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'I Joined the Wrestling Team'
Michael Collins' Bully Odyssey Part 2
[James' comments are in brackets.]
I joined the wrestling team. My dad wrestled for 4 years and was a varsity wrestler. I was an ok wrestler. I made JV the first year and varsity the second year. 135 1st year and 145 second year.
[This was a good showing. I joined a wrestling team at age 11 and found that I had started too late to get to a high level as the other wrestlers had been doing it since 5 to 8 years. You obviously, along with your dad, were well suited for wrestling and skinny, which is good. Thin wrestlers adapt well to striking arts and hold up longer as adult combatants than big wrestlers.]
I was bullied all the time by seniors on the team. During PE class a football linemen and varsity heavy weight wrestler ( above 6 foot and over 200 pounds) came in and started hitting kids including me in the balls.
[Our gym teacher at Trinity High School was the football coach, a fat cunt named Coach Bob, and should have been slain by a father of one of his students. But alas, our parents support our institutional abuse, being slaves and all. Coach Bob used to let the football players come to gym class and skip regular classes so that they could pick on and beat up kids who were younger and smaller and not on the team. They did not mess with me even though I was a welterweight and they were heavies, because I had been on the team as a freshman until I threatened to stab the assistant coach, a big greasy loud-mouthed Dago, and walked off. The toughest dude on the team, a polish kid, told me that he respected me and that my mind was not right for team sports and I should focus on boxing. If I fought this dude 100 times he'd have won every time. His name was Merski, a real good guy, a middle weight with a brain, and his advice stuck with me.
[I point this out to show that American school athletics are incubators for mob abuse, hierarchy rape—yes, rape, four freshman athletes were raped by senior athletes in a locker room last year in Washington D.C. Just like the English boarding school, the American football team in high school is a place to break young men's spirit's. This is relevant to the wrestling team discussion, as athletes in high school play both of those sports very often. When I am in Utah I will have Lynn record a podcast with Bob about his football experiences in high school, noting that he was an apex physical specimen. It was only a good experience for him because of that. The Colonel, who Bob grew up with, and was a bad-ass, who beat up men when he was a teen, and who is still a very dangerous fighter in his mid 60s, did not join football because he knew he would end up savaging upper class men who tried to haze him.]
I felt such like a pussy and angry with myself for not fighting back but I felt that the only way to win was with extreme violence because he was bigger than me and I didn’t want to get into trouble by the system.
[You were outnumbered as well and the bosses would side with him. This is the same theme you ran into in normal class situations.]
2 years later that same heavy weight threatened another wrestling on the team. This Indian kid who was not very good at wrestling, even I beat him and he weighed more than me, though he had a good jab, we boxed a few times together. But this Indian kids just punched the heavy weight in the balls and the heavy weight backed down.
[I fought wrestlers in high school as well. It is an important part of our development, though it does destroy the academic part of schooling. But hell, the academics is all bullshit brain washing, so be thankful for these experiences now—you had them and those others who have not been attacked, and hated and abused in institutional settings as hated youths are the weaker for it in the clutches of The System.]
During PE class this big tall guy would always verbally bully me and other kids. This continued for months. One of his friends one day kept calling me a bitch. So I said fuck you lets go fight on the football field. He refused. So I challenged the tall bully to a fight. He said ok. I got one or two hits on him in the face. He got like 10 hits on me.
[If the team is really a moral sink hole to hell, this will cause escalation by groups against you for being a stand-up guy, which requires you to cut a throat or bite off a nose or stab someone. If it is a decent team with bad actors, this will be the end of the abuse.]
I went for a double leg takedown and he got a hand lock around my back. I thought about punching him in the balls but didn’t. I am not sure why. Maybe I felt like it was dishonorable, maybe I was scared that if I did that he was hurt me really badly, or maybe both. But then the PE teacher broke it up. About 15 second fight. This same kid a few months later picked on this Mormon kid in basketball PE class. The Mormon kid just elbowed the bully in the balls and the bully did nothing about it.
[You fought to a draw against a bigger bully. When you meet these one-time bullies as men, you generally find that they are diabetic shitbags scooting around in a power chair or being bullied by their wife. These guys never maintain their menace long into adulthood, yet they sharpen us twerps for the long fight against the savages that await us within The Evil American Machine. My high school fights served me well, not then, but when challenged to fights in the workplace in my 20s and 30s and even 40s.]
A kid from middle school during high school kept tapping me on the shoulder with his other friend. So I started tapping them on the shoulder. His friend pushed me so I pushed him so hard he slammed into a wall. I didn’t fight the other kid because once again I was scared of getting into trouble.
Once during wrestling practice, a varsity wrestler kid came up and started to grope me right in the middle of practice. And he put his finger to his mouth and went, “Sh sh sh” telling me to be silent, and he literally said “ just accept it” I gave him a disgusted look and got up and moved to another part of the room. At the time I wished I could have killed him but once again fear of the system and also the fact I am a pussy prevented me.
[There were accounts in Ancient Greece of older wrestlers training together at pan-Hellenic games actually murdering younger wrestlers from smaller towns. Wrestling is a great art for learning dominance in man-to-man combat. However, in a team structure, with a hierarchy, any combination of a wrestler being subjected to an older team member, who is higher in the system, and who is larger, is liable to produce predation.]
That same kid who is much bigger than me came into my hotel room during wrestling camp and wanted to spank me. He said if I didn’t go along with it things would get worse. It almost didn’t feel real and it felt like this was some stupid joke. I told him I would fight him and to fuck off. He then got this one kid, another senior varsity wrestle but shorter than me to sneak into my room and hit me and then run away. I ended up punching the short kid in the nose and making him bleed. That kid lost a wrestling match at the camp because of blood time and the rest of the team hated me for it because we lost the match against the other team.
[Your wrestling team was a pack of cunts who should have been lined up against a wall and had their throats cut in front of their fathers. The coaches should have had their genitals cut off and burned before their eyes before being fed alive to dogs. So would have Achilles judged them. However, we do not live in a just world where such a thing can be done, but in a field of evil where the bully is sacred and serves the unholy sepulcher of The System as his paid creature, his snarling dog. Walking away from this as you did, having struck a blow, if you can prevent the bitterness form becoming an inner acid and bank it like a fire to fuel a future defense, then makes such past events our fuel for the hate-filled future that awaits us.]
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Posted: 2021-07-25   reads: 54   ©2021  james lafond
Traditional Publishing
Crackpot Response to What Seems the Only Legit Literary Agent in America
Are You Ready to be Traditionally Published?
Inbox
roby...@silverliteraryagency.com
Jul 1, 2021, 12:43 PM (20 hours ago)
SilverInk_LOGO.jpg
I hope you are doing well in these trying times.
I am sending this email for your consideration.
Are you looking for a literary agent for your book and want it to be out in a self-publishing company? If yes, let me know and so that we can guide you how to be traditionally published. We are not connected to any self-publishing companies but instead we will serve as the middleman between you and traditional publishing companies. We have HarperCollins, Penguin Random House, MacMillan and other minor traditional publishers in the market.
The process is we will evaluate the content first and then our agency will decide if the book is suitable to be traditionally published or not. Once the book is accepted, we will then invest on the book project until the book will be acquired but that excludes the editing. All books that will be accepted should and must be ready in terms of the editing before we will create a query letter for the book endorsement.
Let me know if you are interested and I am always happy to help.
Warm regards,
Robyn Monroe | Literary Agent
Phone : ‪[redacted, in case she is a lady.]
Silver Ink Literary Agency
Email: robyn.monroe@silverinkliteraryagency.com
Website: www.silverinkliteraryagency.com
200 S Virginia St. Reno, NV 89501, United States

Robyn, I normally do not respond to these emails, especially to a group. However, this impresses me as possibly the only offer of hundreds—no, thousands—I have received, which is legitimate. I was traditionally published, thrice, from 2000 thru 2011. Since then I have had 17-some books published for me by readers volunteering their services. This affords me enough income to live as a hobo out of a rucksack. 
I am content with this form of self publishing, as I have all this lifestyle needs take. 
My volunteers now sit upon a file of 61 books yet to be published. I have no desire for these to be traditionally published, not even the children's books.
The reason why i write this is it seems that you are contacting me along with other self-published authors. 
My object is this—of the over 500 emails and the thousands of phone calls i have received from functionaries of the traditional publishing and the subsidy publishing world, since 2019, I regard this email as the lone honest attempt to woo me into the clutches of bossy little people who lack the ability to make their own work and wish to police my uneven use of high case letters when referring to my own person. If I wished the attention of such bossy little people in making more money, so that I could gain status in a world I so despise as to have forsaken it for the very gutters that drain the pavement at its iniquitous shoes—I would consider your organization for the task. You may feel free to use this as a gratis promotion. 
To be honest, i'm doing this to entertain my long-suffering readers and will be posting this as open content on my main site—excepting the emails of the innocent parties. I'm scheduling it for posting on Saturday, July 24. Speaking of which, having bossy big-brained people set up things like websites with scheduling functions is a boon and guards against the addling of the aged mind.
May Wicked Fortuna favor thee.
james
PS: Robyn, if you are a lady, and fair, i will be taking the train through Reno a few times this year. I promise not to bring my blue tarp to lunch.
07.24.21   Ruben — Genius............this is damned funny
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Posted: 2021-07-24   reads: 231   ©2021  ruben
Chinesium Cuck Horizon
JW and the Crackpot Discuss Edged Phallic Symbology and Cuckology
Cuck Cutlery Part II
J W
10:10 AM (2 hours ago)
to me
James, a follow up bit of humor after reading your Cuck Buck article from a few years back: Cuck Buck
A friend and I were recently talking about the growing trend of alleged ultra high end knives being sold on the internet. $200? Try more like $500, sometimes a thousand or way beyond!
The target demographic is very specific: American men with hoarding issues that always end up with huge collections. It's not like stamp collecting though, they all seem to have internalized that a $200+ knife gives them a combat advantage and they spend years discussing this. You'll never see them talk about sparring with $5 rubber trainers or rolled up magazines though.
I'm not going to link or promote these companies, but this community will give you an idea
What gives? Most of these knives are hideous and won't even be cool loot to be picked off their inert forms after they're steamrolled by the horde!
McDojo martial artists largely ended up humbled by MMA. Even the fat gun guys have had their own callouts in recent years. Will knife nerds ever get their turn? I don't see how, there is a certain special brand of 'honor culture' upheld by the knife aficionados but it's entirely coopted by consumerism and the generalized sloth of modernity. At least all the tradesmen with a well used cheap 3" folder clipped to their pocket are still aware of basic tool use.
It's only going to get weirder. I will report back when hoarding $5000 florescent purple swords made from the rarest chinesium alloys becomes the norm.
- JW

