports venues where karate bloomed into world popularity, the wink-nod-lie was that it was “sparring” [practice] in order to keep the boxing commission and athletic commission out of the process, which cuts into profits.
It is about not having to pay the sanctioning money up front, and then the marketing to students. The type of person who is willing to pay $150 a month for karate lessons cannot be exposed to the KO of a high level or low level karate practitioner, for this pierces the sacred lie of skill-based invulnerability with the rude arrow of reality.
This is not just a karate thing. Boxing has been destroyed by the limited contact rich-boy ethos of the Modern Sham Olympics. In Olympic style boxing power punches and knockdowns are not awarded points, only the number of front glove contact to approved targets, as if damaging the opponent is not the goal. Of course it is not the goal. The ethos of the modern Olympics was that it would make competition safe for the rich. In a masculine sense, the purpose of the modern Olympics is the opposite of the ancient agons, to limit person-to-person contact as much as possible to make of everything a game of skill.
Note that the fighters are called “players” and that the Olympics are called “games.” The ancient Olympics were not called games, but agons, or “sufferings” between prize-seekers. The ancients did not permit killing an opponent, but incapacitation was the goal of all combats.
The ancient and modern Olympics were both exclusively for the elites and their treasured athletic pets. But the ancient elites were expected to fight in wars and take heroic physical risks, while their modern counterparts hold up risk management and thought over action as core social values.
On the bright side, the Saudi Bantu has a possibly bright future as an executioner!
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Posted: 2022-01-18   reads: 572   ©2021  james lafond
T Rex Spex A.K.A. Yeti Waters
Checking in With A Pale Brother: 12/7/21
[This life is strange. Emails below were sent by my Oregon host while I was in transit from Utah to Oregon, downloaded at the bar-office six weeks after my arrival, now being addressed ten days before departure, and will not be posted until a month after departure. I am sorry, Big Man. Crackpot comments in brackets.]
Been laying here all day trying to sleep, got stuck working nights this week, I reread Flood and Well of Chumps today.  The fucking dialogue in there was making me laugh my ass off.  Not gonna be reading any more of YOUR books when I'm trying to get to sleep.  
[That is the biggest compliment a reader can get—we usually put people to sleep. I’m going to use you as a template for a black character in Ditcher...since you are the only authentic negro I have met in the Pacific Northwest.]
I got the garage pretty well cleared out for you tonight, stacked the drums away and stuff to make room for hitting the snake.  
[Thanks, the garage has been great and the engine hoist at the foot of the bed gives me an industrial sense off security. Manny saw the pictures I sent and told me, “That engine hoist is for hauling up those big fat asses you like so much!”]
You have an audible account? I've found some good books on there lately, but had to spend alot of time really digging around to find em.  Lemme know if you'd like some recommendations. There was a real good one about Chief Seattle I think you'd like.  Not alot is known about him, this is only the second book written about him, the first was a kid's book from the 1940's.  
[Thanks. I have been unable to get on Audible, even with author invites. John Hospers, one time Libertarian presidential candidate, did a very nice article on Chief Seattle in a late 1980s issue of Liberty. It was a long piece and very well done.]
Anyway I'm back on the road again, on call, living and dying by the extra board.  Stuff is going good here.  Sometimes you feel like the lion and sometimes you feel like the gazelle.  I've been kicking so much ass lately you'd think I have a golden foot.  
I'll plan on picking you up Thursday from the train station.  
Take care, 
Wasn't Jove Roman?
[Indeed, he was. But, since Zeus and Jove are essentially identical Aryan patriarchs of Heaven, the only truly immortal deities of their respective pantheons, and Jove is more often depicted in the light of the Hebrew Yahweh and the ancient Sumurian “Heavenly Father” I find that, based on the comic book rendering of Zeus, that using Jove from our vantage in some cases is more authentic, if that makes any sense. I have also made the argument that Jove is a more ancient rendering than Zeus.]
After arrival email:
Reading Karen Crow article meditating on Xerxes
Ultimately all we really possess is FEAR.  When there's nothing left to fear, we find a way to destroy ourselves.  Secretly we all long to be destroyed.  
[That is true for me. I don’t know about the rest of these meat-puppets.]
Not sure what this means, but I stood up too quick just now and started to black out.  These are the words that popped into my brain.  Seemed profound to me in the midst of a head rush.  Ya got Xerxes rattling around in my head tonight. 
[The Persian King of Kings, all of them, were tragic figures, the only free man in a world peopled by all slaves, who sought barbarian friends from outside of their sphere of power so that they could actually have a conversation.]
[Thanks so much for the living space, Brother. It was fun boxing in the living room with the boys and you last night. We ought to duct tape foam to the walls.]
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Posted: 2022-01-18   reads: 484   ©2021  james lafond
Sparring On
A Reader Discusses Combat Performance Goals[12/7/21
Thanks James, love your work. 
I Got a question for you. I've been training in combat arts for prob 4 years. Nearly 2 years boxing and kickboxing. I have had 2 boxing and 2 kickboxing fights. Should I continue to train and spar or should I dial back as to not risk unnessecarry brain damage. Being a top level pro is not my goal.
 Thank you James. 

Definitely continue to train.
Most of your sparring should be light. Sparring with power in the gym is the greatest source of injuries in all combat sports. Use the bags to work on your power and don’t spar with people who insist on T-ing off on you. You will get better skill progression sparring light rather than hard, even if your goal is elite competition!
Think about that.
The best fighters I ever knew just tapped each other in the gym, but they hit the bag so hard it made you cringe.
Kickboxing will cause less concussions then boxing. I would fight two kick bouts for every boxing bout.
Only fight once every three months, just in case you have an undiognosed concussion. Also, your fights should just be training markers. Train off that last fight all those lessons for the intervening months and you will find that you grow the most there. High level fighters retard their general survival ability in a non-ritual affair by always training for the next guy. How many times does God send us a video of the guy that is going to mug us next month like the promoter does?
The fact that you have the unusual courage to fight in bouts gives you an excellent platform for learning.
Remember that you get hurt in the ring the most when you are trying to hurt him. If you are in there with a guy you outclass, make the fight a stinker, practice controlling him, working on defense and counters. This will piss off some coaches. But, if you stay around 50/50 on wins, it will be easy to find fights for you with a wide variety of skilled and semi-skilled men, who will give you different angles and energies. Look up the career of Bruce “The Mouse” Strauss. He put his kids through college losing half his fights. The best survival boxer, is a guy like that, who can lose to a good pro without getting knocked out, and who can carry shitty fighters to pad his record without either one going to the hospital.
Such a man also makes a better coach. Who did Ali train?
Not even his daughter.
I sparred with some kids last night, and I must say that I feel proud to have you as a reader who is keeping the art alive in training and fighting. How I wished I was younger—for them—last night. This is another avenue for you to grow in your knowledge. Be honest with your coach and volunteer to spar with the novices, to help the kids with their line drills, to hold the mitts for the fitness folks, to help other fighters with their bag work when you are done with your training. You will get a lot better, without getting beat up helping other fighters improve. And, in their value for you, they will seek not to hurt you in sparring.
The above idea, if it appeals to you, places you in a position to end up training for free in the gym for the latter half of your prime.
