Good Friday II: Two Old Cloths

THERE ARE TWO pieces of cloth– the smaller one closely matching some marks on  the larger one. They have apparently survived 17 years short of 20 centuries; not to mention invasions, Jihad and Crusades, long travel, display, trial, fires, and all the vagaries of time, history, and human frailty.

To the very first people who handed them on, these items were ritually unclean, polluted and polluting, and signs of an accursed, shameful, and unholy death, according to the Jewish Law, the Torah. That these bloody things from a gory execution and death were even handed on, passed down, and venerated in the first place is a strange, remarkable, and mysterious matter in itself.

One is essentially a large bloody rag with pin-holes in it (above); the other is a 14-foot long piece of the very finest herringbone Egyptian linen, woven for use as a Jewish burial cloth, around the time when Julius Caesar had been dead only a little over 75 years. It’s now kept in Portugal. Other ancient cloth samples have likewise survived the centuries– but these particular two still exist because they were protected and kept safe, and for what they were thought to be.

The larger cloth was always venerated down the ages, for the indistinct marks of a naked wounded man somehow imprinted as a photographic negative on the cloth itself, thought to be the image of the dead Jesus Christ. In 1898, an Italian photographer Secondo Pia was startled and surprised as he developed his photographic negatives of the longer cloth– he saw a positive image, with incredible details, leaping out at him from the images: a person, in positive, not negative.

The interest and excitement went international. Debate, discussion and study continue to this day.

Now It Is Seen Clearly

Photographer Secondo Pia, c. 1898

To our modern eyes, these cloths tell a tale so clearly, so contemporary, that our modern forensic science and pathology can give an exact autopsy and cause of death for the dead man who was probably once wrapped in them. The image on the larger cloth is anatomically and medically correct, down to visible bones, blood flow, nerve damage, and other signs of the horrific torture and violence done to this long-ago man.

The man revealed clearly for the first time was tall, well-muscled, and about 5’11”, 185 pounds. The best guess is that average heights in Biblical times in the Holy Land were 5′ 1″ up to as tall as 5′ 5″, so Jesus was tall for his day and age. Average adult male height in 2016 Israel is about 5′ 9″. He had a mid-shoulder short pony-tail.

Via Pia’s photo negatives, previously indistinct marks on the larger cloth were now seen clearly for the first time in 19 centuries– blood-stains, whipping injuries, a large wound on the lower right chest, skinned shoulder and knees, bruised and battered face, broken nose, swollen cheek, torn beard, blood-soaked hair and marked forehead, a dislocated left shoulder, a distended belly, and holes in both wrists and mid-foot.

Whip marks by a flagrum on a life-sized crucifix modelled after the Shroud of Turin, Harper’s Ferry, Virginia. Christ was likely whipped & later crucified naked. The full cross may be seen here.

Over 230 distinct whip-marks and other lacerations appear on the back and front of the body-image, from chest & shoulder to shin & calf. Most marks are typical of the ancient Roman flagrum whip, a wooden handle with three leather thongs and two lead weights per thong. This flogging alone was almost enough to kill him: it was considered so brutal and potentially deadly that no Roman Citizen was supposed to be whipped this way.

Study And Research

As increasingly serious and scientific investigations, imaging, and other reports into the two cloths went on through the 20th century, photographic comparisons and overlays of both were done– the blood and pleural fluid stains and many other marks actually overlapped almost exactly. This is a statistically unlikely ‘coincidence’.

The two ancient cloths, overlapped, into one image.

That is: these two cloths had been used on the same person, the smaller one doubled over and pinned roughly around the dead man’s head, as he hung upright on a Roman cross; the larger wrapped around him from foot to head to foot after a quick washing of the body, which was then wrapped with winding cloths, in a inclined grave bed. The larger cloth is consistent with 1st century Jewish burial customs. Crucially, the shroud-cloth shows no signs or stains of corruption and decay, no blood smears of the body being somehow being buried half-alive, or moved after it was placed in the tomb.

Despite controversy, certain attention-seeking scientists, and odd theories, a lot of serious peer-reviewed and multi-disciplinary scientific investigations over the last 40 years have been done with the larger cloth– known as The Shroud Of Turin since the 1500s. It has given up many secrets, except one: what is it?

Science can tell what it isn’t (painting, photograph, scorch, or some other artistic technique, or known natural effect), but not what the image on the cloth is, or how it was made. Since science rightly has no experimental categories or laboratory machines which render ‘evidence of God’, or ‘Jesus signs’, or ‘miraculous event’, this is as it should be.

Some scientists speculate that some kind of UV directional radiation flash or intense energy-burst might well have created the image on the Shroud.  We weren’t there.. but the Shroud was. There’s even an app for you to look at the Shroud: Shroud 2.0.

Barrie Schwortz, raised an Orthodox Jew, educating Christians about the Turin Shroud. He created the yuge Shroud.com (see the Latebreaking News page), and he was also part of the 1977-8 STURP Research Team.

Our Abiding Doubts

Still, it’s a possible relic which which only revealed the deepest detail to us– with our tools and experiments and analysis– in our scientific, skeptical, yet spiritually modern seeking age. It’s almost like a God-given sign for OUR age.  If this fact does not move you, perhaps nothing will.