Had to use chinesium in the title!
JW, I went to the reditt link and scrolled down until I had counted ten hands.
One hand had what might be dried skin from work.
The only hand with callouses was that of a guy who was not yet 30 who was showing a knife his daddy had given him. the softness of the hands was shocking.
As a general rule, American men are more about the tool than the job.
Now, I have been roundly criticized by some real mountain men for using axes instead of chainsaws, as an ax is a waste of time and therefor money and I am terrified of chainsaws. They let me go on my retarded way once they find out I'm engaging in exercise. But back here in the east, men rail at me for using any tool but the best. If I'm using an axe, he has a better ax, a saw, he has a better saw. When cutting a tree down at Rick's in Pittsburgh, the neighbor would not rest until I at least gave his saw a try—his saw sucked. I returned it after wasting some time with it, pretended that it was fine, and thanked him, being polite. I then found out what it was all about, when I heard his wife and his friend's wife talking about how strong I was and how much it bothered their husbands and how they wish I'd come work in their yard. These fat bitches need dick and their men don't have it to give so they walk over to me and hand me their bigger mechanical dick for fucking trees...
I've run into this in dojos where kenjitsu masters will not spar with blunts because it is not the real weapon—so they get no training. Some guys won't lace up gloves because gloves are phony, when in reality they hurt worse than bare fists.
I recall one day at Megan's while she was watching two ten-year-olds. They wanted to sword fight so we did, with wiffle ball bats. Dad came home in his giant pick up truck and the kids were so excited to show off their skill. I knew better. But Megan offered my coaching services as I was working at 2 local schools—and boomer man pulls aside his jacket and lifts his beer gut to show his pistol and says some macho stuff and dismisses fighting with hand weapons as useless...
I understand that tools separate us from the animals and are the reason for our success. But every time I see a big scary knife and particularly comments that the knives are better than guns—like the faggot talking about how hard it is to open a bag of chips with a 9 mm—I see a shower not a grower. Blade versus gun didn't work out too well for the Zulus. Hell, I have my knife mostly to retain the option of suicide by cop. In my survey, that resulted in the Logic of Steel, a book that was hated by knife aficanados, swords turned out to be like a third as deadly as the #2 pencil. Big tactical knives were hardly ever used for anything other than show. The funny thing is, I was in the survey for 2 pencil stabbing and one sword cleaving. Yeah, if we are dueling and your knife is twice as long as mine, I better be twice as good or I'm getting sliced to ribbons. But the real ruthless, and also the legally defensible carry knives, are likely to be cheap.
There is also the problem that many “tactical” features of dedicated defensive knives will get you in legal trouble. If it is just for opening chips, why do you need to open it with one hand quickly?
So here are my suggested defensive knives:
-Bedroom, dedicated fighting knife
-Living room, sword over the mantel
-Kitchen, butcher knife, basis for the Bowie knife
-Office, letter opener
-Front door, fire poker—it will cut
-Garage, fucking screwdriver
-Yard, edging brick—it will cut!
-Car, Cork screw, “Mom likes wine and can't remember where her corkscrew is...”
-On your person something that is already in your hand...anything
-In your pocket, something you can get out of your pocket or off your belt while you are fending them off with your left hand
I once took a butter knife from a place I was eating and slipped it into my back pocket expecting trouble outside—it will go in...
As for knife nerds, they have value keeping knife smiths in work. The knife is literally the last thing that separates us from the animals and also from the domesticated apes of modernity. We should all carry one. But why must we make everything so gay!
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[modern combat]   [The Combat Space]  [Crackpot Mailbox]  [link]
Posted: 2021-07-23   reads: 340   ©2021  james lafond
Under the Dark Light
Depression, Bitterness and Resentment Under Wry Fortune and The Writer
Recently a young writer, having just joined Patreon and gained a glimpse of the massive unexhumed grave that was Plantation America, e-mailed me and said it was nice to see that I was posting again and how he understood, that given the content of my American history project, that I suffered from depression and was afflicted by bitterness.
This bemused me as I have never known depression and was only bitter once that I can recall as an adult. As a youth I was generally confused, befuddled and despairing of finding a place in this world. Apparently the good fellow mistook my publishing schedule on this primary platform, jameslafond.com, as somehow indicative of recent writing output, when there is little relation, as generally have 40-60 unpublished articles awaiting scheduling and posting on the various platforms at any given time. Ironically, when he wrote me glad that I was writing again, I could not answer him at length or write this article, as I was down with eye seizures—what I call the spasms and inner lightning strikes of this failing right eye.
However, he does raise a point. The American history material I am working on is a sore spot for me. Having never been interested in American history, and not knowing it was phony, I stumbled upon the real American history while researching a science fiction novel in 2012. Once I discovered that hundreds of thousands, and as many as 2 million, abducted, trafficked and forgotten European children were worked, beaten, and raped to death in the land of my birth, contrary to standard American history, I felt a sense of responsibility to uncover this buried episode in the hideous human drama. Like a dog-walker who discovers a body, I felt honor-bound to at least notify the next of kin. And, much like that dog-walker who then becomes the prime police suspect, I have been inconvenienced by their nefarious interest—in this case by the Thought Patrol. As well, the next of kin are not happy to discover the death in the family of the long lost cousin they thought had ended his days happily climbing Mount Everest, who has actually been strangled in the neighborhood homeless camp.
So, I resent the 30 novels that will never be written because I wasted my creative time doing historical work for which I have been punished by my publishers, for which I will be vilified by academics should the work gain wide currency, and which will be covered over and once again forgotten in the end.
However, I am not bitter, because I never expected anything from this world other than a slap in the face, a poke in the eye and an admonishment from those in power—which describes almost exactly my first day at school in September of 1969, across the street from the Plantation of Tobias Stansbury, who worked slaves that looked just like me in the 1680s, before any Maryland Englishman, including the Governor of the Province of Maryland, could afford to buy the Alpha Romeo of American slaves: the saintly African.
Now, resentment I do know, in that my eyes are shot and those 30 novels will mostly remain unwritten. However, for a product of the five-retard strong Pleasant Plains Elementary School Special Reading Class, to look back on a life lived against the corrupt morals of this sick society, and to see that I have written more books than any man of my age, bitterness merely echoes as a distant and almost forgotten knell.
I once knew bitterness, in my 20s, after marrying my very amicable girlfriend and then, on our very wedding night, having her stop talking, cooking and fucking—and to begin telling me I was a lazy twerp—there was no longer a point to being nice to me, as I had been effectively entrapped in her web of deceit. That piped as a bitter cup of uncaffeinated joe from 1982 until1993, when I gave America the middle finger, started carrying an illegal weapon, began standing up to negroes and even terrifying their feint hyena hearts on the streets of America's worst city, and commenced banging 1 in 3 of the lonely women cast my way by shrill Aphrodite upon the cruel tides of Modernity.
I haven't felt bitterness since little Suzy kept me from stepping in front of that city bus at Highland and Lombard and took me to her depressing apartment and blew me for two days.
Depression, I have seen, and She seems a cruel mistress, like one of the vile Furies masquerading as Morpheus. For those who suffer from this, my heart goes out, but blindly, because I do not actually know what they feel—the manic monkey on my back driving me so incessantly to my foolish tasks that I do not have the luxury of such afflictive repose.
When my eyes seize up and I have to medicate and nap, unable to sleep as the wheels of this goon of a rampant mind keep turning towards aims unreachable, I take mental notes, the echoes in my skull banging the quivering gong of that throbbing eye rendering the words unspeakable. So I find relief in scrawling with a pen on pads, and collect a litany of outlines for stories and articles never to be written.
But to be bitter over a life lived twice in one span, having written more than old Louis L'Amour, that simpering sentiment does not occur. Bitterness is to hold another responsible for your plight. But it was I that failed, not the winning world. The world turned because the world turns, and I fell and wearied of rising. I'm not a victim—I'm a loser, a quitter...and gifted in that with a perspective to write well from the vantage of one who has not done well. I quite fell into a parting redemption, among the luckiest of my underkind.
I will not be the first to be ruined by this great planet or to be devoured by The Powers. Nor will I be the last. It is what we are—food. I at least marred the menu with a sardonic missive to the diner that he too is on the menu.
That good fortune is not because I'm a remarkably strong man like old Louis, but rather has to do, I think, with the fact that I knew myself to be meek, stupid and weak from age five when the other kindergarten kids plaid “punchbuggy” on me in their mother's car, and I knew myself to have no potent recourse. Not being buoyed by talent, confidence or good fortune, my achievable life horizon did not loom as some soaring Olympian bar—the cause of much bitterness among those of talent and privilege—but sagged like the felt rope that long ago barred the entrance to a now deserted theater, awaiting its lone, unpaying patron long after the moviegoers had all been swept away.
I have been lucky to be cursed and fortunate to have attended this rollicking farce unversed.
Time tumbles by, and soon there I will lie.
07.24.21   Ruben — Whoever calls a PRIVATE PLANTATION a nation is LOST. What a great piece.
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Posted: 2021-07-23   reads: 367   ©2021  ruben
'Beyatch!'
Coast to Coast Cultural Enrichment
I remember, back in the early 1990s, when Marc "Animal" MacYoung was writing for Paladin Press, that Venice Beach even passed for a criminal habitat.
I also recall, way back in the same-ass day, that hard dudes from Baltimore were afraid of going to Philly to buy dope because those dudes up there were just extra-stupid violent.
Now B-Sirius has sent news that these two storied points on the American compass have begun generating news again...

Philadelphia records more than 300 homicides so far this year, breaking decade record | Fox News
Inbox
b Sirius
6:13 PM (4 hours ago)
to me
Philadelphia broke a grim, decade-long record this week after recording more than 300 homicides in the City of Brotherly Love. | Fox News
Breaking in on that murder bowl…….
Howzit coach?
Ruben

Sire, I shitpoze you are referring to my philanthropic volunteering to train both rioters and police in a rematch of the Baltimore Riots of 2015....
Well, the offer still stands.
Philly is experiencing the exact same doubling in homicides that Baltimore experienced in 1968 and 2015 in the wake of creep state sponsored urban unrest, and that Portland and New York experienced in 2020.
All is as it should be.

Venice Beach violence reaches boiling point in L.A. as new viral video emerges | Fox News
Inbox
b Sirius
6:15 PM (4 hours ago)
to me
On any given day, video footage documenting violent incidents in the famed Venice Beach neighborhood of Los Angeles – involving the homeless who have erected tents there – are uploaded online. | Fox News
Bantu ghost beat down…………..mofos are coming out of the woodwork