I suggest that if you continue to fight that you “don’t be a hero” meaning don’t be a crowd pleasing fighter, but a learning fighter that operates with honor and respect. This will get you pointers sometimes even from the coach of the man you just fought, or from an old pro in the crowd.
In the kicking game, the worst injury to the brain will come from a knee. Do not train full contact with knees but use the thai pads for that.
Since your goal appears to be survival and defense, consider escrima. In the end, punching and kicking is a game unless you are being mobbed by a pack of attackers, and then you need to stab someone, and slice up his partner, and shank his wing man.
See if you can find an escrima group that actually spars as a regular training thing. This is important, because stick sparring prepares you for many more threats and survival situations than empty hand. In another sense it is important because you can stick spar without getting a concussion much easier than in boxing. Last night I sparred with a 12-year-old kid boxing, and it was much more dangerous to me than sparring with a 30-year-old man with a stick. The deal is, that boxing head gear does not protect your brain against the fist, not at all, but makes it worse. Where the fencing headgear, not even designed for stick, accidentally affords numerous protections against brain injury with a stick.
Of course, the other option is to start rolling around grappling without letting the BJJ guys ruin your shoulders.
So, don’t fight more than once every three months. If you’ve been kickboxing, you know a grappler.
Do not fight over your natural body weight. If you get fat or muscle up and then box in a higher weight class, you get a lot more brain trauma, partly because of your weight and partly because bigger people are hitting you. This realistically caps your competition age. For me, being over 160 pounds in combat increased my concussions a lot. Any time you get hit stepping in, you are eating your body weight with your brain. This is why football helmets are so bad for the brain, that it enables bull-like head clashes, with even the knucklehead brain an instrument of extreme delicacy compared to the bovine brain.
Good Luck, Sir.
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Posted: 2022-01-17   reads: 484   ©2021  james lafond
The KETO Q
Plain Jame Wants to Know if the Crackpot is Still a Rick Disciple: 11/7/21
“I'm eating a meat-based diet and if I have to look at another burger I think I will cry. Are you still KETO? Or do you work enough that you can eat carbs?”
-Jamie
My darling niece, as if she doesn't have enough to worry about with this phony plague is being pulled this way and that by diet gurus promising what Americans always promise, your cake and eating it too.
First, when people ask me if “i am keto” that is like a catholic in 1518 Spain wearing a black cowl and robes, surrounded by guys in masks and leather aprons who seem like a cross between a butcher and and carpenter, asking me if I'm a Lutheran.
I am James, or to you, Uncle Jimmy. I am not keto. My Master, Rick, to whom I am yet a disciple of dietary weirdness does say, “I am keto,” and means it. I learned from his constant argument with everyone he knows about diet, that I would never claim to be keto. I tell people. “I am Rick's experiment. I only eat what is on Rick's list.”
This usually holds up well. When I a staying with The Captain, and he offers me something not on Rick's list and I say, “Thank you, but no,” he shakes his head and mutters something about Rick being a hard man. Then when his darling wife says, “LaFond, please, have some of my Carb Casserole, The Captain will blurt, “Mamma Bear—it's not on Rick's list! Leave the man alone,” to which I will graciously answer, “Jenn, thank you for testing my will. I'm sure, somewhere Rick is proud of me.”
But, Rick occasionally gets outranked, for instance, when The Colonel is present and says, “Whose Rick? Fuck Rick—eat up Sunshine or I'll strap some liver to you and give you a mile head start before I set the hounds on your scent!”
On such occasions, I might be moved to agree, “Maybe Rick is away from his Keto Crystal...”
Concerning my life as Rick's Disciple I lost 50 pounds, 40 in 6 weeks and ten in the next three months. I am have been between 170 and 180 for the past 2 years. I have not stayed under 170 for the simple fact, that I cheat on Rick. About once a week I drink real beer. I am convinced that if I cut beer out completely I would finally achieve my Billy Idol with Cancer look that I want. But I lack Rick's iron will—why he is the master and I am his metabolic experiment.
Some things that I consume that Rick shakes his head at are:
-beer
-light beer
-rum
-peanuts [which, along with other legumes, hover on the margins of Rick's list]
-chlorinated water
-water with floride
-blackberries and raspberries [Rick only approves blueberries and strawberries]
Rick does believe that the ultimate goal is to eat carnivore. However, he can't stand organ meat so remains a step below full Paleo. So even Rick—you will be happy to know is a neighbor of yours, and who recently beat up a bigger, younger man at a Pittsburgh gas station the very day he finished up his chemotherapy—falls short in his critical, dietary mind's eye.
I have been able to tell when I go in and out of that ketosis state. It turns out to be very easy for me. I do not suffer keto flu, never get hungry unless I get drunk—which only happens when The Captain, The Colonel, Garland, Yeti Waters, Manny Soprano, Mescaline Franklin, Slaprodite [a savage peasant girl] or some other host of mine suggests this altered state.
Due to my hernias and my brain-eye malfunction, I can only walk 8 miles, have to be careful hiking and digging, and can only do light sparring and training that does not vibrate my fritzing brain. So, my ability to burn calories at a high rate is basically limited to getting wet in the cold after just eating vegetables and meat, which might not be the healthiest thing.
I do drink 2-7 cups of coffee a day which does keep hunger at bay. But I have found that the main way to keep from being hungry is to just eat one meal, and have it consist of 2 avocados, or drink a pint of warm pork grease—bacon preferably.
Good luck, My Dear Girl and find a way of eating that is somewhere between what you want and what you should eat for maximum sustainability.
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Posted: 2022-01-16   reads: 600   ©2021  james lafond
Plenty and Scarcity
A Ghetto Grocer Report from the Gaslit East: 10/17/21
Potemkin Village
“Wondering what you thought of this farce.”
-Inspector Yeti
Photo of a four-foot section of shelving entirely empty, save for a mat photo poster of spices hanging in the front, with signage of 4 for 5 dollars on the front of the phantom product display. The left hand of the yeti investigator is pulling the sheeting away it reveals clean, empty standard 20 inch deep shelving cut around a roofing support pole. It seems that the next section down is also a poster rather than stock.
By the time this article posts it will be early January and folks will be adjusting to shortages of certain items. The thing to look out for is shortages of commodities: grains, eggs, milk, chicken, beef, pork, beans, coffee, sugar, etc.. But the current focus is on cheap toys and gadgets from China, which is suffering a year of famine.
Below are two links to articles about why freight is not being moved in trucks in California. Basically, the phony global warming bullshit has been used to pass laws that outlaw the movement of goods by truck. The idiot sites reporting on this may call the practice of planned shortages “political insanity” based on the fantastical utopian ideal held by conservatives that some government at some point in history ever existed to benefit its people. Political insanity would be the use of government to elevate the human condition, to encourage critical thinking and to cultivate creative living.
:%20ihatethemedia%20(I%20Hate%20the%20Media)
Now, to the poster of food hung in front of empty shelves in a Maryland supermarket, I have two thoughts:
-1. That this is a photograph of what should go where on those empty shelves once the stock becomes available. This used to be done by
“planogram.” But, the ability to translate a horizontal layout to a vertical set no longer exists in the unmotivated mind of the labor pool.