To simply declare “It’s a fake! A forgery!” is not a statement of fact, nor does it answer the basic question “A fake what?” Or to argue “You only say that because you want it to be genuine!” invites the fair response “Fine… but perhaps you only say that because you want it not to be genuine!” Remember– lots of his enemies saw the miracles and results of miracles performed by Jesus. Note: these hostile eyewitnesses did not dispute that something extremely strange and unusual had happened, only what it meant, and by what power Jesus had performed such signs and wonders.

An Abiding Question

If these two relics are original and authentic, they reveal to us a snapshot of two related moments from Good Friday, Jerusalem, most likely on Friday, April 3, A.D. 33. They show us the image of a body which has been tortured, crucified and killed, but a body which did not decay, and which somehow vanished from the burial cloths leaving a very unusual image on the Shroud, by means yet unknown and undiscovered.

Jesus never offered invincible proof as to who he was and is, forcing faith and belief in him; he did no undeniable miracles before stadium mobs, nor obeyed the Devil’s suggestion that he leap from the top of the Jerusalem Temple, and drift safely to earth in plain view of the massed crowds. Evidence, likelihood, strong suggestions, a willingness to test by faith and love– only these can take us the rest of the way.

It either is as he said, or not, after all. “Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet believe“, the Risen Jesus says to the no-longer doubting Thomas. To the eyes of faith, the Shroud & Sudarium are transformed from newspaper and internet curiousities into a love letter to our souls, written in his most precious blood.

Me? I believe it’s His, and that He was who He claimed to be: the Son of God Incarnate, the Lord.

“I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death.” (Rev. 1:18)

Decisions, Decisions

After pondering the testimony of early eyewitnesses, archaeology and history, the possible relics like the Shroud and Sudarium, the science, the wondering and asking, we must still overcome our pride and resistance to faith, and our tendency to self-deceptive false faith, or else sheer unbelief. It’s a costly sacrifice. It’s a step of faith, from ‘believing about’, to believing IN’.

That is– not irrational faith, not crazy faith, not faith in any old whatnot, on anybody’s say-so, or faith in spite of the facts, evidence, and likelihoods– but believing in Jesus, after He has called us to seek Him, learn of Him, follow Him, then live and die in Him.

It’s all about trust and love, above all evidences or proofs– for has truly He died and really risen again from death; and ascended bodily into heaven to prepare a place for us, that we might live in union with him and all the saved and the saints.

He will only gently ask us, never  force us– to believe and so live in Him, forevermore. ~

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The noble Joseph, when he had taken down Thy most pure Body from the tree, wrapped it in fine linen, and anointed it with spices, and placed it in a new tomb.

Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, both now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen.

The angel came to the myrrh-bearing women at the tomb and said: “Myrrh is fitting for the dead, but Christ has shown Himself a stranger to corruption.”

Eastern Orthodox Troparion (hymn of the day) of Good Friday

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A blessed Good Friday to you all, and this article is my gift for you–

With much love,

The Binks

 

 

Good Friday I

Crucifixion, seen from the Cross by James Tissot, c. 1890

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THE SACRIFICE

O all ye, who pass by, whose eyes and mind
To worldly things are sharp, but to me blind;
To me, who took eyes that I might you find:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

The Princes of my people make a head
Against their Maker: they do wish me dead,
Who cannot wish, except I give them bread:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Without me each one, who doth now me brave,
Had to this day been an Egyptian slave.
They use that power against me, which I gave:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Mine own Apostle, who the bag did bear,
Though he had all I had, did not forbear
To sell me also, and to put me there:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

For thirty pence he did my death devise,
Who at three hundred did the ointment prize,
Not half so sweet as my sweet sacrifice:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Therefore my soul melts, and my heart’s dear treasure
Drops blood (the only beads) my words to measure:
O let this cup pass, if it be thy pleasure:
Was ever grief like mine?

These drops being temper’d with a sinner’s tears,
A balsam are for both the Hemispheres,
Curing all wounds, but mine; all, but my fears.
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Yet my Disciples sleep: I cannot gain
One hour of watching; but their drowsy brain
Comforts not me, and doth my doctrine stain:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Arise, arise, they come! Look how they run!
Alas! what haste they make to be undone!
How with their lanterns do they seek the sun!
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

With clubs and staves they seek me, as a thief,
Who am the way of truth, the true relief,
Most true to those who are my greatest grief:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Judas, dost thou betray me with a kiss ?
Canst thou find hell about my lips? and miss
Of life, just at the gates of life and bliss ?
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

See, they lay hold on me, not with the hands
Of faith, but fury; yet at their commands
I suffer binding, who have loosed their bands:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

All my Disciples fly; fear puts a bar
Betwixt my friends and me. They leave the star,
That brought the wise men of the East from far:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Then from one ruler to another bound
They lead me: urging, that it was not sound
What I taught: Comments would the text confound.
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

The Priests and Rulers all false witness seek
‘Gainst him, who seeks not life, but is the meek
And ready Paschal Lamb of this great week:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Then they accuse me of great blasphemy,
That I did thrust into the Deity,
Who never thought that any robbery:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Some said, that I the Temple to the floor
In three days razed, and raised as before.
Why, he that built the world can do much more:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Then they condemn me all with that same breath,
Which I do give them daily, unto death.
Thus Adam my first breathing rendereth:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

They bind, and lead me unto Herod: he
Sends me to Pilate. This makes them agree;
But yet their friendship is my enmity.
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Herod and all his bands do set me light,
Who teach all hands to war, fingers to fight,
And only am the Lord of hosts and might.
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Herod in judgment sits, while I do stand;
Examines me with a censorious hand:
I him obey, who all things else command:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