The above story is miss-reported. The print story claims that the Yeti wastrel was beaten by a man and a woman, when he was clearly beaten by a black woman at the behest of a white woman. They even have the pale jangling titties of the ebony beast woman blurred out. Look at her anklet and her braids and the knee brace.
Permit me to fill in the unheard monologue from Lakrushya as she punches the Giecho Caveman actor:
“Muvafucka! I gave yah my mamma's EBT card on da undastandin' dat yo skank ass throw some dick my Baby's way while mah big ass be laid up in dis knee brace. Shieet, if it ain' hard enough throwin' dick to a ratchet bitch with nottin' but an over-sized clit, mah knee still torn up from helpin' yo dumb ass ged away from dat rich faggot whose dick you was suckin' when dah sekret surface ajents come a runin ta ged 'im back to da press conferance!”
“Beyatch, yo bess be listanin' while I whoopin'...”
When a strapping black babe is depending on you to enslave her darling with your dick, you better not be nodding out on the job or you will be treated to the fist rather than the kiss!
07.22.21   Ruben — Brilliant and genius...........as usual my bestest of friends. Thank you x3. Much love from the hinterland where I hide, from that place where I used to live.
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Posted: 2021-07-22   reads: 373   ©2021  ruben
The Texture of Dawn...
Haft 1
It was palpable, pulpy even, as his bare feet felt the mossy green yielding softly under his hard nails.
Above the spears of evergreen swayed and whipped like so-many blades singing in the battle-line.
Beyond to his broad back crept traitor Dawn, the rose-nailed sissy who announced the coming of the mighty Sun.
In his hand dangled the hobbit, a plump bitch of middle-years what had been fermenting in its warren all of its bread-fed days a-plumping for the morning feast to come.
Stunned it hung from his mighty brown hand, pale and sun-haired like a fat little elf but not jabbering its insufferable lies, just pining to be spitted and roast!
He jog-trotted, the quickest of his kind, fleeter than all, not smashing through moss and mud like some slogging maw.
The spears of everlasting green swooned and sang above in the whipping wind, singing him along to Mother Camp, to the place where he was born...
“Mah!” he soothed, “Mah! Up from you sleep! Got breakfast!”
From the mossy eves of the great hollow tree shuffled his Mother, so little, soft and weak, her small face pale and round like the moon, her thin lips lacking fangs to jut, her round little eyes un-shaded by hairy overhung brows. She was ugly—but she was Mah.
He stood proudly, towering over the soft little woman who had birthed him, her hips forever ruined from the act, leaning on the great trunk of the Tree Most Ever Green that his grim father had hollowed out for her.
“Mah, meat fer you—fresh got!”
As he said this he swung the plump little bitch up by its ankle in his mighty left hand and drew back the ax-haft he ever bore as his half-breed taint in his mightier right to beat its head and his mother ran to the dangling thing in her crooked way, almost falling to save it from the pot stroke, “No, Baby! Not another life for mine. I'm tired...losing my taste for meat.”
He was struck speechless. Mother had never turned down meat. Of course, that had all been rabbit and possum, pig and raccoon, honk and cluck, heron and crow, doe and buck, squirrel and the bear cub he was still so proud of braining. Come to ponder it, Mom and the Hobbit bitch looked more alike than Mom and him. So he understood her aversion to be something like an ork's aversion to crime and cannibalism and lies. As always he would forgive her softness—it being her quality after all.
She was hugging it and swaddling it like a baby and to his deep-creased brow ridge, scrunched in offensive disdain, she said, “Please, Baby—I'm not an ork. I can't eat any more meat—least not what comes on two legs.”
“But what to do with it, Mah?”
She hugged the numbly whimpering bitch hobbit and cooed, “My folk keep pets. I'll pet it and it will gather me roots and make bread—sweet things to eat!”
“Blast, Mah, sweet things make us weak—we eat meat!”
She was now holding the hobbit bitch by one hand and holding his hard-nailed hand with the other and looking up into his eyes, scratching the calloused pads of his palm with those soft little nails of hers and pleading, “Please, Baby. Your father is always gone dwarf-squashing and you—your always off playing speed-skull. A pet—especially one like this that can talk—and cook—would be fine company.”
“Mah—only humans keep pets. It's wrong. It's slavery—it is better off dead!”
“No,” peeped the little thing, “I want to live!”
“It talks! Mah, it's gonna yammer like a human—maybe even like an elf!!”
And it talked again!
“No, elves lie. Hobbits speak truth—nor do we steal like dwarfs! And we don't kill like humans—we're fine pets!”
“Mah, it talks—shut it up!”
For a hunter who stalked the dusk and the dawn all of this loud yammering—the loud yammering of little things, soft little things—was irritating. Mother was cuddling the soft little bitch in that endearing way that was like an infection of softness—like to turn an ork into a human and a...
Mother read his face like she always did and cut his thoughts before they spiraled inward on themselves, “Haft! Your ork half is strong. You should wield the ax. When you father returns to rut on me, I'll demand that he kill me or support your taking the ax. You are twelve-and two now, as big as any of those idiot orks and as smart as The Shaman. It's time. Do not think weakly of yourself. Take up the ax!”
The whimpering thing hugging his small mother's hips, like a caricature of Mah in miniature, was looking up at him in awe and cheering him on with its little blue eyes. This gave him a sense that his time had come, like when a squirrel and a thorn both give warning of the same viper.
Haft placed his rough hand on his mother's shoulder, soft and small as it was, and rumbled, “Hide it in the tree when Dad comes. I go to find him and demand the ax.”
And the little hobbit bitch clapped her hands and slapped her feet like a rabbit and cheered him on his way and chattered, “My ma-ma, we'll make rooty bread all day and nibble all night!”
'What is this forest dark coming to?'
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Posted: 2021-07-22   reads: 225   ©2021  james lafond
Haft
A Tale of Middle Earth: High Fantasy by James LaFond: Front Matter
Copyright 2021 James LaFond
A Crackpot Book
Publisher Lynn Lockhart
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Dust Cover
Elfbane was the greatest of his race, Warder of the Elves who came with their lies swaddled in grace, Raider of Men in their slave dens, Driver of the Dwarfs back to their hoarding place, Shield of The Root of all Fens. On the first night of Spring, to the Holy Fen Elfbane brought her, to sire a son with the might of his ax-wielding hand coupled with the scheming mind of men. The muddy minds of the race he was born to save, call him Haft.
Haft is a high fantasy set in an authentic mythological place, Middle Earth, where mortals suffer dooms between ice and sands, mountains and sea—Overworld and Underworld.
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“People will absolutely hate it!”
-Lynn Lockhart, on receipt of the synopsis by skype
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For Ani—who knows who she is. Thank you.
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“Winning means you can afford to apologize. Losing is for the unapologetic actor—the bier of heroes.”
-A Blue-Eyed Devil at Dusk
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A Song of Haft
Dwarf-kind, in their greed, burrowing below we fight.
Elf-kind, in their lies, towering above, we fear.
Man-kind, where they breed, teaming in their towns, we smite.
Hobbit-kind, in their cozy need, snuggling in their dens, we sear—
On their toasted flesh we feed into the night.
Woman-kind, on their soft bones we breed,
Song of what is right...
Dragon-kind, slumbering in forgotten might,
We wonder if sun or moon will restore your sight.
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Posted: 2021-07-22   reads: 231   ©2021  james lafond
Time Thief Watch
Teutonic Fist and the Crackpot Discuss the Best Reason for Discord, with Presidential Ratings
[Crackpot comments in brackets.]
Normies playing with stray dogs
Sat, Jul 3, 5:50 PM (2 days ago)
to me
A few weeks ago there were some junkies fighting in the street. There were two paleface normies around them female and what passes for genetic male wearing the same haircut. The junkies, also female and what passes for genetic male, were typical for their kind dressed way too warm for the weather and were getting on with it over a backpack. The normies tried to "mediate" the scuffle like their kind learned from a life getting handed off to outsource authorities like daycare nurses and teachers, most likely woman in the midwit bracked of IQ distribution, and so they said things to the fighting druggies like "you only make it worst" and "if you don't stop you will get hurt".
[All such situations, including the Paris garden party scene in Barry Linden and the entirety of Steel Magnolias or any Halmark movie, will be made immeasurably more meaningful by the appearance of a Mohawk war party seeking scalps and sisters.]
Which made me laugh cause these people soil themselfs on the needle and probably did sexual favours in exchange for drugs, so "making it worst" isn't a exactly a possibility of which the normie can assess its weight. So i asked them whats going on here just in the anticipation that they stole the backpack from the normies and that would offer me a plausible, moraliy somehow justified situation where i could deal out violence in broad daylight against weaker people.
[Thank you for writing this and for admitting to something that i have many times failed to admit in my writing. For the misbehavior of others in public space is more than just entertainment, which is not to diminish it. The only legitimate purpose I regard American presidents for, since my teens is entertainment, chiefly comic relief. Likewise, these junkies and normies have already provided us with a smile on this side of the Sea of Inequity. Secondly, the only other possible use for these four people, is to suffer and bear witness to your relative might. This has great sacred value, as the weak should be beaten by the strong when they contest in such ways, and the morally strident weak who chatter on behalf of the vile machine should be treated to a near view of their much deserved plight whenever possible—this shall make the Spheres of the Cosmos sing. I have become more superstitious of late and see in every act of random violence and discord a song calling for the return of the Old Gods.]
But no, they didn't steal it from the normies, they stole it from one another and the fact that they are opposite sexes lays near the conclusion that they are your typical trash couple that form their relationship to each other about their relationship to drugs. I asked the normies if they are stupid to involve themselves into something like that and while they looked at me somehow confused the two honeymooners went their marry way more or less arguing over what could be a small amount of drugs or money or whatever these two poney taled clowns assumed it was worth involving themselvs over in other peoples business.
[You are to be commended for taking a pedestrian moment of busybody boob behavior and playing the part of the stage director stepping on stage between two members of the Chorus to remind them that they are not to adlib when actual named members of the cast remain on script.]
I asked them why they bother stopping and try to mediate like daycare teachers. The what passes for a genetic male said that i wasn't here when they started to go at each other and it was brutal maaaan, so i asked him if when he sees two stray dogs fighting, would he put his hand between them to make them stop. What do you think you are doing here. It was like talking to an alien, like in a foreign language, because it was. This guy had no concept of "mind your own shit" or "well she picked him" and then said "where are the cops when you need them", which started to make me angry. When the cops show up in this street, its usualy because of me or my friends, so i don't want cops around. And i don't want cops around to police trash either. If you call the cops, its like setting loose a pitbull without muzzle or chain. Its a force none of us can control. Police is government that will always escalate a situation further than anyone else can and will always get in the way of organic maintaining of order and justice. I told these two palefaced idiots that these junkies indeed stole from them, meaning their time.
[They deserved to be stolen from.]
Later that day, middle of the night rather, i came past two realy greek looking guys who i greeted asking their business, so they told me they are on their way home because further down the road some guy came out, told them not to linger infront of his apartment and that they should fuck off, so at least the local sense of right and wrong and behave yourself you fucking clown is still in working order if effeminate tourists or cops don't interfer in it.
[Wherever it is in Germany you live, is still much more civilized than the shithole where I am detraining in two days hence. Even with all of the extreme emasculation both of our societies have been placed under, your society still has a chance it seems, of having organic order. This last situation, in Baltimore, if it involved Bantus, would have resulted in a chimp-out stomping at least. Your simple greeting of two Ricans by night, here in New Jersey where I write, would have likely resulted in an edged weapon encounter or a 2 on 1 fight. In Baltimore, a shooting would have been very likely. The point is, that when the system decides to crash organic cohesion in favor of the police state, it needs two ingredients to reliably destroy traditional social order: over-domesticated Caucasians and feral Africans in roughly equal numbers.]
Oh, yes, Presidents in my lifetime, according to greatness, which is to say comic virtuosity:
-Carter, boring
-Shrub Senior, creepy and bland
-Ford, good for the occasional trip and fall
-Frothy Latte, gay enough to always be mildly entertaining for the astute
-Tricky Dick, who should have played Mister Magoo in a non-animated movie
-Reagan, who had that "I'm about to use my B-list acting ability to be a real prick" smirk
-Shrub Junior, who could mispronounce anything with gravity
-Slick Willy, who could lie to 300 million souls with a wicked grin and debate the definition of "is"
-Creepy Joe, who cannot contain his thirst for children on stage
-Orange Man, who made me laugh every day for four years and therefore the most valuable man in America for that period and the most important president in my life time.
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Posted: 2021-07-21   reads: 536   ©2021  james lafond
'Dere Goes Midal Urff'
The Most Reviled Science-Fiction Writer Tries His Rude Hand at High Fantasy
Hobbit ranch houses, boomer row homes and elvish condos for sale!
This morning I completed Haft, at 40,948 words.
This is my first, and probably my last fantasy, with such worn and weary tropes as elves, dwarfs and wizards. Haft is set in Middle Earth and is a 16-part [14 chapters and one large 3-part chapter] adventure about a messiah of a downtrodden race—the orks, who are one of the few decent races of Middle Earth.
When I outlined it on its inception six weeks or so ago to Lynn, on a skype call, she grinned with a wince and said, “People are going to hate it.”
Well, half of it will be serialized later this year on this site. Until then, if you want an advance copy or would like to volunteer to proof it, email me and I'll send you the PDF draft.
For you Old English philologists out there, never fear. I have not tried to use obsolete Anglo-Saxon diction for the ork dialect. Rather, I have decided to base their diction on many a real life Harm City character's jargon, as I have character-mined my non-fiction urban blight work to fill the heroic roll call of orkish heroes...
Apologies considered, found wanting, and left to languish.
James LaFond, 6/9/21, Pittsburgh
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Posted: 2021-07-21   reads: 315   ©2021  james lafond
Trials of Youth
Michael Collins' Bully Odyssey Part 1
This material was originally sent as a 27-page autobiography of bully experiences in February 2021. After long neglect, I now begin to address this very American story of targeted institutional persecution of Guilt Race males. The subject attended school 30 years after I did in the 1970s.
[James' comments are in brackets. Michael also related sparring and training experiences to the author that I will reference, though they are not listed here and will be discussed as training studies at another time.]
I am going to try and list my violent confrontations in chronological order.
I went to basically an all Mexican school in southern CA. I was verbally picked on but not physically that much. One day me and a neighbor kid got into an argument. He was white and about my size. He kept pushing me in front of my mom and a neighbor woman. I turned around grabbed him and tripped him. Then I put my shin on his neck and chocked him similar to what that cop did to the black guy a year ago that started the riots. This was all by instinct. I never learned this in karate. The kid was digging his nails into my chest but that was about it.
[Your instincts are good. That is why your karate instructor tried to break your spirit, because karate is counter-intuitive. It is also why the one boxing coach who still sparred with his fighters, was not advanced enough to properly train you. It is also why the Mexican boxing coach gave you some advice that was good when he noticed you in the gym being ill-served by your handler.]
Then after a few seconds I get up and walk away. He charges me and I do a karate front kick to his stomach and drop him.
My mom was proud of me but later my step dad comes homes and yells at me say, “ I taught you  to always run away instead of fight, you broke the karate code” This was laughable on his part because of how violent he was, and then he cut my black belt in half and threw it in the trash. I was so happy inside. I stopped going to karate and my step dad left me alone from then on for some reason.
[His instinct was not entirely eroded by karate and he understood then that you would eventually beat him if he kept up with the abuse.]
I went to live with my father at about 12. I went to a poor school in a rich neighborhood. They buss in a lot of minority kids so the school is 99% black and mexican. The rich kids go to private schools. I was white with long hair. I was immediately targeted. All the mexican kids started throwing small berries and pebbles at me the first day. I basically ran away. I got verbally picked on all the time. I didn't tell me dad about it for about 5 months because I was ashamed of it. But I eventually did tell him. He basically gave me permission to fight back. So one day this mexican kid had been harassing me for months. he came up to me and was grabbing his own genitals and then trying to get me to shack his hand. I thought this was a good a time as any and just sucker punched him with a right hand to the face. Then I repeatedly kept hitting him. I remember it felt strange to hit his face with my barefist. Similar to your experience with hitting that guy with a knife who attacked your brother. He tried to hit me back once or twice but I kept hitting him and then he covered up and so I just hit him in the back of the head about 3 times. I would say the fight was about 15-30 seconds. The PE teacher broke it up. I went to the office. I felt completely drained shacky and also like crying.
[Sounds like a good showing. Your dad should have taken you for a steak and patted you on the back. Of course, when I did this kind of shit at that age my parents guilted me to no end, so your dad seemed fairly cool here. The shakes is a natural post-traumatic response I have experienced many dozens of times as a man.]
The kid said he was going to bring a gun to school and shoot me. My dad had the cops go to his house and talk to his mom. well we both got suspended. He never bothered me again. 
[The threat was to save face, which is usually the case. Always let them wolf the resentment away.]
The problem did not end there. A lot of kids gave me some short term respect, but it didn’t last long. So a black kid who I was friends with for a time and he even came over to my house and played video games, he starting hitting me in the back in the hall way and then walking off. His other black friends did the same. I told my dad and then I told the principle. She said he was hitting me in the back because he was angry I had a dad and that he didn’t.
[You, and every youth of your race have been targeted for racial violence by upper class people of all races. To physically defend yourself as a “white” male is the greatest crime against America that can be comitted. Think of all of the petticoated asses John Wayne had to kiss in dozens of movies just to be permitted to shoot back at the bad guys. This is in the American DNA, that we Ghost men are EVIL and alone should never be tolerated to defend ourselves. Clint Eastwood cashed in on this in a big way in his re-branded anti-hero westerns.]
She said I should feel sorry for him and nothing really happened to him. Maybe a few days of suspension. I don’t remember. Then other black kids started challenging me. One day in the honors English class, which was joke and an absolute zoo, a black kid challenged me to a fight and I just ignored it.
[You had been put into a lose-lose situation by the adults. Ina real society your father would have slapped the principal and have been declared a patriarch. But we live in Cuckmeristan. This same shit and worse happened to my oldest son in school so we pulled him on his 16th birthday, as soon as it was legal.]
Part of me wanted to fight him, part of me was scared of loosing, but I just also was unsure of what was going to happen if I kept fighting. What would the school system do to me. Also I knew that it stressed my dad out because he was obsessed with me getting straight A’s in school. I wanted to just go over there and sucker punch that kid or stab him with a pencil. My lack of accepting the challenge made me loose more respect in school.
[This is very typical youth Bantu behavior. I would have stabbed him and started having sex with black bitches and had been shot dead or in prison for life by 18. My parents essentially saved me by moving me to a redneck area where I could have stand-up fist fights. As cool as it would have been to be Tarzan for a day—you did the best thing.]
Eventually I went to a private school for about 7 months. I got into a one bathroom boxing fight and won but that was it. I hit the kid once and then he gave up. Most of the other kids did not pick on me but did not respect me either. My last few months of 8th grade I moved to this small public school in
the sticks.
A girl accussed me of flirting with her and this pissed off her boyfriend who then got is friends to verbally harassed me and do small physical things like push me etc. I told my dad. He was ok with me fighting back. So then the next day I went up to this kid on the bus who was always verbally abusing me and challenged him to a fight. He refused so I took his school bag and dumbed it out and kicked it. Then the boyfriend guy got his friend at recess to throw a basketball at me and then yelled, “ I didn’t do that but he did and what are you going to do about it?” So I walked up to his friend and punched him in the face and tried to tackle him. He ran away and I grabbed him and he was almost dragging me as he was trying to run away. The boyfriend came up behind me and tried to grab me and then I punched him in the face. The teacher broke it up. Was about 10 seconds long. The kids left me alone but I was still verbally abused. And the whole process with the school was a long emotionally tiring ordeal.
[In any decent human society, you would have been given the girl to impregnate and the two guys that messed with you should have been castrated and sold to the Bantus as slaves. White people are simply beneath reproach.]
Then I went to high school. More verbal abuse. Once I mentioned in history class how I was against illegal immigration. A Mexican kid much bigger than me in weight brought his Mexican friend also bigger than me. The Mexican kid said his friend was going to fight me because of what I said in history class. I said why won’t you fight me and he said he didn’t want to get kicked out of the honors program.
[Fat heads are opponents that are not to be despised.]
To be honest I was scared of both of them. They were much stockier than me. Unless I overwhelmed them with a sucker punch or kicked them in the balls I was most likely going to loose. I just refused to fight them and left in shame. That Mexican kid made fun of me the rest of high school. In class he would call me “gay” and other things. I many times just wanted to go up and attack him. But I knew that in a fair fight I would loose and I was scared of doing too much violence to him and then getting into big trouble. I pretty sure that they put kids in juvenile hall for stabbing someone with a pencil in the eye.
[Okay, you are not a psychopath and failed the Tarzan and the De Gama POC oppression tests, respectively. I stabbed a kid for just pushing me my first day in high school—in front of Art Richardson, AP history teacher, who just nodded to me with respect. I would have punched a hole in the big kid's wind pipe and then the horror show would have started—again, there would have been two dead beaners on my plate, because, as a tenn, I was a full-blown psychopath. I got lucky getting moved out of the racial hatred that you got moved into. Otherwise I would have been a dead teen or a lifelong violent offender and probably would have lost a knife fight to Mike Thompson. The point is, you have an instinct to fight back that you controlled by using the governor known as fear. As an adult this is a must. Most likely, if any grown Guilt Man in the U.S. of in China uses injurious or lethal force in the cause of his own survival, or even in service to the state, he will become Public Enemy Number Done.]
In the next installment I will look at your other fights and the training experiences you had. Since I recall that your wrestling, boxing and MMA experience actually placed you in the path of more bullies.
Okay, I just scrolled ahead and remember why I put this off for so long. Michael, that was one screwed up teenage life. I'll keep chunking away at your bully odyssey as I can. It's looking like 2 more installments of this size.
Thanks, Michael, for being so candid. I am sorry for taking some 7 months to address this material.
07.21.21   Pat — I am looking forward to the following installments of Michael's story. Thanks for posting, James.
07.21.21   michael collins — Your comments made me laugh and I really appreciate you taking the time to comment on my story. Take care James!
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Posted: 2021-07-20   reads: 471   ©2021  michael collins
Anachronistic Publishing?
The Care and Kneading of Your Pet Graphomaniac
Just in case you own one—I'm a crowd-funded loner—a graphomaniac that is, this one's handlers seem to have found a leash that fits.
I realize it is bad writing form to write about the writer and a yawn-fest for 9 out of 10 readers to write about writing. However, I am an oddity, if unworthy of your sister's hand in marriage, at least worthy as a cautionary exemplar of the road that should not be taken. Perhaps a writer or two among you will find something of use here.
As for the pure readers, take this as an explanatory apology for delaying answers to your valuable and interesting emails and comments, similar to the one I gave to my mother at age 8 when I broke the lid on her homemade ceramic strawberry-shaped cookie jar while trying to sneak an extra morsel while she watched TV in the other room.
I apologize for being so slow on answering emails and comments. This was originally because my eyes were killing me. Now that I have my new screen glasses and this nervous inflamation cycle is abaiting, as it usually does come mid-summer, my tardiness is born of the solution for my previous inability to look at the screen every day.
For two months Lynn was scheduling posts for me, as Charles and Her had conspired against me on my behalf to put in a scheduling function.
Hell, ten years ago, Charles told me, “Jay, I know you have an encylopedia stuck between your ears trying to get out. But sixteen articles in a day? What the fuck! [Hits self in forehead with palm] You are confusing your readers and minimizing reads for your most worthy articles. Do One a day.”
Well, I only listened to this sage advice from the young man after my eyes blew up on me two months ago. And guess what—reads doubled.
Now, with these nifty new peepers, I am releasing Lynn from her site bondage and she will be just working on Patreon, Substack and books, and doing just enough articles on this site to let you know something special has started in one of those quarters.
I really do look forward to more new queries and such via email. It has also been very nice that folks have held back on writing in to save my eyes.
Not only do I not read comments any more, I no longer read on the site, confining my activity to the back-end publishing and review function.
I keep this straight by use of a pocket planner.
Other than news notices of new books, stuff like this, there will only be one post a day. Even predictions of divine intervention, coverage of the most recent mass shooting and my opinion of the first tranny swimsuit model on sports illustrated—who after much soul searching as Mom showed me “the interesting though troubling news of the day”—I had to admit to myself that I would still sex her [unless I run into external plumbing feature] even though I am told it used to be a man. I suppose that would check off those “buck breaking” and “golden skin sin” boxes on my hedonistic bucket list at the same time—I mean, I've only had sex with original black women right out of God's hot chocolate laboratory on the South Atlantic. Buy today's standards I'm virtually innocent.
If you send in an email for my reading, I will answer it as an article [unless you say otherwise] as a scheduled post. When that post is scheduled, I will email you back the date on which it will post.
This does mean that my current content will be, like the Crackpot Podcast used to be, hopelessly out of time. That is fine. You see, as what it is against the news to write, think or say, changes on a monthly and seasonal basis, and sometimes what would get you fired or de-platformed yesterday is establishment doctrine today, then I think this will help keep me out of trouble.
After all, I am only interested in writing fiction, history and the history of the future—I mean the present is well and good fucked.
Besides, its asking a lot of a woke devil to be timely. When a devil does not even rape contemporary African American women, but insists on traveling back in time and buggering Martha Washington's kitchen staff while they are supposed to be making her Indian Pudding on New Year's Eve—and getting those girls whipped to boot—how can you expect that reprobate to keep a timely schedule?
Currently, every day is scheduled up to August 10th, with fiction scheduled for every Thursday thru November 11.
Of the various attempts to structure this site as a publishing platform, the only thing that has stuck is fiction on Thursday.
Haft, High Fantasy set in Middle Earth, is scheduled to run from July 22nd thru September 16th.
Cube, MMA science-fiction set in 2121, is scheduled to run from September 23rd thru November 11th.
Both will be concluded on Substack.
Thanks for your support and tolerance.
James, 7/20/21, Abingdon, Maryland
Oh yes. I am trying to remember to type a date or copy and paste an email time stamp for each post so that you know when it was written. I don't go back and make corrections or updates prior to publishing—ask my long-suffering editor.
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Posted: 2021-07-20   reads: 478   ©2021  james lafond
Honor Among Men
A New Site E-Book on Masculinity, Not Yet in Print
Honor Among Men has been with my editor, who I rudely buried with 59 other books, since 2018. It is an e-book before it goes into print, which is going to be a goal for our non-fiction e-books in the future.
I hope you like it.
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Posted: 2021-07-20   reads: 507   ©2021  james lafond
Thoughts on Power
Marked Vantage and the Crackpot Discuss Heavy Hitting and Juicing
Thoughts on Power
Wed, Jun 23, 8:22 PM (14 hours ago)
[I will post comments in brackets. This is a deceptively huge subject.]
James - I posted this and I am curious about your thoughts since you have so much more experience around fighters and gyms
Please forgive the Twitter style shit formatting. Also please don’t attach my real name if you decide to post this for discussion, which you are welcome to do. Thanks.
Punch power can be pulled out of someone that has it within him naturally (Manny Steward with Tommy Hearns being the premier example), but it cannot be built from nothing and it cannot be developed dramatically by just lifting weights or even w/steroid use
[If the boxer is coachable and is not hopelessly uptight and has not been bio-mechanically retarded due to long participation in another sport, his punching power can easily be doubled, tripled and sometimes quadrupled through technical evolutions, through training. I was a low-aptitude person and doubled my punching power between 12-and 15 and tripled my stick stroking power between 35-50 years of age. Power can be built from nothing, like Charles quadrupling his stick stroke power through 13-years of training. I suspect you are speaking of the mystical power that erases men like heavyweight champions with one punch. Yes, that extraordinary power has to have a high natural basis before it is multiplied. Me hitting Tyson Fury twice as hard as I can will not help my cause, as I would need to quadruple my power to phase him. Hearns never lost power moving up in weight, nor did de La Hoya or Duran, they were just punching bigger people who could take more impact.]
Steroids do provide benefits to boxers (strength in clinch, strength in legs, probably muscular endurance and durability too) but the record is pretty clear that it isn’t like effect on a baseball hitter
[I know nothing about Roids. Bigger, stronger muscles only benefit boxers in terms of structural durability and injury recovery when banging around above their natural weight class. They do not help in the clinch but hurt. Fat guys and skinny guys benefit in the clinch, not muscle guys. Tyson Fury and the latter George Foremen basically hung their fat on smaller men and burned out their legs before knocking them senseless. Muscular men always have less stamina than skinny and fat men in terms of combat, provided they have the same fitness level. There are multiple reasons for this. I know zero about baseball. Sorry here.]
Guys gain BIG HR numbers juicing but boxers don’t suddenly become KO beasts
[Muscles slow down punches. So, while more meat increases the baseline weight it decreases the multipliers of speed and relaxation and has no effect on timing at best, and might degrade timing if the muscle is gained doing pushing, pressing and pulling motions.]
The reason for difference in my view is increased strength increases bat speed, which, because there is a HARD and rigid bat, is enough to dramatically increase HRs
[My stick experience shows flex-timing as being almost as important as stick speed, but I just do not know anything about batting mechanics.]
Very rare to see such thudding power like this (link) in a 115lb fighter like Inouye
[I watched this fight and he has the gift of being well knit and has multiplied this gift through training. This man has immense focus, near perfect rhythm sense and has a microflex timing that I cannot explain in writing but is a gift that can be multiplied or degraded but needs to be present naturally and might be that holy grail of power you seem to be reaching for here. Send me another prompt on this if you like.]
Punching power is a fragile muscle/coordination/flexibility/structure phenomena that can be RUINED far easier than it can be developed. This is why fighters traditionally don’t lift weights - even heavyweights
[Power is only fragile among people not naturally well suited for combat, both physically and mentally. Power is the last thing to go in a boxer or stick fighter, unless an injury ruins his shoulder, flexor tendon or back for instance. So, power among karate people, is very delicate. Power among boxers tends to be robust and rather constant, with KOs as much about who you are hitting as how hard you are hitting. Power with the stick is somewhere in between.]
That said, if you are a grown man and not a pro with KNOWN professional-grade power, I believe the other benefits of lifting far exceed any theoretical risk to your punching power
[Being strong in a self defense situation is super important. Power is nice, but I'd agree that strength has wider application. Please keep in mind that awareness and relaxation and rhythm and timing are all more important than either strength or striking power, especially with weapons. Strong men have always been my easiest opponents in the ring and on the pavement. Now, on the grass, strong dudes are less fun to beat up and foil.]
A boxing punch has a looseness & then a firmness at the terminal moment -it isn’t just a function of strength or hand speed.
[Yes. A punch, like a stick stroke, involves weight, speed, looseness, timing, terminal firmness, direction of target—adding his weight to your blow if he is stepping in—and hardness and stability of the striking surface. Bro, some hands are twice as hard as others. Some shins are like axe handles and some like pillows. Some sticks are soft and some ring like steel.]
Punching is also about bodyweight and a sort of “transfer” of the puncher’s weight to the point of strike - also leverage, even HAND weight & structure
[We tend to forget about the target weight shift potential and his weight.]
In short it is one of those weird things but in general it seems wider shoulder frame and heavy hands are common in big hitters
[Reach—meaning wingspan—and not arm length, like the gay HBO measurement, encompasses much of punching potential as a rotational action. It is more. Look at old time boxing measurements before a championship fight. Wrist thickness and hand size are a huge deal.]
That hand weight matters can be seen in both examining the hands of known world-class punchers and, even for yourself, in the use of hand weights (lead lined glove for instance or even a light, firm object held in the hand can make a dramatic difference)
[I look at hands as a baseline for potential when eying up aggressors and new fighters, since it requires the least mechanical adjustment to bring into play.]
(to comment about Holyfield and Morrison being known juicers) Yes and neither had any dramatic change to their power. Holyfield practically NEEDED to juice to even get to a heavyweight body. Tommy was pretty open in the end about WHEN he was juicing too. Mercer even admitted that he thought Tommy would gas out BECAUSE OF the juicing. Vargas, James Toney, the list is long of guys who definitely juiced but didn’t have any dramatic change to their power
[We are talking here about men who were small for their class beefing up. Also, in the case of a man who hooks more than throws straight, like Morrison, muscle helps more than a straight puncher.]
Compare to a horde of baseball players who went from doubles hitters to home run beasts…
-Marked Vantage