-2. The fact that the four-foot section being covered with a poster is built around a support pole, which is a spot you always want to reserve for shallow fills and not high volume items, shows that the retailer is having trouble filling their set and that the manufacturer—rather than lose space to some other line of goods, is providing money and face-saving posters to cover the space.
To a large degree any good clerk, such as myself, was skilled in visual farce, making a section look full that was almost “blown out.” This had two purposes, tricking the district manager who only walked the perimeter and glanced down the aisles into thinking that he was not about to lose projected sales because you forgot to order the Campbells pork and beans while you were gawking at the cashier's fine ass bending over as she stocked candy to your left, and triggering the horn of perceptive plenty.
It is a real fact that when a food buyer sees evidence of plenty, of massive stock, that they will buy more, that they will be infected with “confidence” and the suggestion of supply. If I have 60 cases of 64-ounce Lipton ice tea canisters to build a display, and I park that 5-foot high pallet, I will get X-amount of sales. But if I take those 60 cases and use display blocks set in tiers, with stacked milk crates behind, and build a display that has a 4-foot front tier, a 5 foot middle tier and an 7-foot back tier, people will buy more. Ideally, I get 20 pallets of tea and don't use blocks until the end of the sale week as I hollow the display out. But the fact is that mass appearance encourages buying, just like I'm a sucker for longer hair, bigger tits and fatter asses at the strip club and once had to face up the entire soup section because I had been forgetting to hit the enter key when I looked sideways after punching in each code to savor a view of Lisa's giant ass.
The perception of plenty sells as much as the reality of scarcity.
01.17.22   nc — Quote from above by James La Bond

"ecause you forgot to order the Campbells pork and beans while you were gawking at the cashier's fine ass bending over as she stocked candy to your left, and triggering the horn of perceptive plenty."
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Posted: 2022-01-15   reads: 719   ©2021  nc
Winter Sports
A Reader Shares Some of His Combat Journey: 12/4/21
Jeth
Hi James,
I'll keep this brief and spare your eye....
Thank you so much (again!) for the book - very kind of you and much appreciated.
At the young age of 51, I can relate to "Winter of a fighting life" - worryingly well haha! 
I bought it the same week I got a knee to the left cheek/eye while grappling (it was a great knee though!) that left me concussed for two days - one of those two days I had the "sense" to nearly lose my left thumbnail knife fight training.
Seemed like a good idea at the time and what the hell else am I going to do anyway?
I'm halfway through the book and loving it, looking forward to "Poet".
Take care and warm regards from the UK.
Jeth

Jeth, sorry this took so long for me to get to. It is so nice hearing that you are continuing your combat training. Two days ago, while I was at the bar a woman who has a very large 18-year-old son who is a black belt in Tae-Kwon-Do expressed immense concern with the possibility of him stick-fighting with me and the nice young fellow I train with. I am 58 and Portland Joe and I have sparred for 12 hours over a months time with zero injuries.
I told her, “Don’t worry, he’s American, once he tries it he will not want anything to do with it.”
It is amazing how contact averse Americans are. The lady—a very nice lady—wondered about what I charged. I told her that there was no charge, that I just wanted a sparring partner for my Portland guy when I left town. That is when she thought I was insane, that I don’t do this for money, but for the art of it.
Jeth, I can say that my best training experiences and even some of my most warmly remembered fights, where had after I reached age 51. Just train smart and keep at it and you have some good times coming your way. I’m so glad for you and thank you for keeping me posted.
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Posted: 2022-01-14   reads: 695   ©2021  james lafond
Incognegro Periscope
A Conversation Between a Video Maker and a TV Hater: dateline 11/9/21
The Obama flip phone—black as one might imagine, though scuffed to gray in parts by the hard school of change-filled pockets—did not ring, but vibrated, as the inadequately silenced communications devices of extraterrestrial anthropologists, stranded on that savage planet of the apes known as Blue, are wont to do.
Regal M-116-S, after two mellenium having hopefully redeemed his standing as last in his class, saw that the call was from Incognegro, that high-functioning African he planned on taking back to the Home World as a centerpiece of his hybrid rigor thesis. You see, the problem with the apes of Blue was that some of them bred with the Neanderthals, an indigenous species that were supposed to have been eradicated, and soon outstripped the planet's capacity. But if these vivid fellows were sole masters of that little planet spinning at the end of the Milky Way, Blue would remain forever a prosaic and lush example of intelligent life yet in its innocent brutality thriving alongside such a varied fauna that only meteors and comets might effect extinction of.
“James, how are you?”
“Oh, fine. How about you and the kids?”
“I keep telling myself I'm not going to work this hard for long, just until I get the kids settled. But they're back to homeschooling and that takes my time. I am sending you pictures of the Hobo History Studio—used lumber and everything—and I'm going to move the coal stove further out from the wall like you suggested so I don't burn the house down.”
“You know, when I sent a picture of that melted paneling behind the stovepipe to The Colonel he texted back, “You did that—what are you black?” I assured him that the absence of duct tape and bailing wire was proof that it was not my handiwork.
“Well James, I tell everybody that you installed it, just so you know.”
[laughter]
“So James, how are you doing?”
“The writing is choppy. I've killed two computers since I left the one I lost on the train with you. I'm still on this little HP notepad that the FBI agent in Jersey gave me three years ago.”
“You know James, there should be a law against you owning a computer. You should travel around the country with a slave carrying your typewriter.”
“Speaking of that, I could use Barbara Eden, 1968, if you have your time machine handy.”
“Yeah, about that...I seem to have misplaced it. And if Barbara is still around I doubt if she will be up to hauling a typewriter on and off Amtrak.”
“Well, how about mailing me a savage mulattress with a razor blade hidden in her afro?”
“I might be able to help you there. But, I was wondering, how is your health.”
“Bro, I am trying to die in some prosaic way so that the videos you shot will increase in value and you won't have to do any more recording, just that cool post production stuff. But really, I have not been sick since I got bronchitis in late August 2020. It must be all the artificially sweetened tonic water I drink.”
“Thanks for the package, by the way. The kids really like the berry syrup.”
“Bob and Deb said if they run out, they can mail the empty jars and lids back to them and they will send some more syrup. We canned a lot of elderberry.”
“Thanks, really. I never thought I'd be concerned with my health, but being black, when I got fat I got worried that I wouldn't be around for these kids, you know, diabetes and hypertension and all that good stuff. So I've cut out all sugar, never looked back, been limiting the carbohydrates like you said, and I dropped from 230 to 190. Tay's mother even stopped telling me I was fat every time I walked through the door.”
“Have you noticed the price of chicken and beef is really up?”
“These are engineered shortages, and they will keep coming. I talked to three cattle ranchers who are getting record low prices for their beef, have to wait in line and lose money on feed to even get their cattle butchered by the big meat-packers who have used all these government regulations to monopolize animal agriculture. You should go for pork—the only meat holding a moderate price.”
“I know. But my grandmother down in Jamaica, dealt in pigs, still does, and I just can't get past the smell.”
“Well, if you can, check this out. I used a pork shoulder for 18 bucks to crockpot and freeze and used the stock with some chicken broth to cook 9 turnips and a head of cabbage. It has already fed me for a week and I'll get another week out of it. Do you like turnips—they're on Rick's list.”