The Jews accuse me with despitefulness;
And vying malice with my gentleness,
Pick quarrels with their only happiness:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

I answer nothing, but with patience prove
If stony hearts will melt with gentle love.
But who does hawk at eagles with a dove?
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

My silence rather doth augment their cry;
My dove doth back into my bosom fly,
Because the raging waters still are high:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Hark how they cry aloud still, Crucify:
It is not fit He live a day, they cry,
Who cannot live less than eternally:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Pilate a stranger holdeth off; but they,
Mine own dear people, cry, Away, away,
With noises confused frighting the day:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Yet still they shout, and cry, and stop their ears,
Putting my life among their sins and fears,
therefore with my blood on them and theirs:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

See how spite cankers things. These words aright
Used, and wish’d, are the whole world’s light:
But honey is their gall, brightness their night:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

They choose a murderer, and all agree
In him to do themselves a courtesy;
For it was their own cause who killed me:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

And a seditious murderer he was:
But I the Prince of Peace; peace that doth pass
All understanding, more than heaven doth glass:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

He clave the stony rock, when they were dry;
But surely not their hearts, as I well try:
Why, Caesar is their only King, not I:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Ah, how they scourge me! yet my tenderness
Doubles each lash: and yet their bitterness
Winds up my grief to a mysteriousness:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

They buffet me, and box me as they list,
Who grasp the earth and heaven with my fist,
And never yet, whom I would punish, miss’d:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Behold, they spit on me in scornful wise;
Who with my spittle gave the blind man eyes,
Leaving his blindness to mine enemies:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

My face they cover, though it be divine.
As Moses’ face was veiled, so is mine,
Lest on their double-dark souls either shine:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Servants and abjects flout me; they are witty:
Now prophesy who strikes thee, is their ditty.
So they in me deny themselves all pity:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

And now I am deliver’d unto death,
Which each one calls for so with utmost breath,
That he before me well-nigh suffereth:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Weep not, dear friends, since I for both have wept,
When all my tears were blood, the while you slept:
Your tears for your own fortunes should be kept:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

The soldiers lead me to the common hall;
There they deride me, they abuse me all:
Yet for twelve heavenly legions I could call:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Then with a scarlet robe they me array;
Which shows my blood to be the only way,
And cordial left to repair man’s decay:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Then on my head a crown of thorns I wear;
For these are all the grapes Sion doth bear,
Though I my vine planted and watered there:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

So sits the earth’s great curse in Adam’s fall
Upon my head; so I remove it all
From th’ earth unto my brows, and bear the thrall:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Then with the reed they gave to me before,
They strike my head, the rock from whence all store
Of heavenly blessings issue evermore:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

They bow their knees to me, and cry, Hail, King:
Whatever scoffs or scornfulness can bring,
I am the floor, the sink, where they it fling:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Yet since man’s sceptres are as frail as reeds,
And thorny all their crowns, bloody their weeds;
I, who am Truth, turn into truth their deeds:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

The soldiers also spit upon that face
Which Angels did desire to have the grace,
And Prophets once to see, but found no place:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Thus trimmed, forth they bring me to the rout,
Who Crucify him, cry with one strong shout.
God holds his peace at man, and man cries out:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

They lead me in once more, and putting then
Mine own clothes on, they lead me out again.
Whom devils fly, thus is he toss’d of men:
                                            Was ever grief like mine?

And now weary of sport, glad to engross
All spite in one, counting my life their loss,
They carry me to my most bitter cross:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

My cross I bear myself, until I faint:
Then Simon bears it for me by constraint,
The decreed burden of each mortal Saint:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

O all ye who pass by, behold and see:
Man stole the fruit, but I must climb the tree;
The tree of life to all, but only me:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Lo, here I hang, charged with a world of sin,
The greater world o’ the two; for that came in
By words, but this by sorrow I must win:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Such sorrow, as if sinful man could feel,
Or feel his part, he would not cease to kneel,
Till all were melted, though he were all steel.
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

But, O my God, my God! why leavest thou me,
The Son, in whom thou dost delight to be?
My God, my God—————
                                             Never was grief like mine.

Shame tears my soul, my body many a wound;
Sharp nails pierce this, but sharper that confound;
Reproaches, which are free, while I am bound:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Now heal thyself, Physician; now come down.
Alas! I do so, when I left my crown
And Father’s smile for you, to feel his frown:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

In healing not myself, there doth consist
All that salvation, which ye now resist;
Your safety in my sickness doth subsist:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Betwixt two thieves I spend my utmost breath,
As he that for some robbery suffereth.
Alas! what have I stolen from you? death:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

A king my title is, prefix’d on high;
Yet by my subjects I’m condemn’d to die
A servile death in servile company:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

They gave me vinegar mingled with gall,
But more with malice: yet, when they did call,
With Manna, Angels’ food, I fed them all:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

They part my garments, and by lot dispose
My coat, the type of love, which once cured those
Who sought for help, never malicious foes:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

Nay, after death their spite shall further go;
For they will pierce my side, I full well know;
That as sin came, so Sacraments might flow:
                                             Was ever grief like mine?