Thanks for the interesting walk through this. The bite size line formatting actually made it easy to address point by point.
Strength is always good and weight lifting for combat is most important in developing bone density and joint stability. I like dumbbells, not machines or barbells, as my focus is on joint stability and injury recovery. My guess is that machines and barbells are going to help increase bone density more. But I'll leave that for those who know to address.
For survival I like, from most to least important:
-Relaxation [this multiplies stamina and power, facilitates timing, maintains your strength and takes care of gaps in your awareness]
-Awareness
-Timing
-Durability, including stamina, robustness of bone, etc.
-Strength
-Power as dead last, since a knife requires none to terminate an encounter.
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Posted: 2021-07-19   reads: 628   ©2021  james lafond
Truescream Radio
Horror Semi-Serene: 6/30/21
As I write, I note various tolerances to the noise of the railing world.
I can write urban survival and commentary and combat advice while in a Portland Bar with sodomites wailing to anti-heaven against the Orange Man.
But deeper work I cannot do.
For a decade now I have prided my self on not being so distractable. I wrote a bakers dozen novels and as many books on masculinity while seated on the floorboards above Sensie Steve's office. We joked of this and it was not a mere matter of tuning him out. I was accessed numerous times by him as the veritable historian of the Acts of Karate Mechanical. His HVAC business.
I arrogantly thought I carried some inner peace which I had developed.
I tested it, writing some good material while on my Mother's couch next to Aunt Madeline, as they sat hypnotized before blaring game shows, lying news and insipid dramas.
With indistinct background noise, music, movies, teens cussing at each other and laughing while playing video games, a conversation in the kitchen upstairs at Bob's, Izzy and Amos chasing the amazon delivery driver off the road and into the creek at Toby's request as the snow pattered down on the trailer, these things permitted me to wrote anything at any level, including the hard stuff like fiction and history.
But since the nerve in my head leading to the right eye has begun to hum and buzz and grow warm, preceding the attack, and the other lesser eye has become involved, I find that I have tricked myself. I thought I had full command of my mind and could shield it from the buffets of the noisy world.
Much of the audio spectrum is tolerable based on tonality and background sound manipulations. Of late I have become intolerant of TV and movies of all kinds, particularly the subtextual soundtracks that attempt to guide our viewing of the story like a nudging chorus of knowing nymphs. Listening to ancient books read by British actors has been a great boon, a slave against the shrill screams of Modernity hissing through her tawdry nylon veil.
Thus an experiment.
I have a choice of sleeping with the door open or closed in the lofty hardwood hallway above the dinning concourse. Various constant audio noise is always wafting upward, from news to commercials to soap operas and daytime talk. The soap operas are the least distracting. I think it is the tonal quality.
My current schedule is something like this: sleep 12 hours, write 2 hours, sleep 2 hours, write 2 hours, sleep 2 hours and visit with my host for 4 hours.
Yesterday, I overdid the writing, finishing one book and starting another.
The right side of the brain began to warm and I knew I must lie down to abate the oncomming burn.
The land lady was gone, so the audio fare that did blare from downstairs was of material that I have much enjoyed and imbibed in the past, criticism of the very state of the world that has hounded me into hobohood.
I could not stand it and put on Herodotus.
Then the plaintive, pleading, shrill, and bitter voices of the dissidents began to echo-like intrude upon the serene reading, so I must close the door. I learned there last night that my peace of mind is yet dependent upon my body.
I have some work to do.
Then, when I came to my writing station another one of these voices, blaring bitterness and criticism in the tonal quality of eunuchs bemoaning their castration, echoed through the house. I could not write anything but this—and only after fleeing the tiny noise to the quietest corner of the mansion.
Here now I sit, where the household teens normally drink their wine coolers and shade themselves from the world.
I had thought I was somewhat better than this.
An analysis of voice disturbance has revealed to me that this is largely tonal, that shrill, bitter, complaint irritates the most. Such as this comprise most of dissident media more in line with my way of thinking, so I think it is the whining tone, the sissydom and the womanly bemoaning among these low-T males that bother me the most.
Next to that is to be found most galling the loudness of virtue and strident declarations of righteousness such as found on loyal opposition news stations such as Fox, News Max and One America News, Christian TV and radio, people with whom I hold various points of agreement and disagreement but do not find to be plotting my erasure and do not resent, but rather pity.
Next most irritating are alternative “truth seekers” such as Rogan, Carlson, Hancock and the like—people often much in line with my way of thinking and no matter how addled their perspective, for the most part those seeking truth strands within the sticky web of the lie.
The fourth most distracting batch of naddering ninnies are those commercial spokespersons, CNN news mongers, homosexuals, drug addicts, degenerates and politicians who are either deluded crusaders seeking to demonize any person who shares my gender and ancestry, or simply the most unsavory social climbers. These are people whose views and activities I roundly detest, yet they are by multiples less—many time less—irritating to me than those who I might find some sympathy for.
This latter group holds the key to the question, as they are the dominant current.
Lastly, and least irritating is the general crowd, the the barking dog in the room above me, the cussing bitchs and rapping bucks I will be passing as I hike out of West Baltimore this very time next week—these last actually being my foes who have and will hunted me my life long.
So, I have discovered it that irritates: it is the tone of discord, the bleating of the peeple, the moaning of the conquered, the wailing of the dispossessed, the pleading of the suppliants at their master's door. One understands why the gods made Enkidu to challenge Gilgamesh, out of an intolerance for hearing the mortal complaints constantly wafting up upon the altar smoke. There is nothing more detestable, I now find, than the complaint of the conquered that the boot that is on his neck should be upon another neck, a complaint that is so very often made the more shrill by the suppliant crying for my specific attention that he does not deserve to have the conqueror's boot upon his neck for the very reason that he declined to contest his bondage.
Fate, weave your wicked wiles on the loom of Time the more furious, so that I might learn before I leave to listen to the wailing of the conquered with as much ease as I do the wind wafting through autumn leaves.
Addendumn 7/2/21 10:06 P.M.
Intructionals, debates, criticism, things of such tones intrude into what I thought was a fortress. I never knew I spent so much energy fighting the tinny tiny voices pleading for my attention. Now I know. Tonight I sit with three lap dogs in a good man's study as they shiver against the noise of local fireworks—I think that they know I understand.
07.19.21   NC — Tic-Tok-Tic-Tok, midnight grows near.
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Posted: 2021-07-18   reads: 635   ©2021  nc
Harriet Tubman
How Does this Dirty Laundry Wash Out? Merlyn Brandbro Wants to Know
Kathryn Harris interviewed as Harriet Tubman - YouTube
Wed, Jun 23, 10:27 PM (11 hours ago) to me
-Merlyn Brandbro