“That's some shanty Irish famine food. I'm black Jamaican, born and raised in Baltimore City. Leave it to white people. You know God found that the turnip was a failed plant so sunk it six feet deep, and sure enough some white people dug that bitter stuff up!”
“Well, I know you people eat goats—raise some goats and you won't have to cut your grass twice a year. They'll kick the shit out of those racoons that killed your chickens.”
“I know I should—I do like goat. But I have trouble killing a chicken. Once my kids give these things names, how am I supposed to kill them?”
“Raise them and sell them to the Amish—they'll kill 'em. Or trade them for Amish beef.”
“That's a good idea and I will think about it. In the mean time I'm eating a lot of sardines and want to get back down to 160, fight weight.”
“That's great man. If I could stop drinking this hipster faggot IPA and spooner boomer stout, I'd be down to 160. I weighed 171.4 this morning.”
“So I assume you're in Portland?”
[laughter]
“How much longer will you be in Portland?”
“Mid December and then up to the Cascades with The Captain and The Colonel for a couple months. I'll swing back through Portland in March and then take a road trip from Oakland, California and get dropped off in Saint Louis Missouri.”
“What the fuck? James, those negroes out there are out of control!”
“Oh, I'll get picked up by a man who has promoted a lot of my work—more than me by far—who wants to interview me about every fiction book I've written. Then I'll spend a week in Illinois training with a stick-fighter and then land in Pittsburgh in the last few days of April. Then I should be in play again and hopefully my eye won't blow up like it did last spring.”
“Well James, you take care, and if you need anything like train tickets or whatever, just reach out. You always have a place to lay your head as long as I have one.”
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Posted: 2022-01-13   reads: 799   ©2021  james lafond
Echoed Laugh
Distaff Taxonomy of Cracked Pottery: 12/10/21
The year dies, wheezes and sighs.
A year is such a hateful thing, a bagged herd of chattel hope imprisoned by bully news, posthumously prosecuted by the judiciary of academia and sentenced to be misrepresented by politicians for the life of her step-daughter—for the year is feminine, a passive reactor upon which man stamps his brand, only to discard her for a younger bride.
My Dear Editor, Miss Lockhart has just finished Advent America, a 690-page hardback history book which could earn me the ire of the learned if it were somehow widely read. Below is a smattering of her messages to me as I imbibed the news that I am to be a grandfather for the third time and washed it down with a fifth of Kraken Coffee Rum:
“Andrew Edwards put a pic of The Violence Project on twitter and I felt very proud…
“James, the world is yours. There are now raid robberies and muggings at the shopping center I frequent. I dress like a hobo compared to Chinese women, thanks to you…
“I remember when I laughed and told you I didn’t have to worry about such things because I wasn’t in Baltimore...
“I found you seven years ago and knew you were right about everything yet it’s still hard for me to believe there are gunpoint muggings right here…
“8 books in 2020. Well of heroes is in their twice, paperback and hard cover.
“2021 is Flood, Orphan Nation, Filthy Few, By Gaslight, Dollar Joe, Beyond Rainbow Bridge, Haft, Advent America.
“So giving up podcasting didn’t really make me faster at books. But I am busier at homeschooling activities now. I am maxed out.”
-Lynn
Well, you also published Almuric, set up Substack, took over Patreon and the book accounts and are helping a good friend with his book...lots of work and work that I can’t do. I am not capable of publishing a book. You put out 2 Plantation America books this year, which is morally the only important category I write in.
Realistically, I think it would be wise to stay at 6 new books, one being history, and try and transfer 2 books from the paperback ghetto on the South American river, to hardback: 1 fiction and 1 non-fiction, preferably history.
Really, I would suggest you take down all of the books you published for me on the evil platform and transfer them to hardback.
That mess of some 30 Overton Railroad books I have up as drafts, [0] should just be left languish until I croak and than you can use that content, most of which has not been posted online, to keep Substack going.
The old harm city books might as well stay on the evil platform, as well as the combat stuff and literary criticism.
I never want to publish again on the evil platform, and am inclined to rescue all of the history and fiction from their clutches and reissue it.
Since our site PDFs are being pirated and given away, I suggest that you wait 10 months after publishing the hardback to send the PDF to the webmaster for conversion.
As for the blight coming your way, that is courtesy of modern infrastructure. Rome was ravaged by disease largely because they had advanced water delivery systems that facilitated pandemic. The barbarians largely used Roman roads. Likewise, the actual pandemic of Modernity, Suburban Blight, is a road born pathogen.
Car jack some chump [1] in the Citay.
Drive to the Countay.
Jack some bitch or chump on a parking lot.
Exit methods include ditching the vehicle and jacking another, being picked up by a shadow driver or just driving back into another part of the Citay from where you banked the first chump and ditching the car there. Dating a suburban woman and then borrowing her car or apartment is another method. [2]
I talked to Andrew today and he and I plan on meeting at some point before I return to The Beastly East to record combat discussions based on The Violence Project in person so that he have good quality audio.
Notes
-0. Except The Giver and Good Book Bad Book, none of which went online and have been discounted to prevent me from making a dime on them. Transfer those.
-1. You try to jack a chump rather than a bitch for the initial transport vehicle, as the chump will take longer to get in touch with the cops then the hysterical bitch.
-2. Use her for sex one last time right before you consumate the real purpose for the relationship, the theft of her car. The cops will keep her car and punish her for being a dumb bitch while you meet another dumb bitch at the community college.
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Posted: 2022-01-12   reads: 790   ©2021  james lafond
E T Do Bone
Marius and the Crackpot Discuss Elites and Aliens: 12/7/21
[Marius has been a great boon to my writing, and, in the email from some month or so ago, he indicates that I may have lost one of our dialogues. If Marius or any correspondent thinks this has happened, feel free to send the comment or question or concept again. I will certainly have forgotten addressing it, even if I did, so then, if it turns out I scheduled it in the interim, then we get a chance of your dialogue fencing with two segments of my sublimated personality disorder. Crackpot comments are in brackets.]
The Bug
Hi James,
Is it possible that this entire system of control is at the behest of an extra terrestrial?
[Yes, as I finished 116th in a class of 114—actually being superseded by the students who had finished last in the two previous solar years at the Regal-M Academy—I have often thought that my meager grant to study you apes upon Blue has been a long-running zoological joke, in which lunar observation nodes forward my various blunders—such a mating with some dozen of your cows—as a live-feed tutorial on how not to study you savage besties. [1] And, in a more pedestrian fashion, I don’t think we are alone in the universe, but are rather getting the bone by some of its bad actors.]
Obviously evil exists, and civilisation corrupts man, but this shit is almost too silly for humans to do it to each other. You take the view that we are being consumed by forces that are beyond our perception, which gain power in times of great turmoil like extreme weather events or battles.
[I am a late-dawning Heathen. I do suspect that as we farm animals for their wool, hides and meat, that Cosmic entities farm us for our adulation, fear and suffering, with egotistical, carnivorous and sadistic higher powers feasting upon our various activities, and ultimately drinking our doom like ambrosia.]
Personally I have seen a demon during a wild thunderstorm, so I have no doubt that these entities exist, but that is almost in another dimension. What if we are, in fact, being manipulated by insects or reptiles of some kind in our own planet?