But now I die; now all is finished.
My woe, man’s weal: and now I bow my head:
Only let others say, when I am dead,
Never was grief like mine.

 
by George Herbert 1593-1633

For Maundy Thursday, 2016

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+ Saith Teh Binks— I’m already sick of it all, this dark 2016. War and bad news (and, for me, personal troubles) are around us and with us in this new year of the same old. But we cannot only look into darkness, and the malice of our enemies, and the treachery of our leaders, and the hollowness of our failing societies. To stare into the abyss is not spiritually nurturing, or wholesome, or life-giving. To observe Holy Week is to join ourselves with the eternity of God come into our human neighbourhood in Jesus; to know what love, and truth, and goodness, and suffering, and redemption truly is. To ponder and feed upon goodness, for ourselves, our souls, and bodies. +

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AS A SMART-ALECKY KID, I heard the name for today, but had no idea what it meant, being only slightly churched.. ‘Monday Thursday’? Tuesday Friday!

Hurr hurr! Yes, I was indeed just that clever, mocking things I was clueless about.

Hurry up already! Bring on Sick From Chocolate Eggs Day!

Today is the day of the Last Supper, and of Christ’s commandment– or mandatum (Latin, englished as Maundy)– that we love one another, even as he loves us.

“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; even as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

After the supper, he kneels, like a lowly and humble servant, and washes his disciple’s feet.

This is soon the next day, as the Jews accounted it– for at sundown, Good Friday begins: in the darkness and mist of Gethsemane, Jesus is tested to the breaking point, willing the cup which is his to pass from him. This is the prayer of nature, but finding he cannot pray it, he submits himself to the Father’s will for all that will come soon, and later, and upon the Cross, and apparently ending in the tomb.

This is the night of bitter betrayal– for nearby him, Peter James and John doze instead of praying with and for him, and across the valley in the Temple courts Judas schemes with the powers that be perhaps to try and force Messiah’s hand, to bring in the kingdom by sword and Roman blood and rebel cry.

In the Passover supper, Jesus offered himself in the bread and wine his body and blood as the true sacrifice. As Judas and the troop of soldiers approach, so Jesus offers himself truly, the spotless Lamb of God, for the greater good that will be accomplished for us, his beloved and wayward flock.

This is love; that he died for us, while we were yet sinners. His patient and suffering love does not give way to self-pity, surrender, unbelief, or curses– he forgives all, to save all. He suffers perfectly; he dies perfectly; he loves and forgives perfectly. Once for all.

Jesus the Lord does not set us some unattainable superhuman example, but sends the Holy Spirit, the Strengthener, the Rememberer, the Lord and giver of new life, God himself poured into us, so we may begin to love one another, as he has loved us. Baby steps at first.

Shroud of Turin: Highlighted scourge marks, made by a Roman flagrum.

The Upper Room.. Gethsemane Garden.. The Dungeon.. The Whipping Post.. The Cross.. The stone-cold borrowed Tomb: this is what we and our sin and our fickle rejection does to him: but it is engulfed and burnt away in the fire of his human and divine love, as the true and only-begotten Son, the Messiah.

Divine Time Travel 

Out of time, by his grace, we really are there and then, if we follow in his footsteps by faith. That holy time and this holy time can be one, united in his eternal love, so that those old things become our new and now things, ever-present mercy and salvation for those who call upon the Name above every other name, Jesus the Lord.

Love him, as he has first loved us. Love one another, even as he loves us. Pray especially for those Christians around the world living their Maundy Thursdays and Good Fridays on many days of the year, as they suffer, and are persecuted, raped, and even killed for the name of Jesus.

And on the Third Day….

So Saith,

Teh Binks

“For even to this were you called: because Christ also suffered for us, leaving us an example, that you should follow his steps….“

(1 Peter 2:21)

Christ Patiently Suffering – by Pedro FERNÁNDEZ – from Museo de Arte, Gerona

 

Thank You, Ye Rat-Bastards!

Three explosions rocked Brussels on Tuesday morning, March 22nd, a massacre killing at least 33 people and injuring hundreds of others.

THE POINT OF TERRORISM is.. terror: submission, paralysis, fear, to control & change you inside. Politics, warfare, & conquest by other means.

You acquiesce to increasing levels of “peace and security” fascism at home, to supposedly prevent internet & mosque made Islamofascists from home and abroad. And you’re never allowed to forget or think otherwise than: You. Are. Helpless.

So, welcome to the new normal, and the atypical and strange form of war, where you are on the front line of the Jihad. Your ordinary life– but suddenly with added machine guns, bombs, soldiers & police, and ever more safety-rape at security checkpoints. This is, of course, daily life in much of the world, now coming home to roost.

These terror attacks are not going to stop, although thankfully some are prevented by the authorities, despite themselves— though one does wonder if such terrorism isn’t found useful by advocates of a disarmed populace in a prison-state. You know, “useful crises” for the dark powers within the West, and the Jihadi threat-makers, too.

Choices, Choices…

You can be safe, but not free. Or, you can be free, but not safe.

This truism is our life in 2016, and we made it. It’s founded on the fact that Baby Boomers and later could not did not or would not have replacement levels of children; that we imported people to replace our own missing kids; BUT (and thus the Canadian & more general problem) after Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau removed the educated-immigrant requirement, we increasingly allowed in welfare-ready, criminal, and under-educated people, including non-Westernized Muslims (and others) who brought their radical problems and ideas from home to here.

Canada In The Bullseye?