How representative is this account of the reality of African Americans in Maryland in the 1840s?
Sir, Mrs. Tubman is one of the least interesting and least representative of the brutality of the slavery experience in Anglo-America. That is why she is the darling of the cause of revisionist history.
First, she was a Maryland slave, and the people of Maryland of all races had been trying to get rid of slavery since the 1780s. Indeed, white slave, David Holiday was finally manumitted after 38 years of slavery in Frederick County Maryland, nine years before Harriet got married in 1847. So many crimes were committed against ordinary folks by the African slaves of the elite who rampaged about at night that many measures, including freeing slaves of all races, sending the whites west and the Africans to Liberia, were hatched and put into practice.
Harriet's condition was typical of a Maryland slave, in that she had many life options while a slave compared to those “sold down the river” which is something her character rails against in this account. This bogus enactment is at once gaslighting and also enlightening if you can read between the lines.
Harriet can only recount one case of being physically disciplined by a master, and that was on the occasion when she dropped her mistress' baby and was smacked for it at age six. She can cite no other case of brutality. She does decry her slave mistress for assigning a six-year-old to watching a baby. As a lifelong resident of Maryland, I can tell the reader that I have observed hundreds of cases of 5 to 9-year-old children of her race being assigned to parent toddlers, including June of 2020 when a three-year-old being walked down an alley in Baltimore by his slightly older brother threatened me for not yielding at his word. Now that is some master-over-slave behavior!
Harriet states that both of her parents were pure African, indicating no history of master-slave-rape in her family. Though rape and also voluntary sexual relations between master and slave was common in The Plantation Era.
Harriet points out that she lived as part of a stable, multi-generational family owned by a white family. Two of her sisters would be sold to the Deep South, which she is pained about. Of course, in Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania, in the 1700s, white slaves were routinely beaten for the crime of having sex and getting pregnant, were forbidden to marry and had their children sold off. In Pennsylvania in 1748 German children were routinely sold out from under their parents on simple charges that a parent cursed in public or private. Her family condition, demonstrates the reality, that African were brought in as a breeding population by the white elite to replace the [hopefully] non-breeding white working class who were regarded as “trash,” and were intended to die off or drift into the hinterlands.
Harriet, like Frederick Douglas, William Wells Brown, Mister Kraft, Moses Roper, Henry Box Brown and other African American slaves of the early 1800s were taught to read and write, even though, as she states, it was often against the law. That is because these slaves were house slaves who were required to buy groceries, manage inventory and deliver messages for their masters. In contrast, almost no Irish or English slaves were literate.
Further, Harriet, like Frederick Douglas and the mother of Booker T. Washington, was permitted to marry and have an intact family. Like Frederick, she was permitted to marry a free person of color. She decries the fact that she needed her master's permission to marry, not mentioning that her slave mistress had needed her father's permission to marry and that permission for her was granted as it had been for the free white woman. In fact, in 1756, Mary Sprigg would be sold off and worked to death in Maryland for the crime of not obeying her English father.
Harriet complains that her husband, who hired himself out, had to pay room and board to his former owner. She does not mention that this former owner and her husband had the same exact arrangement that I had for 8 years with a black woman in Baltimore, by which she let me live under her roof so long as I paid her $120 a week in rent. Later, in her account, she describes how she hired herself out in Philadelphia in the same manner. She does not discuss whether she paid rent or not. Perhaps her immense privilege followed her to Pennsylvania.
Once in Philadelphia, Harriet describes how all of the African Americans there were free. She mentions nothing about the unfree Germans that still served 3-year terms there. She also seems to know nothing about the fact, that in the 1780s and 90s it had been against the law for George Washington to hold a black slave in Philadelphia for more than 6 months without freeing them. This was at the same time when European Children were being sold for terms of up to 31 years in Pennsylvania, and was a cause of Washington wanting to free his blacks and replace them with Germans. The reason for this ordinance in late 1700s Philadelphia may have been the same for similar laws in Baltimore at that time, that the African slaves of the super elite were robbing, raping, murdering and burglarizing ordinary Americans of all races by night.
At this point, I became sick of this half-fraudulent exercise in acting.
I would note that the accounts of half white or ¾ white slaves such as William Wells Brown and Moses Roper, who suffered great brutality, are never used for such purposes. Additionally, the two white slave narratives we have from 1830-40s Maryland, which get almost all the press, were of a man and a woman who were permitted to marry a free person of color and who were taught to read and write and were helped in their desire for freedom by white Marylanders and were discouraged from running away by other African Americans.
Another popular account is that of Solomon Northup, who was free before and after his bondage, was not held for life, and was married to a free black woman and had free black children and was, like Harriet and Frederick, and Mister Kraft, aided in his desire for freedom by whites of the highest social strata.
It is quite suspicious that our elite academics and media take every opportunity to erase working people of any race from the historical record, and focus only on the tiny intellectual class, even when discussing forced labor and bondage.
America's hunger for a lie to worship as a bright shining truth remains insatiable.
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Posted: 2021-07-17   reads: 822   ©2021  james lafond
Cultural Whack-a-mole?
Crux Cross Wonders about Nation State Suicide as an Ethnic Survival Strategy
The following email was received sometime in April just before my eyes failed. It is being addressed, today, 6/22/21.
James, 
Thank you for the WW post. I feel like the goat-sheep analogy is going to pop into my head for some time forward. Like I might wake up in the middle of the night sometime soon and with an insight into where exactly I fall in that analogy. I’m not looking forward to that but I sense it’s coming.
Meanwhile, I’ve got an analogy for you, based on something, but mostly intuition and sheer speculation. First the speculation: France purposefully tanked it in WWII. Because their casualties were so high in WWI. So they —whoever the main decision makers were or just by some group decision making thing, decided on a just let it happen, stay alive, rely on “allies,” alliances, deals. I speculate their plan was to fight enough to preserve honor, save the population core, and wait for rescue from the West. I speculate they knew figured the UK, and especially the USA and USSR would eventually take  Germany down, and that Germany’s conquest would flounder. That the French wouldn’t start speaking German and the German’s wouldn’t stick around long enough. I speculate they knew and factored in the various tangible and intangible costs, including such things as a certain percentage of young madamoisselles taking up with Hans instead of Lionel, and made a sort of cold hearted mathematical rational decision to dive. Important point: I’m not positing one tactical one week dive, I’m talking about a dive of 10-15 years making, pre-dating the Nazi’s even. 
I have no primary or secondary source information except as follows.
The entire basis of my speculation is that I had the chance, many years ago, of visiting a few dozen small villes, villages, small cities, south of Paris, and I remember eventually being struck by how every one of them had the WWI memorial statue in the center of town or near the main railroad station or something. And the plague with the names of the dead listed. And the lists had clumps of guys with the same last name. Brothers? Cousins? Father and son? Uncle and nephew? Some of these were small rural basically abandoned towns. WTF? Like 12 guys and 3 of them are so and so and another 2 are such and such?!? And if the clumps aren’t bad enough, when you start doing the math, ‘Ok, the village hall, the church, the ___, that means ... X # of private houses. And there are a Y dead?!? Ok, so there are those farm houses out there.... Then later you check the main stream reports and even they’re like, yeah, just a mind-blowing (for me) casualty rate. 
So they made alliances, knocked themselves out in all sorts of ways and... And it worked!! It worked! They were spared —well, spared compared to lots of others! Genius! Except for a small nagging blow to their pride. Big whoop. We won! But then, years, decades later.... McDonalds. I’m not kidding. McDonald’s. Highways. Suburbs. Everything worked —I’m speculating now about what went through and what goes their minds— everything worked, the Americans even left. But they didn’t leave. McDonald’s. Mc—@#%$ing!!!—Donald’s. That was a price they didn’t see coming. That’s the nudge. The rub.  The ride never ends. They stayed alive. Won on one level of keeping their nation alive, but lost in another, maybe more important way.
Here’s the analogy: Euro-Americans now are the French, between the wars. 
I’ve got to flesh this out.
-Crux Cross