[Dark streaks have haunted me since childhood. I wrote about the insect invaders in Little Feet Going Nowhere, which was based on Sheldon’s The Screwfly Solution, as well as in Planet Buzzkill. I do think it is currently more likely that there are aliens operating off the dark side of the moon than that we actually got o the moon in 1971 and have been unable or unwilling to return in the intervening 50 years!]
Some of the woo - woo people are saying that due to the Age of Aquarius, humans are waking up (albeit slowly and feebly), and the elites have had to rush forward their plans 30 years. 
[This is reasonable but not because of us waking up—we are still manifestly asleep to higher things. Also, considering the magnetic ebb of the sun for these next 30 years, perhaps beings from another dimension could, during this time, gain more regular and sustainable access to us? The novel Red, with Erique Watson I am working on supposes such an event. I am also exploring this as I finish Wonderfall this winter.]
I agree with you, that if the trends continue, sodomy will be a prerequisite for employment and masculinity will be outlawed. However, they have really pushed the narrative of climate doom and the sentient flu to its limit. Its breaking apart at the seams.
[As the false narratives implode, two things happen, undomesticated bad-thinkers will reveal themselves for liquidation, and domesticated system chumps will remain in passive hypnosis or awaken too late. I think that the Brovid Jiveteen Shamdemic was a method, by which in a single year, the Creep State masterfully regained all momentum lost during the usurpation by the Orange Man and additionally caught up to the accelerating Ice Age.]
You don't believe the jab is designed to harm, but is just a huge clinical trial. i think its both, and they have rushed its production. If it is infact a depopulation tool, it may be the very worst of modernity that is needed to wake people up.
[I agree after a kind with you. It seems that the jab has done more harm than can even be falsely attributed to the Shamdemic. However, I suspect, that any vaccine, untried and untested in humans, is going to do a lot of harm without having been engineered to do so. Many tens of thousands were murdered by the medical establishment to scare people into getting this vaccine. On the front end, I think it is largely in accord with the One God of Modernity: Currency and the System control to insure Monopoly of various currencies: cultural, monetary, medical, political. On the back end, down the long stretch, I think that this is a clinical trial intended to:
-A. Shape positive effects into a life extension therapy for the elite,
-B. Shape negative effects into a life suppression, sterilization or even extinction tool to be used against wee undermen,
-C. To build jaxxination infrastructure so that instant annihilation of the undermen could be achieved to 90%...this would be the master stroke. If the Jaxx was designed to be our death knell, than it is a misfire that will help prepare us for a follow up attack, an attack I believe to be alien, trans-human, anti-human. The news has lied so well about the negative effects that most humans think the Jaxx is perfectly safe and will rush to receive the kill shot down the road. Remember, we small percent who are suspicious, we can be killed with drones, lynched by mobs, arrested on medical warrants, blamed for the next shamdemic as the super-spreaders, etc. The odd thing about this church, is that it is a geometrically inverted Aztec death cult, dedicated to the sacrifice of the entire congregation for the individual on the pyramid top, like an inverted Christianity in which we all die for Christ.
-D. To build infrastructure for immunizing the elite against some yet to be engineered prole plague.]
I am not without optimism for humans. If we had proper nutrition, functional bodies and free thought and free action, I believe we could become an impressive species again (only the ones willing to put in the work obviously - most people are cattle)
[Frakhan Follower from back stage says, “Daz right!”]
I cant comprehend that any human with a soul, would behave like our elites do.
[I think they are posthuman, transhuman in the main. I also believe that evil has soul too—I mean, I’m from Baltimore. Have they evolved to this evil state due to technological amplification of people farming? Or, are they overseers, oppressing and harvesting us for some greater power, like Gilgamesh did for the heavenly Host. Recall that Gilgamesh was smitten with agony over the fact that he could not share the gods’ immortality but had to die just the same as his rape victims. Might our elite be embarked upon the quest of Gilgamesh, in which he affronted the gods and brought down yet more woe?]
Clearly they have sold theirs in order to attain/maintain there positions, and are now seeking to live forever on the backs of the slaves beneath them. However, i think they're being had by an evil greater than themselves.
[I hope so!]
Its like that article you wrote about how the native americans see the white man's sickness. It seems like their is a force at play that has only one goal - consumption. 
[Jeremy Rifkin...last name might be wrong...wrote a book called Time Wars, mid 1980s, in which he argues against Western Civilization as a consumptive society. Consumption is disease. He was a Cringe Lefty that turned me off with some of his pie-in-the-sky BS. But he made some points that hold up under the ancient Promethean ideal of Zeus as “Time-Holder.” I think maybe Phillip K. Dick was channeling one or more of these extra-chronological powers. He has turned out to be our most accurate prophet.]
That doesn't seem human to me. I don't believe that humans are intrinsically wired to do that. it seems like you don't either, at least when referring to humans in their native form. Its like their is a malevolent insect directing all of this.
[My only question, in that we are being obviously turned into behaviorally social insects, is was it design or happenstance? Recall the “scorpion people” of Gilgamesh that held the ancient secrets to the mountains at the sources of rivers and the whereabouts of The Distant One who had survived the God-sent Flood. I wonder, if these ancient fears of insects are related to the insect’s likeness to an articulated machine of control? If there is a memory within us of an ancient transhman order felled by natural cosmic forces, and in its remnant, would not that transhuman order, that secret society, fear earth changes as much as we fear their insect rages?]
If that were the case, do you see any truth in these legends of aliens coming here and practicing eugenics on humans in order to make slaves (annunaki etc)?
[I love the idea that the Bush Clan are annunaki vampires! I think there is something there and wonder if the aliens—other than myself, of course—are not echoes of an earlier transhuman order extinguished by the Younger Dryas Comet. These cosmic oatmeal cookie types like Graham Hancock and Randal Carlson, believing that such an ancient technocratic order was all benevolent, in light of what we are experiencing, is great foolery or deception. In fact, the mythos of W.D. Fard [2] makes more sense than most of these schemes.]
And what do you think humans could be if this force was removed?
[Get to the planets and then the stars. As such, I regard this as a prison planet, a soul farm. Our outward technology has all gone inward. Imagine, watching Star Trek in 1968 and someone saying, “No space ships, no phazers—all of our technology is going to be focused on the communications device and nothing else. In fact, we will lose ground on space travel.” The deans of science and science fiction both, all 500 nerds of note, would have laughed him out of the room.]
I am not so naive to think it would all be one big kumbyah (just read about the maori's and maorori's where a bunch of vegan peace loving hippies were slaughtered by the 1800's equivlalent of the all blacks rugby pack)
[Polynesians have admirable martial qualities, but they cut down the last tree on Rapa Nui. They won’t be getting us off of this rock.]
I do think we could ritualise our aggression and cooperate enough to colonise other planets (and perhaps slaughter and enslave the native people there... like a molested altar boy that becomes a priest, you can only do what you know best…)
[Sounds like Richard Barrett’s fantasy of British imperialists in space! I like it. I want to be Burton and have adventures among green women...]
Curious to hear your thoughts.
Also, i've frequently been having dreams about a world similar to organa. I would love to read a story from the perspective of the old man who talks about how he and his boys overthrew the nations to establish this corporate world they now live in - an origins story perhaps.