So far, useful-idiot Canada has been part safe-house, and part money-bags for radical terror groups. Our naive and well-intentioned “Multiculturalism” was supposed to mean cool new restaurant menus, and neighbours with exotic outfits and recipes at FolkFest. That’s because to us, faith and politics and Big Ideas and even our entire society are no longer to die for.. that’s the government’s job, now. Yet we import (or create) serious radicals who can operate well below our mental and political radar, people who are gladly misusing Canada’s nice reputation and passports and smug cluelessness.

Moreover, the informal hawala banking system which allows money to be brokered all over the world from Canada? It means that some families are getting extra money from their Canadian relatives.. and so are some groups who like killing, bombing, raping, and decapitation. Terror gets saddle-bags of cash sent to them from Western supporters and mosques, and there’s no easy way to track it. It might– just might– mean that Canada will only be targeted by homegrown solo or small-group Jihadis, and not ISIS bombing a major airport, big city, or some mass gathering of people.

Who To The Rescue?

Since we’re all unofficially evil & dangerous, even law-abiding peaceful citizens in Canada can go to jail if they shoot or stab a home invader, or, one presumes, a bomb-strapped terrorist. Don’t worry! we’re told, polices will protect you!

This is a fraudulent promise, in the case of Jihadi-suicide terrorism, since the moment the scumtards start shooting or/ and then explode is the moment you’d like really some protection. When seconds count.. the police are only minutes away! I’m not saying that a gun-toting citizenry can solve everything, but nobody really can– even a total police state, overflowing with “Pe-E-e-eace  &  Se-E-e-ecurity“, and where everybody gets lightly raped at the airport.

Just Give Up Then?

Oh look. More flowers and candles. And the “Je Suis..” thing. OK, I feel better.. I guess… Let’s go home now.

What’s to be done? Oh, many and wonderful things!

How about some ineffective ‘stern statements’.. then wreath-laying by terror-enabling suicidal immigration policy-supporting world ‘leaders’ like Canada’s own nitwit millionaire Justin Trudeau (who sent out a mighty terror-defying.. tweet)? Or– wait, I’ve got it!– maybe crowded candle-lit “Je Suis Charlie.. Paris.. Brussels.. [insert next target here]”  , along with chalk drawings and sad comics and feel-good but empty gestures! Lots of magical & emotional displays of ‘solidarity’, in lieu of doing nothing and cowering under the bed! Yay!

Never forgets (until next time)! Roll out the fraidy-cat hashtags, avatars and animated GIFs! Signal that virtue! Lower the flags and light the monuments! Much sads! So feels! Tweet your defiances! SHHHTerror-nausea risingSHHHH….

I.E., kill us with Jihad, and we will cower, and praise your religion, and apologize and cower some more.

Not So Much, Akshully

Bah. Saith the defiant Mark Steyn (a semi-Belgian himself) on the latest entirely predictable atrocity:

“The bloodbath in Brussels? As I said to Hugh Hewitt on a previous occasion, all the stories are different, and yet they’re all the same. And, alas, it becomes harder to mourn the dead when we never avenge them. No doubt that narcissist wanker who plays “Imagine” is already dragging his piano to the airport or the metro.”

Where is our rage? Our defiance? Our holding the terrorists & political cultural aiders & abettors in our own ranks accountable? Where is our readiness to do something actually, you know, useful?

Via

Got Angry? Get Ready!

What’s to be done, Binks? Be proactive, prepared, and not a victim. Because I said so, dammit! You. Are. NOT. Helpless.

In Canada, and gun-lite Europe, everybody CAN and SHOULD have (1) An Every Day Carry (EDC) kit, (2) An Emergency Plan, (3) A Way To Help, and (4) Some Self-Defence Skills. Even if our modern airport faux-security theatre undercuts some weapon-options, you don’t have to be totally helpless if dangerous, terrorist, weather crisis, or other emergency situations arise.

1. Your Very Own EDC

For Starters….

(1) Google or YouTube search for ‘Every Day Carry’ (EDC)– and most items are detailed on Amazon.com, so you can buy them more affordably on eBay. Every responsible, mature, and  thus safety/ self-defence minded person from 8-year old on up should have some basic daily carry items.

Your EDC, for example? A rescue knife, keychain, good flashlight, a paracord bracelet, a mini-BIC lighter, a tiny Swiss Army knife (with tweezers & a pen), emergency whistle, small multitool, a smartphone, a watch or other time-piece, pen and paper (you can even get self-defence pens), some water, an LED micro-light, a firesteel. In the U.S., you should also have a punchy small gun (.40 or 45ACP), and your concealed-carry license, where possible.

Then.. there’s yer plastic raincoats, emergency mylar blankets, a compass, power-bars, a small backpack, tissues, some Ibuprofen, a bandana (for slings, wounds, and many other uses)….

Frequent flyer worried about TSA-approval? How To Build a TSA-Approved EDC Kit is for you– the verboten stuff goes into your checked-in luggage, for later. A walking stick or cane, a tightly-wrapped magazine, a self-defence or ‘Tactical’ pen— countless cool ways to be ready, even in the crazy disarming-people-air-travel loonyverse of 2016 where you might get bombed anyway.. or even arrested and charged for defending yourself. Yes, really..

Just Start Small.. And Now

There’s an EDC out there for every budget, level of readiness and complexity, and you can even colour-coordinate if you wish, ladies and gentlemen. Make an EDC keychain for each person in your family, and one for the car. Start small, build up, and switch items depending on your daily needs and travel.