My instinct is to regard the French strategy, which I always thought was obvious, as analogous to Indian reservation strategies adopted by the drunken and unwarlike and feminine aspects of the tribes as an alternative to the fate of Metacomet, Tecumseh, Dragging Canoe, Looking Glass, Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse. Every military thinker on both sides of WWII knew who would win. The only real question was who would get the German scientists. While the dreaming dickhead with the stash led his nation into suicide, the psycho, the drunk and the gimp were simply sharing in the killing of 70 million souls as a means of acquiring the world's best rocket scientists.
Crux, maybe some comments here can help you with the rest. I have spent the past few years traveling about the nation and have happened across various monuments to its shaping. Let me recall some monuments placed by victorious conquerors returned home and place them in context.
In Baltimore, there are numerous monuments in stone placed by the victors of various wars. These monuments share three fates:
-pillaged of bronze by drug addicts
-removed as offensive by transexual advocates
-overgrown and hidden and unheralded by their few advocates to prevent desecration.
What surrounds these monuments:
-drunk and drug-saturated white elites
-drunken and drug-saturated black and white underclass
In Enumclaw, Washington stands a monument to 10,000 men who died clearing the forest on that once clothed that highland of end moraines at the foot of Mount Rainier. The descendants of these men are nearly all gone as the descendants of white urban elites who drove them west with laws and immigrants, now settle down to drink and do drugs and speak of how cutting down a tree is a crime and that hunting for meat is out of step with the vegan times.
Small towns in Pennsylvania: Reading, Lancaster, Oakdale, Ephrata, Bellavue, included, have many banners and plaques commemorating the the liberation of France from the only evil force in world history. None of the locals under 60 read these banners or monuments. The rest of the population are mostly not locals, but aspirational and elite class whites who have fled the rampant crime they cultivated in larger cities. The other immigrants are their drug-providers, the downtrodden folk of color who have migrated to these places largely to sell drugs to the guilt stalked scions of the Dreaming West. Pennsylvania is overdose central, where the locals being replaced by those both over and under them in the social order commit opiate suicide in the shadow of young, smiling grunts of their great grandfather's time photographed before they were sent a half a world away to kill and die for a bigger slice of the American Pie.
In Baltimore, the furthest gone of these replacement zones, being converted to finish the globalist work of WWII, the American Legion post across U.S. Route 1 from the grocery store I used to manage, which is now out of business, has been bought by the Pakistani owners of the bar where I used to eat breakfast before heading into work. That American Legion Post has been converted into liquor and beer storage for the bar across the side street, where you can no longer sit at a table and eat, and is itself a sign post in the shape of a building, flying the banners of money making representing the major brewing and distilling corporations.
Ultimately, anything won by the sacrifice of men whose sons have a price, will be sold. This seems to render the conquerors and the conquered of our hallowed wars equally into the pimps of the Quean of all Whores—and we, their scions, little more than bastards toiling in the shadow of that looming edifice that we are told is a church, though it is the brothel of our birth.
07.22.21   Sam J. — Crux Cross that is a damn good theory about the French and I can say that the French won doing this or at least lost less.
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Posted: 2021-07-16   reads: 853   ©2021  sam j.
‘In This Domain of the Gutter’
Part Two of Concluding Impressions Myth of the 20th Century by Alfred Rosenberg #11
Reading from pages 431-60 of Myth of the 20th Century, the 1982 Black Kite Edition
Alfred Rosenberg conducted a heroic examination of his People’s condition, tracing their triumphs, tragedies and traditions. His effort was flawed, but surely so is this effort at both summarizing, buttressing in some places and critiquing in other places, his effort. Rosenberg paid the ultimate mortal price for heresy, for fighting against the worship of material accumulation, currency, money, economy of scale, human exploitation, cultural negation and spiritual castration. As proof of his heroic efforts he was killed for his attempt to stave off oblivion with the expression of ideals. He was killed in the age of ideals, when men usually killed men as a pretext to better their enemy’s condition. And so Rosenberg became a casualty in a 100 million person industrial slaughter house dedicated on all side to the betterment of the human condition.
Ironically, the man who called for a Greater Israel in the Middle East, who wrote over and over again that every people should have a homeland, is now nearly erased, and generally vilified when not, supposedly because he advocated worldwide genocide, when his ideological crusade, at least so far as I have been able to determine in this book of his, written in 1930, was dedicated to saving first his people, and by extension all others, from the great cultural and spiritual erasures of Capitalism, Communism, Socialism and Democracy.
Did he end up getting in over his head and getting involved in the doomed war efforts of his master, who had declared his book all but unreadable?
I do not know.
My task was to examine this book, a task I would have completed in 500 words if its subject was predominantly 20th century politics and ideology. Outside of war gaming military methods for recreational purposes, I do not regard the study of the industrial wars of the 20th century or the political power structures waging these wars, to be worthy of my time. Before the Guns of August roared in 1914, the Aryan soul had already been twisted and corrupted beyond all decency. The Indo-European races had long since been seduced by their own conquered enemies and servants into an industrial level pursuit of paradise on earth, of a garden of the gods created by man that would serve as is stairway to the heavens where he would people the stars and supplant any earlier notion of divinity in his crazed quest to fence in infinity.
I tolerated Rosenberg’s work because he casts numerous useful lights on the Aryan past, on the journey of the sons of the Almighty Sky into the wicked arms of the blue eyed daughters of Zeus and like Enkidu, Achilles, Heracles, Jason, Samson and legions of forgotten heroes before and among them, embracing oblivion rather than treading the imperishable path. For the European, his rise and his fall, his genius and his folly, are naturally vested in his unequaled Will, the burden of Atlas taken on crippling his promethean vision. Alfred charts the decline of the Titans in sometimes brilliant sometimes tedious style, but always with soul.
I would leave the reader with a few quotes from Rosenberg’s final chapter. The author should have the last word, rather than his reviewer:
“Out of liberal cowardice our leader refused to recognize this before 1914…”
“…Kalergi, is part European and part Japanese. He is thus a suitable man to announce the old demand for an epoch of decline and for a faceless united state.”
“It is inevitable that both missionaries and opium dealers and other dubious adventurers will have to leave China.”
“The honourless rule of money must, by necessity, strive for world rule by creating world debt.”
The old boy nailed quite a few predictions, largely because what is so surprising to us in our gaslit hive was clear to the reasonable mind before the curtain came down.
And here we are, 90 years later, sinking in a sea of debt.
-James LaFond, Friday, January 8, 2021, Cascadia
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Posted: 2021-07-14   reads: 915   ©2021  james lafond
Truth or Survival?
Speaking with Rusty Maskland Mania, Nomads & Citizens, Jack London and Writing and Fiction
Rusty experimented with letting me speak at a low tone so it doesn't rattle the eye nerve and decided to record the resulting conversation.
We are shooting on doing it again after the leaves fall.
Part One
Part Two
07.14.21   Sam J. — The first part is great. James is always so good at breaking down so that they make sense.
07.14.21   Sam J. — The address for part 1 and part 2 are the same. Part 2 should be

https://rustyvignettespodcast.libsyn.com/website/james-lafond-files-how-things-are-part-2
07.14.21   michael collins — Awesome!
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Posted: 2021-07-14   reads: 968   ©2021  michael collins
Audio Knave
Is There Anymore Crackpot Podcasting or Hobo Historicizing on the Whorizon?
“I am really excited about you doing podcasts with a pay wall. I plan on subscribing to the site once you post your first podcast on the site.”
Take care James,
Michael Collins.

Sir, I feel real bad about this.
Of late, I have even been avoiding social engagements because speaking causes the nerve going to my eye to light up and begin the need for medication. I only get 9 doses a month. So I ration it for reasons of supply and because the medicine has negative effects.
I finally got my writing groove back by sleeping 12 hours, writing 2, napping 2, writing 2 and then listening to audio books for the rest of the day. I walk 2 miles a day at a gentle pace to keep from rattling the nerve.
My recent experiments with the condition have shown that eye use is worse then getting punched in the head and that talking loudly is the worst, with normal conversational tone bringing on a seizure in an hour or so.
I am putting off recording anything that won't take a low tone. If I can half-whisper and it can be picked up on a recording, then I'll do that. This probably means the need for a person doing sound in the same space as me. If that happens, it happens.
Speaking of which, there are over a dozen hobo history videos at about 20-30 minutes each in the can with Incognegro. However, it takes him a long time to do the sound and he is swamped with post-Brovid summer work, supporting and home schooling his children, moving his studio, etc.
So there is audio and even video of me out there on subjects from the Ottomon Empire, to Disease in history and historical reviews of such movie as Django Unchained, Mandingo and others.
It looks like I will have to back out of a couple of tentative podcasts with the Myth 20 crew because of this health issue. However, I will be spending some time in July with The Brick Mouse and will ask him to make some recordings which may be placed who knows where. If this happens, I will let you know.
Thanks for the kind thoughts, Michael.
James, Suburbia New Jersey, 7/2/21
07.15.21   doctor here..... — If you need any medical advice lemme know... Hope you feel better....
07.14.21   michael collins — Thanks for the info James. I really hope you feel better!
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Posted: 2021-07-13   reads: 875   ©2021  michael collins
Chinese Collins?
An American Expat in Chicomistan Clues in the Crackpot
[Crackpot comments in brackets. I was looking into my Michael Collins files and have had trouble with losing material after a computer meltdown and am not sure if I addressed this email before. If I have, hopefully I contradict myself below. This file is dated 4/29/21. His Bully Odyssey will begin posting on 7/20/21]
Email from Michael Collins:
Thank you for your reply James!
I wrote this last night and I was a little tired and I didn’t want to write too much like I have in the past, so I left out some details about the police presence here. Now that I know you are interested, I want to give you a few more relevant details.
I consider China a civilization not a country. Everything is regional. So take everything I say with a grain salt. I have lived in China off an on since 2018. I don’t know Mandarin.
In some major tier 1 cities like Beijing or Shanghai, you have to provide a passport or ID card to even purchase a kitchen butchers knife in the grocery store. The knives are locked up. In a sense it makes very little difference. Just show ID and you still get the blade. Also though I have never tried, you can buy practically anything you want online in china. Including knives, swords which appear to be real swords. I don’t read Chinese but my expat friend who can says that they are real swords. You can also buy bowie knives online.
[The difference in municipal and state codes in America concerning edged weapons is only surpassed in complexity and idiocy by the case law.]
Once I had 2 folding pocket knives from home depot in my suitcase going through a metal detector at a train station. The guards found them. Confiscated them. Made me show id and sign my name. No fines, no arrest, no interrogation, they just let me go. I have been arrested, (or maybe detained would be a better word) in China for teaching while my work permit was still being processed. That was a close call. I almost got kicked out of the country.
[You know that the U.S. Has more prisoners in jails and penal institutions percapita than any nation on earth? I think we do more solitary confinement than all other nations combined. That factoid is 3 years old, so might be out of date. This is an impulse of democratic governments that can clearly be seen in the ancient sources. I'm sure the chinks kill a lot more prisoners than in the U.S. Many tiny ancient Greek democracies had prisons run by slaves to lock away their own people. My point is, I think in a democracy, state functionaries develop a mania for wielding power on a small scale to its potential, like cops getting blow obs at traffic stops. A woman I know who was traveling with her husband and children and is very feminine of form and dresses conservatively, was singled out to be felt up by TSA agents this summer. They just had to cop a feel in front of her family. Darius, King of Kings, would have had a soldier of his that did this executed for dishonor.]
I have seen armed police/military guarding important infrastructure like train stations or airports. And also armed guards transporting money, or at least what appeared to be money.
[Note that in the U.S. The police mainly watch people, not crucial facilities. Indeed, national guard is mostly used for acting against U.S. Citizens not securing power plants and water sources. Is it interesting that the military is not allowed to use force against invaders that hop the border fence? But they can be brought into keep citizens from gathering to protest government actions? Our water and power is very unsecured. I see these as simply different styles of oppression based on the instincts engendered in system functionaries by the mechanisms of power they operate.]
In most cities tier 2 and tier 1 there are subways with metal detectors. I read that you can get hard plastic knives through these detectors but I have never tried. My city doesn’t have a subway, that’s how small this city is. But even in the big cities you could still carry a knife if you just used a taxi or walked everywhere. I don’t recall metal detectors for just normal stores and things like that.
[Cary a rolled up magazine with a rubber band fixing it into a baton.]
Below are ramblings, only read if your eyes are good and you find it of interest.
In regards to delusional americans. I was talking to an expat friend of mine here. He complains about china all the time and he can’t wait to go back to florida because America is still the best country in the world. We started talking about gun laws and self defense. I mention the legal nightmare of defending yourself in America and then he says, in florida we got stand your ground laws. In my mind I wanted to say, laws don’t matter, who interprets the law matters and what agenda they have matters, but I just grinned and nodded my head and then changed the subject.
[This is why TV drama is so important in forming the American Mind. The good guy, at some point, in many TV dramas and movies is locked up and handcuffed and surrenders to the state. He is then acquitted in court. Even if it is a movie about a guy doing 30 years and then being exonerated, the focus on American entertainment media is the day in court where we will be acquitted. Every person who knows Maryland law, for instance, knows that even if he is a cop and he is attacked by a gunman in his house, that he must surrender his weapon to responding officers. Then, if he is not a cop, he will be handcuffed and processed like a criminals. If he is a cop—and this happened to a cop neighbor of mine—he will be relieved of duty and assumed guilty until proven innocent until he is exonerated. The promise of exoneration, is made by the media to get us all to accept temporary incarceration. Thus we have been inculcated with the slave mind set that being in chains is only bondage if it is forever. This same mind set underpins our false view of the history of forced labor in the U.S.]
I realize I was wasting my time and acting feminine by trying to convince someone of something. Also he is kind enough to invite me into his home with his wife and daughter, I don’t want to be some asshole contradicting him all the time in front of his family. He studied Chinese martial arts in china, traditional soft arts and the hard kickboxing sanda art for 5 years. He’s really a blessing to have as a friend because we both try to train once a week. He also wants to get into weapons training. But we are both debating on what protective gear to get and what to use as a weapon, what should our budget be etc. We also are going to start grappling in the future.
[With such a good friend I would never wish to waste time discussing anything but immediate concerns like how to hit harder, train safer, find the best wife for you, etc.]
Taking the different seasons into account, how would you conceal 1 or 2 butcher knives?
[You can do this, and I have, but it is something you only do if you intend to slaughter someone, not for defense. Keep the big knives for home defense.]
I personally am thinking that at the moment butcher knives are for home and I am going to pick up some type of stiletto or thin but long switch blade.
[I like a small skinning knife. Your carry knife has to work good for your hand and attire and mindset, so get what feels right.]
I am also considering getting a hatchet, a quality steel hammer and maybe a machete.
[Great weapons and great tools. Always opt for something that is not just a weapon, so you get duel use, more practice in the hand and have an excuse for having it.]
But I wonder if this is feminine, maybe I am buying too many tools. I only have two hands.
[This tool gathering behavior is masculine hoarding at its finest. Assign each tool or weapon a place and two purposes in your home.]
But these tools stroke my already fragile ego what can I say I got a problem.
[We all have a problem the day we get bio-wrecked on this shithole planet. I have lots of problems.]
What would you rather have 2 butcher knives or a butcher knife with a hatchet or hammer.
[Screwdriver and hammer from under a high guard.]
I was also thinking of ditching the hatchet for a 2 handed ax, mag light and fire extinguisher in case of a fire which in my opinion is more likely than a home invasion, especially the way these yellow bastards drop burning cigs on the ground and walk away.
[If you have a hammer, get an ax instead of a hatchet as it will round out your tool kit and will be handy in case of a building collapse or fire.]
I plan on eventually buying combat gloves that look like motorcycle gloves. This tool basically strengthen my hands and I can wear them basically at all times.
[Great idea. Against a knife attack, practice slapping the blade back down with the back of your left hand that has that hard plastic knuckle guard and than grabbing his wrist with the right hand.]
And then I also want to pick up some type of boots that weaponize my feet. But I need to find something comfortable.
[Try Keene hiking boots with rock guards. They are heavy and there is no rim between the sole and the upper to trip you up. They wear like sneakers for Frankenstein.]
Take care James,
Michael Collins.
07.16.21   DvF — If you grind and sharpen that thing, somebody will say it is a weapon.
07.14.21   Sam J. — I've said this before but I think a long handled sharp shooter or Drain Spade is great weapon for the house. It has a folded straight guard that you put you're foot on. Grind that off and sharpen it up so if someone tries to grab the end (the foot rest you push down on)it will cut their hands. It's like a spear so no one can get close to you. That sharpened point will fuck someone up. No one can say that it's anything but a tool.