[Thank you so much, Marius. Joe Saddler, the prick that cloned himself as a protagonist? Okay. I have thought about writing such a tale and it is provisionally titled Dark Side Ink. If I do write it, I’ll send it to you for a reading. You will have to remind me, as I’m losing my mind and my way at the same time.]
What do you think is going on, when i dream what is essentially a movie of a script i've never seen? is it tapping into the ether and all of these ideas are floating around? have you ever experienced that?
[Yes I have and it has formed a basis for much of the fiction I have written. I think, that like Dick having screwed up his brain with a car accident and LSD, that I did the same thing with 25 concussions and as many years of sleep deprevation. [3] I don’t know how your ether window got installed—Rugby with aborigines, perhaps?]
hope you are well. ps i don't think my 2nd article about regeneration ever got published.
[I hope it is not lost. I am a techtarded, boomer, hobo. So please do not trust me with a lone copy of anything. I lost a whole novel I wrote once, by hitting some key. Send it again, please, and I will address it. I have lost all of my work on various machines twice this year. So it could have been stuck in an oddly backed up file. Hopefully it has posted. I cannot remember what I write anymore.]
cheers,
marius
Notes
-1. See Letters from an Extraterrestrial Anthropologist, which, if I should have known what treatment I would receive after revealing my nature, I would have callously titled Zoologist. But alas, no good deed goes unpunished among the apes of Blue!
-2. Fard was the Afghan national who instructed Elijah Mohamed in the Black Muslim cosmic order and was probably murdered by cops or Mohamed in Detroit in the 1930s.
-3. Gilgamesh, before the end of his quest was renowned for needing no sleep. Once he had pierced the veil of mortality and viewed the realm of the gods, sleep overtook him “as it does all men.”
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Posted: 2022-01-11   reads: 835   ©2021  james lafond
'Do You Still Coach?'
Bradley is Wondering about Crackpot Combat Training: Dateline 11/7/21
“James, how could I arrange to do some training with you, that is if you still coach. Do you still coach?”
-Bradley
Bradley, thanks for inquiring.
In the past I have coached for three reasons:
-1. Mostly to earn training space and time. I coached at some 8 gyms and schools gratis so that I would have a training spot where my friends and I could spar and train in out of the snow, away from police harassment and out of the rain. That all went away with the disease bullshit. If I train its outside rain or shine. I am mostly away from the part of the country where I had these connections and, the other day, when I saw what looked like a fight gym, I thought of offering my services in exchange for a place to train... but I'm sick of the martial arts faggotry. My Portland training partner and I spar under a pavilion in the rain. Martial arts people do not trust a man who is not on the make for money anymore than dope fiends and drug dealers trust straight edge people. I'm done with that scene, didn't even train Sensie Steve's people this year when I was back in Ugly Town because of all of the racial and disease politics that have crept into combat arts back there.
-2. I agree to train men who I once trained before in these various programs when they look me up.
-3. The only new people I will train is someone who is putting me up as a host or who has bought some of the fighting books I wrote and wants some hands on training. I wrote those instructionals as well as I could. But learning how to fight out of a book is tough without hands on context and I never had the ability to make picture books. So, I would regard it as unethical for me to refuse training to someone who bought one of my training books.
That is it.
I do not train, women or children.
I will train law officers if they are willing to pay me up front whatever fee they deem worthwhile, sign an injury waiver and then spar full contact with the baton for 20 minutes.
I do not provide will, only skill and engage in no strength, endurance or weight loss training. I have no instructional certification and simply use my experience in hundreds of fights to help other men self-learn combat. I just help people learn how to beat the piss out of bigger, stronger, meaner people, which is the only worthwhile thing I have ever done in my sorry life.
You can contact me at 443-686-0598. Text in advance so I will answer the phone.
I will not travel to you. At certain times of the year I am in Baltimore City, Baltimore County, Harford County Maryland, Central New Jersey, Pittsburgh and Lancaster Pennsylvania, Summit County, Utah, Portland, Oregon and Maple Valley, Washington. Bring me a book to autograph and then we can train some.
I will do no corner work. I am simply not that good at it and devote my life to wearing a mask as little as possible. So I will be doing no fights in the future.
My coaching I would rate on 1-10 scale:
Boxing fundamentals: 8
Coach sparring: 3
Mitts: 2
Corner: 1 [I'm not even good at talking you out of doing it]
Kickboxing adjustments from karate-kung fu: 5
MMA adjustments/applications: 6
Bare-knuckle applications: 9
Self-defense applications: 7
Stick fundamentals: 8
Competition stick fighting: 7
Stick and dagger: 5
Double stick: 6
Stick coach-sparring: 9
Moderate sparring: 7
Quick sparring: 5 [going south quick]
Hard sparring: 4 [bottom can drop out any time]
Stick-cane for self defense: 8
Urban survival:
Empty hand: 7
Improvised tools: 8
Machete-umbrella-bat: 9
Knife: 10...he's already dead.
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Posted: 2022-01-10   reads: 864   ©2021  james lafond
Awakening
Teutonic Fist and the Crackpot Discuss the Spectacle of 50 Year Old Teens: 12/17/21
Awakening
Teutonic Fist and the Crackpot Discuss the Spectacle of 50 Year Old Teens: 12/17/21
There are more or less violent protests going on across europe against the covid hoax and from time to time the cops peperspray and beat up boomers, much to my amusement. 
This is such an entitled, lazy, tone deaf, stupid generation of braggards that never gave a damn about anything but now that their stupid coffee shop or christmas market or other senior-amusement-facility is closed they think they can just act up infront of the riot police and then things are supposed to happen their way again, cause muh civil rights. 
How mentaly retarded or infantile does one have to be to be in this age group of over 50 years old and still behave like this snotty teenager, mouthing off towards armed, armored men half your age, and expecting nothing to happen. I remember these same old dumb fucks from events when there was some stupid "civil alliance against right wing extremism" and the same types of entitled 50 year old teenagers were mouthing off infront of us, thinking that the pale face has to listen to his pseudo-moral lectures of right and wrong and wouldn't just follow him home with his friends, break into his apartment, torture him for his ATM pin codes, and then live off the monthly retirement payouts while he rots packed in plastic in the broom closet.
I think back on some video Sam Hyde made over a year ago, warning to fight in the streets with antifa or cops, because your little, fragile caucasoid skull isn't built for that sort of thing. And now you see these brittle skulls entering the fray not for god and country or any such supposedly high minded concepts, but because an infantile generation gets treated like an infantile generation that went full anal retentive hording toilet paper by the least sigh of trouble.
These people are after a lifetime of media consumption mentaly just fried in the head. I just hope they completely emerge in their own death drive next when they see that the end is near, waging boomer jihad with rollator born IEDs or maybe assisted driving car attacks, but i also hoped that this virus would at least be something serious in the area of a 50% lethality rate.
-Teutonic Fist
Sir, it is my odd opinion, not shared by many, that governments are living organism, organisms that are made of flesh and blood and have for their purpose control of the earthly herd which must be maintained like any mass of livestock at some peril to the herdsman. A swineherd was in danger of being eaten by his pigs, should he fall among the slop and hit his head on a pen post. The danger of wrangling cattle and horses have long been fraught with mythic peril, painted upon temple walls and now occupy a sports niche on TV. A billy goat might gore the goatherd. Even the least dangerous food animals, sheep, pose a danger to the shepherd based on their very helplessness, placing him at odds with wolves and brutal cattle-breeding men.