Don’t forget your SmartPhone as an emergency helper: there are countless tools, from maps, emergency flashlight apps, first aid apps, and more out there– prep that iPad, and phone now! For instance, here’s a U.S.-made 50 Emergency Apps: Turn Your Phone into a Life-Saving Device!, via the Prepared Housewives.. because being ready is for men and women, moms and dads alike.

Well Go Ahead, Ask!

Ask yourself: if you were ditched in a snowstorm, on a sinking ship, or caught by a hurricane, or some other emergency, how happy would you be to have these items? How much would you be willing to pay to have them on your belt, in your coat, or stocked in your purse?

E-e-exactly.

2. Get Me Outta Here!

(2) Fun With Escapism. Play this video game in your head, wherever you are. If a bad guy or group of them were to come from this or that direction around me, where could I and my loved ones escape/ run to/ hide from bullets or other violence? Practice this mentally at home, the mall, supermarket, parking lot, airport, tourist location, nightclub, school or university, wherever.

Always try to have a plan A, B, and C– such options keep you from just panicking, and freezing in place. Think: I must be where the danger ISN’T.. and move away if it’s coming close. Don’t be conspicuous, or needlessly heroic– be bland and grey and unremarkable.

Americans: if you have your conceal carry license, use it and carry your sidearm, at very least to create a safe-zone or an escape route for yourself and others. Usually, the police will not be rushing in to save you any time soon. That’s not their job.

3 & 4. Help Out, Self Defence

(3) Do you have a basic First Aid/ CPR course? Could you operate one of those emergency Defibrillator machines you’ll sometimes see around? Could you stanch a wound, secure a broken neck, or use a tourniquet? Get those skills, now, when it’s not urgent. Sign up the office, or the whole family, or the whole school.

Re: helping– Beware that rushing right in after a bombing may be super-dangerous, because some bombers will plant delayed secondary explosives, for when they think the ambulance, police, and firemen have arrived– for even more horrible and costly collateral damage. Do what you can, be cautious, but a dead or wounded you is no use to anybody in need of help.

(4) Basic men or women’s self defence courses are available almost anywhere. MMA/ Brazillian Jiu-Jitsu, Karate, Tae-Kwon-Do, Krav Maga clubs are all over the place, and give you health, confidence, and some self-defence skills at the same time. A little weapon-training will help you fight with various weapons, or improvise, or know how to defend yourself (and others) against different attacks.

Almost Done, Ye Windbag Elf?

The middle class and upwards in Western Europe and much of North America have been generally safe, soft, and peaceful for almost three generations. We’ve enjoyed an extended local vacation from readiness, preparedness, living on the edge, thinking in an emergency.. because we’ve been mistakenly taught in the nanny state mental universe we live in that The World Is Safe, and if not, that Somebody Else Will Always Come Along To Save And Help Us.

A helpless, needy, compliant, disarmed & sheepish populace is ideal for those in power– but not the people themselves. Especially in emergencies.

This is naive at best, and grossly negligent and irresponsible at worst. The world isn’t really like that, so thank emergencies and bad people in this at least: we must be prepared as a minimum level of responsible adulthood. Sure it will cost some time and money and learning– but how much is your life or my life worth? That of our kids, grandkids, or neighbours?

Please keep learning up on those four starter-topics, via Google, YouTube, even Pinterest (and more here)– and pass the word on to others. We don’t have to either live in fear and terror, or in a prison-state.

Be free, and brave, and responsible with that freedom.

Binky saves lives: because he care! ~

So saith,

Teh Binks

Long Version

Rest In Peace

~ Former Toronto Mayor Rob Ford died of cancer today at age 46. I wan’t a big fan, but I recognize that he was wrestling with his demons, trying to do good for his city, and– like we all should be– trying to do his best with the time he was given.

May God comfort his family, friends, and supporters, and may Rob rest in peace, and rise in glory, according to the Lord’s infinite goodness and mercy.

Via a Rebel Media news report:

~B~

GhostBusters (2016).. Because Why?

Or, Live By The Politics, Die By The Politics

         Authentic! Because this is exactly how feminits women magically know that men think. Yawns.

~ ITEM: USAToday– 5 times the new ‘Ghostbusters’ trailer destroyed the patriarchy

~ ITEM: The New #Ghostbusters Trailer Review, by The Woolly Bumblebee; #Ghostbusters Destroying the Patriarchy?

~ ITEM: Actress Kristen Wiig Bummed Out By Female Ghostbusters Hate; Director Paul Feig hits back at Twitter ‘haters’ trolling Ghostbusters’ Leslie Jones

~ ITEM: Thunderf00t– Ghostbusters (GIRL POWER version) EPIC FAIL!; and RANT about new Ghostbuster film!!! Grrrr!

~ ITEM: Rick Moranis says Ghostbusters cameo ‘made no sense’. Yup.

~ ITEM: AWW HELL NAW! Leslie Jones fires back against the Regressive Left attacking GHOSTBUSTERS

~ ITEM: What Binks Said Aforetime About The Farce Awakens: ‘The Fempire Strikes Back‘

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SO, I’M GONNA DOGPILE– the new GhostBusters (2016) looks like a toxic.. smirky.. poorly written and misconceived rehash. OKthereIsaidit. Whew!

Surely Star Wars: The Farce Awakens and other revisit/ reboot flops should have taught Hollywood that (a) digging up old franchises is not a great idea, and (b) ‘updating’ them to tell 2016 SJW pious morality-tales? An even more worser idea.

Incoming old franchises zombied-up for the big screen? There’s a ruptured sewer’s worth coming downstream: “161 movie remakes and reboots currently in the works“.