https://images.homedepot-static.com/productImages/80515970-78be-421b-b9b6-8ca6e72f8e55/svn/hisco-shovels-hisssb14l-64_1000.jpg

If you get one spend some money and get the strong fiberglass handle and a long one.
07.13.21   NC — Court in the street
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Posted: 2021-07-13   reads: 833   ©2021  nc
'Reading Between the Cheeks'
Manuel Wiseman Samuel Wants to Know what the Crackpot Knows about Buck Breaking
Buck Breaking | Know Your Meme
Sun, Jun 20, 10:48 PM (12 hours ago)
to me
"James, you call yourself a historian? How come you have never written about the buck breaking? James, you pride yourself on reading between the lines of history. But you have obviously failed to read between the cheeks!"
-Manuel Wiseman Samuel
Sent from my iPhone

Sir, I am ashamed that I have not found a single reference among the dozens of black slave narratives I have read for getting publically fucked in the ass by the master. I would have to say, that getting sodomized by the master would be a triple sin at the time, because it would also qualify as incest, since, the masters of such men as Fredrick Douglas and Moses Roper where their biological fathers. Maybe this is why no one talked or wrote about it.
...
Buck Breaking Then
To the best of my ability, I will recall the means of buck breaking used in the final 30 years of institutionally sanctioned slavery in America, which is the only span of time that historians care about. How did they keep their negro slaves in line?
I will recount these from least to most severe.
-Private beating by the master as a fellow black trustee looks on in the barn. This was tried by Freddie's daddy, and Freddie whooped his ass and that house negro's butt too!
-Public beating by a low status white man as the master looks on. The low status whites were given whiskey to do this.
-Assigning the slave's mother to harsh field duty until he behaves.
-Virginia fair play, by which a light-skinned negro or a kidnapped boy from Ohio who mistakenly claims to be white, is smoked over tobacco in a tobacco shed, burning his eyes and tanning his hide so he cannot pass for white.
-Public beating with whips of various kinds and especially paddles, by big black slaves [as depicted in one of the graphics on the meme article linked above, with a slave master looking on as a mixed race person whips the negro], intended to kill the buck. I read an account of this from Richmond set in 1857.
-Burning alive, which was done up through the late 1850s.
As far as rape, the three classes of people that slave masters used rape on the most were:
-English slave boys worked to death between 1617 and 1740s, when there was an extreme lack of female slaves of all races in English North America.
-Irish and German girls, who were raped by black bucks at the command of the white slave master, so as to breed a mixed race baby that could be held in his mother's condition by law, and whose birth would encourage the mother not to run away and to stay, once her term of enslavement was up.
-Black women, who were given as sex slaves to brothers and cousins to breed a smarter buck for house work and messenger service. William Wells Brown was the product of such a union. The fact that his mother was held as a slave by a cousin of his master, kept him from running away for years, as he feared she would be punished for his absence.
As usual, the historic reality is much more brutal than the infantile modern imagination can conjure in the depraved precincts of his echo-chamber soul.
Buck Breaking Now
Below are methods I have used in the past few years, of breaking the spirit of unruly bucks who were threatening me or others.
-Placing my hand on hickory cane—“Oh, excuse me sir!”
-Presenting umbrella as bayonet and rifle—“Sorry, wrong white man!”
-Looking the buck directly in the eyes with my one unpatched eye and saying, “Hey man, how ya' doing?” All three of these guys shivered and shook and backed into the street or lot away from me.
-Tipping my hat and saying, “Good morning, Sir,” resulting in slack jawed face of fright.
-Stopping in front of the large young man eyeing me for a mugging and putting my hands on my hips, sweeping the duster aside so that I can draw my knife, causing him to run int a Plaid Pantry for refuge from the risen soul of an ancient fiend...
-A month ago, as I dug an alley parking pad in Baltimore City, I waved to a great big stalking buck and gave a nod of respect as I held my pick-ax in the other hand...
-Oh yes, a few hours later, when walking to the Dollar Store for gatorade without my mask on, a large NBA-guard sized buck with two 80-pound pitbulls on a leash, standing on the sidewalk, blocking it, with his mask on, saw that I was coming, breathing death without a mask. He retreated in horror from my death-winged progress down the road of doom..
-My favorite, as a large boxer buck and I stepped out onto the dock of a store to have a bare knuckle fight, some 40 years ago, was to remind him to keep his apron on, since his green shirt with yellow stripes would surely be fouled by my prodigious bleeding, causing him to surrender.
Now, since I dearly like pussy, and particularly black girls, and I know that they like white dick because they figure it was less likely to have been in a man's ass than a dark dick, why would I want to publically sodomize any of my chattel while in Baltimore? I mean, I'm looking for breeders to conquer, even if their incubators are retired.
In the interest of perpetuating my reign of terror, and in light of the fact that I have lost my time machine and can no longer travel back to 1860 and rape one of Wade Hampton's bitches in the barn, it strikes me as a waste of time to dirty my aging member in Taweek Gnawsheed's posterior.
Please do note, that I am owning my crimes against black humanity.
I once owned a time machine. How I lost it could be the subject of another article.
I have raped nearly every American black woman of the early 1800s.
This means that I am almost every African American man's great grand daddy.
I deserve some respect and would like to have a million man march in my honor on Father's Day, 2022.
-James "Ancient Evil" LaFond, 6/21/21
07.13.21   Thawtcriminowitz — Bwhahahaha
07.13.21   NC — Legend!
07.12.21   Don Quotays — Well played.
07.12.21   Bilbo Jangles Robinson Crusoe — Weren't there four original tribes, the 'Mon Backs, the Hodeedohs, the Gwine-ups and the Shinesuhs?
07.12.21   Chimp Sackless — Superlative - sir!
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Posted: 2021-07-12   reads: 1109   ©2021  chimp sackless
Matriarchy Notes from China
Michael Collins Writes the Crackpot from the Celestial Kingdom
[Crackpot comments are in brackets.]
This is a side note on Chinese society and women. So china is a complete matriarchical society. China reminds me of that saying by Aristotle, “What does it matter if women rule or if women rule the rulers, the outcome is the same.”
[I think that matriarchy, or the development of a maternal worldview within a mothering society, happens to all civilizations and eventually results in slutiarchy, the worship of whoredom. I am in Jersey, right now, and am listening to the great human interest story of the day, about a twitter media darling who is being courted by Hollywood as the next Hemingway. She is famous and a moral pillar of Modernity because she worked in a Hooters in Detroit, where her large breasts inspired a female customer to convince her to drive to Florida to dance in strip clubs. Her epic story is being touted as an American Odyssey. I mean what could go wrong about driving 1,200 miles with another dumb bitch to sell your ass to hip hop bikers? Submission is the chief value of maternal society. So passive status will continue to increase among the vaginal estate until it collapses.]
Women rule here. The men have to give over most if not all of their paycheck to the wife every month and she keeps it usually in a separate bank account. If she gets a job, that’s her money not “their” money. And usually she won’t use it for paying bills, though if she is a good woman she will use it to invest in something. Women rule the cottage industries here. If a man makes it big here, then he usually gives money for his wife or female relative to invest in something and manage it while he plays and fucks girls. The man still has to pay for everything and the women still complain that they are mistreated.
[I would posit that these and other women rule most men on behalf of the few men who hold the reigns of true power. If you make somethings rare, like women, it will gain more value. In this way, I think that masculine men in the Vaginal Corporate Future, will have high currency and the option of agency, while low-T drones will suffer as they should. After all, a husband is “house bound” has been enslaved with pussy and paternal obligation too generate tax revenue for his master.]
From what I gather men “hide” about 1/3 of their money from their wives. Rich men cheat a lot and have soft harems. Divorce is only allowed if both parties mutually agree. Which I actually agree with this law. Men have to buy a house and pay a dowery. Women are in such low supply high demand that even an ugly non-virgin woman in her 30’s can still get a husband and dowery.
[While Muslim men were known by U.S. Veterans of WWII to be brutal to their women, Chinese men were known to be cruel to their animals instead, arguing for a very old Civilization.]
Another interesting thing is that when I first came to china, I thought to myself wow most of the women are really ugly. Then I noticed that all the attractive women are sleeping during the day and working some type of “sex work” night job.
[Priestesses of money.]
One last thing I thought you might find interesting. Being publically intoxicated is not a crime in china. Walking with an open container in public, not a crime. 
[The puritan aspect of American society, that we make laws about what I can eat and drink, enforced by military goon squads, is a prelude to laws against what I can speak and think, which is where Chinese and American Corporations and their judicial arm—being the vestigial state—will come together in agreement.]
If you get a DUI, I heard you lose your license for life. Drug dealers get the death penalty. I personally am ok with this. Also owner of a company who sold toxic baby food which resulted in dead or retarded babies got the death penalty. Thats a lot different from our American MK-ultra projects where the government actively gives all sorts of toxic substances to its people. And i'm not positive on this but i think flouride is banned from being put in the water here. 
[Chinese civilization seems, from my shallow reading, to trust to the action of Civilization itself to soften the man's mind and render him into a willing, decadent slave. Look at what eating Chinese food and banging Chinese slave girls did to the Mongols in a mere three generations. This contrasts sharply with Western Civilization, which seems so impatient with the emasculating effects of domestication that aggressive mind control measures, from the Magna Carta, The Inquisition, the formation of the Jesuit Order, creation of the Church of England, vagarancy laws, creation of the Plantation System, Houses of Correction and Penitentiaries, down through all the political isms of false religion called ideology to the War on Drugs and the art of advertising and the hoodoo of psychiatry, demonstrates a rampant systemic thirst to extinguish the agency of the human mind.]
I am really excited about you doing podcasts with a pay wall. I plan on subscribing to the site once you post your first podcast on the site.
[I have promised the Myth 20 crew one more podcast at their convenience. If I can speak loud enough to be recorded. Lynn is working on finding some technology that will permit me to mumble-whisper through an occasional call to be placed on substack.]
Take care James,
Michael Collins.
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Posted: 2021-07-11   reads: 1079   ©2021  james lafond
Bondage and Imperial Decline
Marcus Mickus Wonders about Historical Parallels for the Near Future
“We are obviously in a period of imperial decline—I've fought for this empire on two continents and its obvious. My question is, how did the end of Rome, its final stages of decline, change slavery? Did that bring in the concept of indentured servitude? And how might that serve as a model for what is to come?”
-Marcus Mickus, Saturday, 6/19/21 as the rain pattered in the canopy above our patio seats