Governments are entities of control, the very flesh-and-blood embodiment of force and fraud on a grand scale. I recall Buster Douglas, having beaten Mike Tyson for the title falling like a fat whale before Evander Holyfield, a smaller man who was a more active fighter who never got fat.Governments get fat and lazy. As cruel stepfathers to us all they are jealous of their power, and, like any living thing, as they grow fat and lazy, they sense the estrogen building in their body, can feel with dread their own expanding, softening, hollowing vulnerability.
This is, I think, a key aspect of Democratic Governance in particular, the innate insecurity of the revolutionary who has become a member of the oligarchy. This is the story of the Boomer generation in America. No more insecure person lives than the person who believed in his youth that he was a revolutionary and then became in his fading age that which he had once raged against. I see modern western nations, most of them essentially formed or reconstituted some 200 years ago through industrial and ideological upheaval, as experiencing a late mid-life crisis. I am not seeing just people in late middle age go into crisis, but nations as well.
On a practical level, one expression of this in democratic nations is the conditional sanctioning of political parades, or protests, an infantile inversion of the ancient Roman Triumph. This serves the purpose of venting populous rage, of self-identifying enemies of the state, of gaining empathy among broader segments of the population for the apparatus of government control, and also, of exercising the muscles of control.
The top echelons of the dawning Infotech Corporate Police State know that in the next 20 years food riots will be common. I have trained one young man for 20 years, who is now 26. He proudly informed me that he is now in the U.S. Army practicing riot combat, hoping to put that stick-fighting form to good use. He needs some practice thumping protesters now. Because when he is 46 years old and leading a platoon as a sergeant while his CO cringes behind him, what will make him effective while his tranny CO bites its nails, will be experience in riot combat.
As drastic food shortages intersect with massive populations of entitled subhumans, rioting over actual survival will be a common occurrence of real peril, rather then the relatively recreational political rioting of this passing precipice in Time. I see this as to The Good, for honorable young men will be able to heft a shield and a baton and fight vastly larger mobs of feral shitfolk…and the paean of Leonidas will echo down from that time of real men into our time of surreal men.
If a civilization has to die so that my one stick fighter can put food on his family table while the mobs of foes he tread under his boot heels deservedly starve as their vanquished portion of fate, then humanity have taken one more halting stride towards the awakening of The Old Ones.
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Posted: 2022-01-09   reads: 1076   ©2021  james lafond
'Merchanting'
Devil Dick and The Crackpot Discuss the Result of Government Regulation: Dateline10/25/21
[Crackpot comments in brackets.]
I am a member of the spice merchant's guild
Devil Dick
Last year I finally gave in to a burning desire to build my own computer. Buying one prebuilt would have cost me $1500 more than if I could find the parts on my own. At that particular time, one particular component, graphics cards, were hard to come by, most being scalped for about double the price. Well, I managed to find one being sold at market value on kijiji (a personal ad site) and made my way an hour and a half away by transit. I ended up finding most of the other major parts for the computer like this, I found merchanting an enjoyable activity on this small scale. Some thoughts immediately came to mind. Firstly, I realized how easy it would be to make some money on the side buying things low and selling high.
[Having come to the bottom of so many obvious and barely concealed lies in American history I have decided to redefine the purpose of government action as the result. Look, the smartest college graduates actually go into government work on the federal level or government contracting. I have known many of these brilliant men from wargaming, men that worked for areospace, the NSA and NATO. However, since every single government program you can name since 1965 has had the exact opposite effect of its stated purpose—including losing five winnable [1] wars—we idiot Americans believe that politicians are all idiots and never had real jobs. Well, we are the idiots, and politicians are smart, but not as smart as the corporate and Creep State operatives who pull their puppet strings, while they do their real jobs which is fucking us over. Look, since welfare destroyed the black family, I take that as its intended goal, which is more rational than saying that all government programs achieve the exact opposite of their stated aim. It is obvious, that since the global warming hysteria came out of a suggestion in 1974 by a climate scientist that pumping carbon into the atmosphere may stave off the coming ice age, that the purpose for the global warming bullshit is to inoculate the earth's population against the realization that we are going into an ice age as scheduled.]
          Secondly, I realized this is exactly what you're average drug dealer was doing. Most of these guys from the ones I had met, were simply purchasing a product bought at an already inflated price from whatever trade route it came from, and selling it for an even higher price. I guess you could call it the Wakandan version of the silk road. Well, the question popped into my head, " I wonder where this stuff comes from"?
[The War on Drugs saw the 100-fold increase of drug distribution in the U.S. Since 1974, an effect that really kicked off when enforcement got serious in about 1982. Also, the traffic in heroin and heroin addicts from Vietnam, in which a friend of mine was involved, might have been the actual goal of that war. That and the federally planned and abetted riots of 1968 kicked heroin addiction into high gear by 1971. The 1974 declaration of the Drug War was after the fact, as the real drug war was by the U.S. Government against the people targeted for addiction. The execution of the drug war beginning in the 1980s, was just a way to build the police state, just like the defund the police bullshit is a way to get Americans t beg for a better police state.]
          I read a book called "The merchant kings", the first chapter is about the Dutch East India trade company ran by one Jan Pieterszoon Coen. "It would be a private corporation operating free from the direct control of the government.....yet it would have the authority to make decisions in the name of that government". Hmmm, I wonder what agencies exist that are unaccountable yet act on behalf (supposedly) of our governments? Of course, Black lives matter! God bless em and god bless our trans folx allies.
[Four Indonesian islands had their entire population genocided to make way for the Dutch clove monopoly. Other than the banker that financed Magellen's expedition and then moved to Holland, the only other person to make a profit was a sailor who keastered a handful of cloves in prison for a year and then sold them so that rich fuckers could spice their rotten meat with them.]
"While peace reigned in Europe , the servants of the two nations ' companies (British and Dutch east india companies) were shooting at each other". You know, I wonder if international Antifa and Black lives matter organizations get along when they meet in the fields of Colombia or Mexico. I hope so, I hate seeing folx lose they/them life to the streets.
[In New York these two organizations got into a fight in front of an NYPD member I spoke to, who said the Pigs jeered the combatants and that BLM whooped Antifa ass.]
"The spice supply had to be restricted  to make the whole enterprise viable....ruthlessly enforced to keep to artificially restrict supply and keep prices high". "To control production and keep prices high, VOC (Dutch East India Company) troops uprooted nutmeg and clove trees that were growing outside VOC approved plantations". Imagine it was illegal to grow your own spices today! That would be crazy, how would I season my chicken! 
[This is how diamonds—which are pretty worthless—and fiat currency—which is totally worthless—are maintained as rackets today. Indeed, whoring and pimping have suffered greatly since unmarried sex has basically been lagalized in the last hundred years and women were released into the workforce fifty years ago. The best thing that could happen to pimping and whoring would be the return of the Puritans.]
In summary, suppose there was some crop or refined chemical that were illegal to produce domestically. Further suppose that there existed some accountable agency that both operated outside the law and in the name of the government that could use force to secure the majority of said crop/product to make a large profit back home, and pin the blame on Tyrone who's nothing more than a second rate merchant like Pajeet at 7/11.