One-Hundred. And. Sixty-one.

Oh Please MakeitStop Now

Already polluting our pop culture? Recent remakes or drag-ons like Indiana Jones & Aliens (and rumours of Indy 5). Dirty Dancing. Total Recall. Point Break. Godzilla. Terminator: Genesys. Star Wars VII. Planet of the Apes. Star Treks. Spider Mans. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Rocky Balboa. Remember those?

Upcoming for your delectation: Alien 5. Toy Story 4. American Pie 5. Avatar II. Bad Santa 2. Beetlejuice 2. Beverly Hills Cop 4. Blade Runner 2. Blair Witch Project 3. Die Hard 6. Bang my head until the pain stops 9?….

And you just know in your heart that they want to slime & exploit revisit Back To The Future.. with the requisite wince-worthy cameos. Um, yay? Binks found it inexpressibly sad and wince-worthy even trying to look at this.

Der Uberwenches

          Sexploitation of eyecandy is bad… if it’s men doing it!

With Gloatbusters 2016 (I refuse to call it ‘III’, sorry), and the new Star Wars, feminism steps up the political megaphoning that women are super-amazing, should be warriors in the front line– in movies, and real life, and in armies and stuff.. so let’s trumpet how weak and sad and silly and useless and replaceable all the boys and men are, because ovaries! Especially in STEM careers, like Ghostbusters 2016! More than gross boys & men! GET IT? [ audience slapped across face with large fish, in case they’d not noticed something was up ]

Missing The Target Audience

Look At The Sexist Picture Minus All Penises! Men Are Stupid! And: really? Were NO men involved in making the movie whatsoever? Wonder how this might make them feel…. second class citizens much? Less than? Forgotten? Inferior?

By-the-tropes Gynosupremacism as “propagan-tainment”?.. much classy, so amuse!

Except– most adventure movies were first and foremost for boys, and so were the toys. Boys wanted to be the heroes, and female fans wanted to be rescued by (and later) date/ marry the adventure heroes, or be like the heroines. Millions upon millions of mostly boys collected the original, sequel, and cartoon series toys and gear and all the rest. Big business, and happy kids. Ghostbuster Barbies? Not a big must-have, we’re thinking.

Further, why this big social media fuss? Well– we don’t want to think about the world we live in, but our amusements, entertainments, and shiny pictures are therefore that much more important! You can take away our freedoms, or bomb & shoot us, but don’t screw with our bread and circuses! Yes, that’s exactly where we are. Majoring in the minors, and the micros of mass distraction.

However– when you play this kind of politics? Make sure you get it ALL right, because the SJW-progressive cry-bully club will surely vet and judge you on All The Things– and there’s a lot they don’t like about this attempt to pander to feminism. Grab some hot buttered popcorn, and let’s watch the radicals pitch fits & eat each other alive. What funs!

Go Away, Mens = Equality

The new movie has no identifiable male heroes or ’emulatable’ leading characters. Chris Hemsworth is lame eye-candy– a B-Lister taking on the role originally played by newcomer Annie Potts, now starring a man– because mighty wimmins! Yet what little boy in his right mind is going to work hard to collect the Gynobusters action figures? Psychologically, maturing boys (and even girls) need to gradually separate from their Mommies, to emulate their Dads and other adult & male figures, and individuate as men: not this.

“NO! Bad boys! Wrong!! Women and girls more gooder than you, we are best leaders, tough super heroes, and you should look up to all wimmins!” Which is, in my opinion, psychological and gender-based child-abuse, supremacism, and unscientific propaganda of the very worst and most destructive sort.

Reality Is More Complicated

Women will save the world! Because feminism, and reasons! So rush to see the movie, and cough up for all the inevitable merch and commercial tie-ins, because you betcha feminist Hollywood likes everybody’s dollars– even cootified sexist man-or-boy dollars!

This in spite of the 2016 reality that men and male teens have less job prospects than women, less are attending college, in some cases men are paid less than their female peers, less are even pretending to be interested in dating, possibly leading marriage & kids– and far more likely to murder themselves, on top of it all. In fact, life sucks for almost every young person right now. But don’t ask about any of that, you sexist misogynist oppressor! Stick to the much sads Narrative: [fill in the blank], Women Hardest Hit!

As blogger Woolly Bumblebee said, if Star Wars ‘VII’ and GynoBusters is what results when feminism is allowed to dictate the message, and women are all made into the heroes? Just stop and don’t, because you’re making a mess, stinking up our memories, further trashing masculinity for men and boys, and turning movies into ever more regurgitated mush.

A little part of me hopes I’m completely wrong, this is merely the worst trailer-edit and marketing ever, and the film turns out to be a kick-butt surprise hit. I’m not coughing up any serious $$ at the theatre to find out. ~

So Saith

Teh Binks

Smugtard For The Win!

Yes, it’s a real thing. Via

+ + +

~ HIS DAD WAS FAMOUS and important and rich and a nasty pro-communist soft-dictator. And a noted wreckifier of Canada.

Now, Junior Justin is Boss Of All The Things™ in Canada, as our newly elected Prime Minister. So shut up, peasants! Bend the knee! Love The Hair! Obey his commands! Abort your pre-borns! Jack up the debts! Wink at Allah! Smooch with Globalisms! Goggle at his girl-quotas, because it was 2015, or something.