The word slavery takes much deconstruction, as it has been politicized, as does the word servant. The concept of being “indentured” is an anachronistic academic corruption of the realty of being “indented” in early English Modernity. Leaving aside the first two of these misleading words and saving the state of being “indented” for later, let's state that during the Plantation Era, from roughly 1550 through 1861, that the blanket legal term under which all forms of forced labor, including some 15 other stations such as made, boy, girl and transport, and unfree living was “bond man” or “bond woman.”
What we are discussing is the varying fate of human bondage and how this state fluctuated with the fortunes of the State [traditional, feudal, imperial, and industrial nation states included] over time and particularly in decline.
The decline of Rome was not just the fall of the Imperium, or of Rome as an entity that had existed as a traditional, feudal, republican and imperial entity as each in its turn failed and was rebooted, but the actual fall of Antiquity. This was essentially the failure of agrarian-based imperial forms of exploitation governance in the face of pastoral pressure from the barbarian hinterlands which now came equipped with the stirrup.
The feudal order ushered in by Asiatic, Germanic, Arabic and Norse invasion did not extinguish any form of slavery. It did, along with the semantic sensibilities of Christianity, which had become the moral operating system for Christendom—formerly Rome—reduced chattel slavery to a punishment of earthly damnation. Formerly, to be owned by another person was the fate of most. Now, to be the abject property of an individual was generally a punishment for failing to please God. Beginning about 500, the slave of a person, became the slave of the land, absolving Christian masters from the taint of trafficking Christians. This was in large part a rural re-interpretation of bondage after the fall of an urban civilization that had been based on agriculture but also divorced from it in an inauthentic way. Now that the ruling class lived within scent of dung heaps and in sight of plow boys, moral distance was desired.
The other difference in bondage ushered in by the Fall or Rome and the Rise of Christendom, was that slave trading itself was outsourced to Heathens, Muslims and other non-Christian parties. In many ways, banking as we know it, totally divorced from national or local identity and being an autonomous macro-parasitic international operating system, began when the Christian ruling class's desire for bond men and bond women, coupled with their public relations needs not to be seen whipping gangs of chained slaves from Christian Austria, over the alps, to be sold in Italy to Africans, Arabs and Turks. Another party needed to be employed.
Likewise, when Christendom fell to the Mercantile Nation State between 1543 and 1648, those nations positioned to engage in maritime activity by way of the technology of sailing ships, had a very real need of two things:
-1. redefining a justifiably Christian state of bondage based on the Biblical crime of failing to show “fruits” from one's labors
-2. divorcing this state of bondage from its traditional feudal multi-generational attachment to the land.
Bondage systems have always been based on the ideal of debt:
-Antiquity: debt to the conqueror for sparing your life
-Christendom: debt to the landlord for shelter and protection
-Plantation Era: debt to society for failure to economically thrive and for crimes
-Industrial Era: debt to the government for protecting your dependents while you work away from home and for permitting your employer to access natural resources for you to turn into finished goods
-Atomic Age: debt to creditors for loans, debt to government for freedom of speech, debt to society for crimes when in prison, debt to government for police protection...
The question is, what forms of debt will be used to achieve bondage of the individual for the purpose of economic extraction, which has been the only historical use of state systems since antiquity?
What we see above is an increase over the ages of debt complexity, with more ways to fall into debt and also of voluntary compliance, such as the belief that paying taxes is a social contract and not a farming system.
The process has been skewed by the continual introduction of less productive people, through immigration and off-shoring, to replace highly productive people at cheaper rates. This has resulted in the need, amplified by economy of scale and automation, for the system to elevate the less productive folk to overseer status and bind the more productive folk as a debtor class.
I see this taking three forms:
-Financial debt schemes will continue to expand, particularly in the direction of renting over buying of living space becoming the norm.
-Atheism and media machinations will be used to place producers into medical debt, with medical systems and law enforcement beginning to blend, and to include social debt. For instance, unvaccinated people will be denied insurance, employment and access to facilities and services.
-Original Sin, an ancient and hallowed social debt scheme, is even now being reapplied as racial guilt and will be expanded to medical guilt by applying the current mechanics of thought criminality. Those people who have been placed by both the Leftist and Rightist thinkers of the false polarity of America, as the scions of the races that were supposed to have been the people whom Western Civilization worked for, at the expense of toiling others, will be assigned race-based debt, translated into taxes, tithes, prohibitions and even direct, individual reparations. Currently, every one I know who holds a job above the service industry, must undergo regular indoctrination into the Cult of Anachronistic Guilt.
Indentured was not an actual term, but a later obfuscation of the condition of being “indented.” Note that we do not say indebtured, but indepted. For even our system of exploitation clearly recognizes that the person who has taken out a loan, is not the actor, but the subject of the actor. The figure of the loan shark is instructive. The debtor has made one submissive action out of need, desire, desperation of even greed. But that one submissive action causes a chain of monthly aggressive actions against him for years and even decades. If he fails to comply, legal action may be taken, including repossession, eviction, fines, penalties, etc.
Just as “indented” servant men of the Plantation Era were acted upon by both systems of human bondage and individuals, the modern debtor will be increasingly an involuntary actor, a renter rather than a buyer, a guilt-indebted benefactor of past inequities rather than a rights-possessing benefactor of current equities. Laws against homelessness are already on the books in most municipalities. Once buying homes has been placed beyond the reach of most individuals and couples, and large corporations dominate the rental market, the will to criminalize homelessness will return. Vagabonds and trailer dwellers will, by force, be settled in apartments and assigned jobs, with their income going first to the landlord. Welfare housing schemes have placed the balance of the rental mechanisms in action. These need only be synchronized with the enforcement of vagrancy law to bring about the return of serfdom under a new urban feudal order.
I hope that is cogent enough, Marcus.
On behalf of Alaric, who kicked in the door in 410, I decline to apologize.
07.18.21   Marcus Mickus — Always informative and entertaining.
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Posted: 2021-07-10   reads: 1094   ©2021  marcus mickus
Dog Friends
Canine Caretakers of Nomadic Anthropomorphic Cracked Pottery
Yesterday I met with man I once crossed sticks with and a few time clanged glasses with, near a sandy shore, down by the sea, among some close friends and their women and children.
I then met a new dog friend.
He is Ely, a big “rapey” old boy who snorts under the patio table.
This is heartening. For a man who has been hunted by feral pitbulls through the streets of Baltimore for decades, and as a boy had the ill-luck to be attacked by a Puerto Rican Border Collie and its two-legged co-conpsiritors, I feel a sense of relief when dogs approve of me.
There was Backfist Mick with one great English friend—Ely, a big bulldog, an old fellow who is ancient for his kind. This brought up the subject of dogs and Backfist Mick's brother in arms, Marcus Mickus related dog stories from Iraq.
On the way home to the strip club, where my host makes me stay in the dressing room with the meat-dolls, he remarked to me, “I regard the friendship and judgment of dogs to be a mark of good character. The fact that so many of your hosts have dogs and that these dogs approve of you, I think says something about all of us. Don't you think?”
Yeah, thinking again, that would be nice.
I then recalled that I wrote an autobiography of Mucker the Hero Dog, telepathically dictated to me while his master was at work over four nights in late winter of 2019...
So, before I attempt to recount the various four-legged friends of mine—with associated cats included as a supporting cast—it is proper to link to the no longer active shadow site where I wrote as Randy Bracken for a couple of years. The tag Of Dogs and Men, will carry ongoing four-legged friend news and memories. Until next Friday—that day being a big day for dogs with working masters who cook steak and eggs for them—I hope you enjoy Mucker's Hero Dog Saga.
Of Dogs and Men
My 2019 Autobiography of Yeti Water's Faithful Old Dog

Roog Roster
A Gallery of Four-Legged Friends and their Masters
Eastern Dogs
-Ely, English Bulldog, friend of Backfist Mick
-Anonymous Iraqi Bitch, camp follower of Marcus Mickus, a dog of legend, never met by the author
-Zoe, my Little Sister's Collie
-Hunter and Diesel, two mini-pincers I dog sat
-Jennie, Erique's short-haired mix
-Lemme, Nero the Pict's cat, a cat that makes dog-grade
-Chandler, Little Emma's boxer
-Teddy, the Parisian Beshan patriarch, Manny's four-legged Robert E. Lee
-Baily, Teddy's golden doodle love interest
-Oliver Lewis, Teddy's upstart heir
-Ripley—Rick's terrible little bird, a cautionary critter
...
Western Dogs
-Charlie, Electric Dan's old mixed hound, companion of H.P. Lovecraft the cat
-Winnie, Bob's bitch hound of bad character
-Izzy, a shepherd-collie mix, The Colonel's “killer”
-Amos, Izzy's dumb-ass, meat-munching brother
-Toby, Tobias, Tobbes, Tobison, The Captain's black short-haired shepherd, who is actually commanded by Ani the black cat and is the friend and advocate of The Colonel's two werewolf dogs, Izzy and Amos. Toby will hopefully be played by Chris Rock in the animated film about his many crimes. I wrote him as a character in Uprising and plan on using him as Clyde Barrow's dog in Rebel Knell.
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Posted: 2021-07-09   reads: 1151   ©2021  james lafond
'Shadow Stalker'
Don Quotays Cues the Crackpot on Neanderthals and Orks in Fiction
Having recently completed Haft, a heroic treatment of the most reviled humanoid in classic fantasy, I received the following email from Don Quotays—i trust this is the correct Don. if not, please correct me. my mind is going and it has become a task to sort the various names and ranks of those of you who I commune with via this azurite crystal sphere within the shadow-haunted precincts of this dark and lonely tower...
Look, I am getting sick of going back and capitalizing i into I. it's not like I'm a lord or something. So, for these articles i write from the email box into the back end, please forgive me.

When Orcs were Real
Inbox
Wed, Jun 30, 5:51 AM (2 days ago)
to me
Basically reinforces the Neanderthals vs homo sap conflict.

The above piece uses material that I am familiar with from the first 500 words. I really can't read more than that and be able to write. I would recommend K[H/]eeley's War Before Civilization and a reading of any book on the Indian wars that raged from 1500 through 1891 in North America to anyone who doubts that stone age humans are better at extermination than recent modern humans.
The evidence will never all be in on the subject. Archeology is simply the worst science out there and owns this subject.
Michael Crichton in the Eaters of Men, made into the movie the 13th Warrior, postulated a realistic basis for the legend of Beowulf being based on Neanderthals. Elsewhere—actually on substack—I will get into what most likely happened to the Neanderthals, or rather how, because what happened to them was us. For this piece i would like to look at just two mythic strands of the many:
-Gilgamesh
-Beowulf
All else is ignored, except for the physiology of the Neanderthals.
Physiology compared to humans:
-Due to a much larger brain, children would be less numerous, as their infant state would have been more passively developmental.
-Four times as strong as humans at the same size.
-Unable to throw effectively, meaning missile technology was never developed. Try to field a baseball team of bodybuilders and power lifters and watch them get shut out by a girl's high school softball team. If you can't throw a rock effectively you will never make the mental leap to atlatls, bows and arrows, slings and guns or cruise missiles.
-Physiologically adapted to the cold, meaning hairy like a wolf. Traditional academics suggest that Neanderthals, with bigger brains could not develop clothing technology, though their blades were as good as ours until after we wiped them out.
-Adapted to evergreen forest [like Humbaba who lived in the cedars] which are better suited to nocturnal movement than leafy forests, offer better daytime cover in winter, with this adaptation being much larger eyes, which mainstream reconstructions insist on mis-representing.
It is obvious, and will be discussed elsewhere, that "man's best friend" the dog was key to the extinction of Neanderthals. This is supported in myth, by our two most ancient stories, Beowulf and Gilgamesh. The characteristics of Grendel and his mother do not make sense in the context of the reign of terror over Heorat until one considers really how ancient the story is. Living in the Rockies with hunters as well as the other evergreen forest of the cascades, i have been constantly reminded that beers and cougars and other beasties cannot get near me so long as i have a dog. Bob told me that two 70-pound dogs will do more to save you from a grizzly bear than all the guns in Wyoming, because the grizz comes at night.
Although we know that Gilgamesh is far more ancient a story than The Iliad or The Odyssey, Beowulf is more ancient still. The evidence is the lack of dogs in both stories. When Gilgamesh and Enkidu go hunting Humbaba they take no dogs. Enkidu's time in the story represents a far more ancient strand than Gilgamesh's search for immortality following Enkidu's passage into death.
In Beowulf there is not a dog to raise the alarm when Grendel and later his mother come stalking by night.
Further, Grendel rips men apart, just as chimps do when they attack us and just as Neanderthals could as they are as strong as chimps and would be able to rip a hand from our arm, an arm from our shoulder. This is exactly what Beowulf did to Grendel. This suggests that Beowulf was half Neanderthal.
Also suggestive of Neanderthal is the very low population density of the race of "Cain" represented by Grendel and his mother, who are lonely creatures, literally driven from the Middle East [where Humbaba was killed in Lebanon] which is the exact location where Modern Humans had originally pushed into Neanderthal territory from Africa before being driven back out.
Also, other than having thrived through numerous ice ages, cold adaptation is suggested by Grendel and his mother living in the fens, the marsh, in wetland dens. This is exactly the kind of place a humanoid being driven from evergreen forests by invaders would retreat to. Indeed, the Feugans were cold adapted enough that their women dived naked into the Antarctic waters for shell fish.
Grendel and his mother were nocturnal, which suggests Neanderthals, which had large night-adapted eyes. Further, Grendel did not fear fire and Humbaba the forest demon used fire. These suggestions, that Grendel was lonely out in the fens and sought the firelit hall and that Humbaba had a blazing power, does not fit with a bear or a wolf. However, this does fit with the werewolf, when one considers how hairy Neanderthals really would have been.
The large brain is suggested in the low population density of these monsters, outnumbered at least 2-to-1 in Gilgamesh and by hordes of humans in Beowulf. Also, these creatures are depicted as highly intelligent, with Humbaba being wiser than the heroes who assail him.
Finally, the fate of Beowulf and Enkidu, one slain by a dragon and the other tormented by a fantastical flying beast as he died from a god-sent plague, suggests divine punishment, guilt for the killing of these creatures.
Physically, dealing with a Neanderthal, who would have been armed with a razor sharp stone knife, would have been as terrible a challenge at night for an armed man as facing a grizzly. However, the attack would more resemble a combination of being rent apart by a chimp and butchered by a Gurkha in British service than of being mauled by a bear.

I explored Gilgamesh in the book He: Gilgamesh into the Face of Time
My first treatment of Neanderthals in fiction was Beyond the Ember Star, where I did explore the question of dogs but not their impact on Neanderthals.
My recent novel Haft, about an ork hero, has fun with depicting orks as black Neanderthals living in the woods and playing football with severed heads.
My final attempt at Neanderthals in fiction will be Dream Eater, which should comprehensively address the impact of dogs on the longest war in human history.
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Posted: 2021-07-08   reads: 772   ©2021  james lafond
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