[A governor became a president based on drug shipments to Arkansas and a colonel and a general and a news reporter were all slain in California to cover up drug shipments to U.S. Military bases run by the Cunning Insemination Assembly. The only person that was not killed to maintain operational security for this was Maxine Waters who made her career on it. I am certain that the Baltimore Riots was cover for heroin and phyntenal distribution that skyrocketed overdose deaths by 500% in five eastern states in 2015-16.]
Further suppose these unaccountable groups each fought for their own share of this pie, the government backed ones ultimately winning out. Let me cut the bullshit. I'm talking about Tampax Pearl. Did you know tampons are taxed as a luxury good? Womens health is not a luxury sweetie.
[This is how stupid normal conservative and liberal progressive Americans are. Thanks to the Gangland History Channel shows and biker TV series, Americans think that outlaw biker gangs have ironclad initiation processes that make them immune to police infiltration, as evidenced by the fact that these tattooed assholes are still zooming around the country dealing drugs? However, I have had gang members tell me that cops are in all the gangs, that having cops in your gangs is security on one hand and provides access to stolen goods and a means to fence stolen goods on the other hand. This tells me that the big international biker gang is probably a creep state front. Any time one of my friends beats up one of these big fat biker men they have to deal with cops and lawyers. Scooby—please!]
Let me go further. Imagine during the 60s this same agency promoted drug use knowing they would have the majority share of this trade, and 20 years later made you pay for upholding their own monopoly. Marijuana is legalized here, and I find it particularly pathetic the average idiot fought for their right to be sold drugs by their slave masters and have anal sex instead of say I don't know, the right to defend oneself. Who am I kidding, like those faggots could do anything with that right anyways. 
[I have had three fellow boomers claim that the evidence that the Boomers are the greatest generation is that they got pot legalized!]
Making drugs and having mediocre unnatural sex the epitome of rebellion has unsuprisingly, led to a complacent sub-population of edgy sign holding homos. Yeah, the government selling you dru...nutmeg and terror bombing people will be stopped by your faggy government supported protests. What better way to take away your freedom than by redefining freedom as obedience to fake authorities and fake see eye gay social movements.
[SeeEyeGay is a great code. Look, I have a long standing rule not to trust anyone who has had a dick put into them. Based on the fact that the government is now spending most of its energy convincing all American to get injected with experimental fluids and secondarily to convince men to get their dicks cut off and take a cock in the ass, I think that long standing suspicion was dissidently correct.]
-Devil Dick
Dude, you can be such a dick. Thanks, I quite enjoyed this email. Enjoy that new computer.
Notes
-1. Vietnam, Somalia, Iraq, Iraq again and Afghanistan, that makes five winnable wars lost and the War on Drugs as a war known to be unwinnable that was engaged in anyway.
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Posted: 2022-01-08   reads: 1050   ©2021  james lafond
Curious Mind
Dateline 10/17/21
Being the curious sort that I am, I agreed to accompany a young lady on a quest to retrieve a stolen motorcycle today.   One of the neighbors took some pictures of the dude as he was walking the bike away.  Rough looking white dude with face tattoos.  Off we go, up and down, block after block of the inner SE section of town between 5th and 15th, Burnside down past Hawthorne.  Every other block had a camp.  We stopped and talked to folks, offered beer and promise of a future reward if the bike were to be found. 
We soon figured out just who he is, everywhere we go, he was just there earlier.  Despised by all the campers and local housed residents alike, he was a very well known figure.  A couple guys living in an illegally parked RV told us they had both whooped his ass more than once.  He was a pussy who couldn't fight, but he had been carrying a pistol the last couple weeks, and was off the reservation, total nut case.  These dudes told me that pretty much all the homeless carry pistols now days.  One of the guys was a heroin addict, and confided in me that the homeless police themselves, but it was getting crazy out there.  He said he wishes there were more cops on patrol.  
The motorcycle thief was named Blackbird, and was the type who would steal anything and everything from anyone and everyone.  He was known to steal motorcycles, just push em and walk em away to some hidden spot in the bushes where he would try every conceivable means at his disposal to get the bike started and running, but alas, he would fail every single time at this endeavor as he had some skill as a thief but none as a mechanic. 
No other campers would help him with his task, he was shunned by all, and the bikes would inevitably be found in a bush or behind a building in various states of disassembly.   We were told numerous times that the stolen item would be somewhere in our 15 block radius.
I got some good walking in, talked to some people and learned a bit more about my city.  I departed the lady and admonished her to be careful, as I had to go and pick my children  up from school.   These barbarian are not without a few noble souls.  
Take care,
T-Rex

Despite the desire for the quick police fix on the part of those campers I hope they do not get their wish. Only without police can a community actually achieve decency. Historically, crime increase follows the creation and increase of police institutions. Ultimately the police punish the successful party, meaning that they will always punish successful citizen vigilance. Think about it, without police, the 90 out of 100 working men would crush the ten criminals. The police exist to protect criminals from working men. Cops were brought into existence to beat the shit out of striking workers, and before that their prototype gaolers were employed to capture runaway workers.
See So His Master May Have Him again.
Pretty much everybody will disagree with this opinion of mine. However, I would point out, that the places where crime is currently so bad as to make post-apocalyptic Portland look like a boy scout conventions have four to 10 times as many cops: Baltimore, Philthadelphia, New York and Chicongo. And let's not forget the most violent small city in the 100 to 500k range—Saint Louis, where PIGs charged and disarmed two lawyers for brandishing guns [one broken and empty] in defense of their lives and home last year.
This is why total defunding and disbanding of police will not happen except by luck or comet or meteor, why this is just a gambit to get people to beg for stronger policing, so that the jackbooted thugs of Pigdom might be uparmored, upgunned, increased in number and ultimately federalized to make sure that if you ever stopped Blackbird from boosting your vehicle that there would be the police resources available to put you away for a long stretch and make the streets safe for Blackbird and his ilk.
For Blackbird is doing The Man's bidding—probably for free—by terrorizing honest folks who might be compelled to migrate to safer climes and keep flipping that real estate, boosting calls for more cops and more government from the very people those cops will be used against, like people who resist getting the weekly mega-dose vaccine booster or fail to report to their doctor for psychiatric medications, or who act out and try and stop a public rape by a Bantu God in Philthadelphia.
Ultimately, the enemy of our rulers is the one character that the police have always dialed in on as a target—the man who will do the right thing for another or commit the ultimate American sin of self-defense while Caucasian.
I am so glad that the Left Coast, down here in The Bay Area and up there in Portland, has finally become partially lawless. It is probably a prelude to total police state lock-down. But, there is a chance that the Puppeteers have miscalculated and that they will not be able to effect the total network of human control this phony disease bullshit and engineered food and industrial shortages were designed to usher in. The best case scenario for the possible survival of humanity is that police morale and numbers cannot be rebuilt and that eventually so few broken laws will be punished that people will begin defending themselves, start lying to the PIGs and hiding from the government and begin pushing criminals around after 15 years of criminals pushing citizens around.
It is unlikely but possible. I illuminated what this possible future could be like in the novel, Last Whiteman.
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Posted: 2022-01-07   reads: 1101   ©2021  james lafond
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