Higher And Higher

Now, according to noted internets irritant and Binks-fave anti-feminits Sargon Of Akkad, our very own million dollar trust-fund baby Justin The Mighty™ has now been elected….

… The Pope Of Feminism!* Yay us! Or something.

You know, cuz the hapless and helpless womens are apparently inferior to men, and need a Justin to save & help them, and promote them into Cabinet whether they have the experience or the chops or not– only because they are loyal Liberal Party minions, agree with his infallible notions, and have the required ovaries.

His cabinet election process? This complicated:

“Ovaries, good.. no ovaries, bad.. ovaries, ovaries.. no ovaries.. whew! This is hard!.. Ovaries, no ovaries….”

Got Ovaries? Justin worships teh ovaries. Do you not love them, too?

As for why women don’t tend to run for office, O PM of Greatness? ‘Cuz it’s overworking horrible endless busyness, dirty back-roomery, media attack-squads, public adoration & vilification, back-stabbing, all of which which wrecks your family time, and can not only wreck you personally, but cost you your immortal soul. There’s a good reason why public opinion polls list politicians near the bottom of all ‘Trustworthiness’ polls.

So: Pope Justin I?

50% girl quota? Because sexism, patronizing, and white-knighting, and reasons, and 2015, and JUSTIN IS SMARTER THAN YOU, SO SHUT THE #@$%*&! UP!!

Yes, dear world, he really is just this ‘clever’, dumb, brainwashed, SJW-progressive, preachy, and bound and determined to remake Canada, and all his victims her citizens in his own hyper-narcissistic image.. i.e., soft-tyrannically break all the things– for your own good.

Sargon’s awesome vid nails completely this butterfly to the board. Watch, like, pass on.

Ovaries Über Alles!

And Binky Wepted.

~B~

* I’m not claiming to have any inside info or anything, but I’d like to lay odds that His High Smugness, Lord & Holy Mother Justin Trudeau might, in fact, be revealed later as The  Actual AntiChrist, so fulfilling the ancient prophecies of the dark enemy of humanity and the Lord Jesus Christ, as Satan incarnate, type thing.

You heard it here first. Ya never know, eh?…. “Like, OMG! Satan incarnate has the BEST hair! I’m so totally into him! TAKE MY SOUL, JUSTI-I-I-IN!!” ~

Spring Is Sprung.. Soon Jesus’ Ris’n

~ HERE IN BINKILAND, it’s now technically Spring, a.k.a the day before a shrieking Nor’Easter and a foot of wind-blasted snow hits us upside the head. Not a bad Winter, though.

Springwise, here’s all your astronomical details— the main point, for winter-weary Northern hemispheriacs? The days are finally going to be longer than the nights! For a bit.

For Christians in the West, it’s also Palm Sunday, and the beginning of Holy Week– the walk of suffering love by Jesus, leading to Good Friday, the silent tomb, and the breaking forth of the Kingdom of heaven, by his bodily resurrection from the grave. Easter! Lent draws to a close in a culmination that changes everything forever.

Stole ALL The Things

It is often charged against Christians that they stole all the other people’s stuff. So, Pascha (Easter) is merely a pagan fertility thing. Stole it. ‘Resurrection’ is really all Isis & Osiris, plus about spring, bunnies, eggs, and metaphorical and agricultural new life. So there, you ignorant silly thieving Christians! 😛

Or at least that’s at lest what some silly evangelical Christians, various clevers, and the darling neo-pagans playing superhero in their PJs tell us, being so much smarter, with their 19th century invented pseudo-religion– i.e.,  from a Christian stance, they notice that there are resonances, foretastes, ideas before Jesus came, who fulfilled them all– not just the fulfillment of Judaism, but of all spiritual longings of the ancients.

Stolen? Well, that’s only if Christianity is a lie. If Christ is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, then he’s the fulfillment  and completion of what went before. If Christ is not Risen, our faith is in vain– said St. Paul himself.

Right-SideUpistan

Having pondered this awhile, I think it’s actually upside-down: Spring is really about Easter. The breaking forth of slumbering nature into bloom and blossom and baby birds is  a symbol of the Resurrection of the Lord. The literal rising of Jesus from death is represented by the brighter, warmer, more humane foretaste of the heavenly and eternal springtime. Spring? Well, it’s all about Jesus, and heaven.

That is, ancient pagan peoples could hardly be expected to sit around worshipping and dreaming and hoping for nothing in particular, until Jesus came. He does not come to destroy, but to save, to make ALL things new, to fulfill all the hopes and longings and dreams and visions, as God would have it done.

Pagan sacrifice? One sacrifice on the cross. Contact with holy things? God walking amongst us, incarnate. The seasons of nature representing the seasons of the spirit? The Resurrection of Jesus, the new day, the eighth day of the new creation, breaking in upon our hearts, and upon a nature seeking to be reborn, and made new. Pagan fertility rites? God loves babies– when you’re married. Get to it! Holy places? Special spots set aside for churches, chapels, and locales for pilgrimage. Ancient mighty heroes of the tribe or race? The saints alive, and in glory. All through Jesus.

Spiritual Unfulfillment

In Canada and the United States, we’ve had a strong tide of political silly seasons, elections,  promises and lies, hubris and nemesis, surprises and shocks. The world goes round and round like a demented carousel, seeking to trap us, and hypnotize us to those fallen and deceptive rhythms that this leader or that will save us; that this pile of free things versus that pile of free things will make us happy; that there’s no other way worth mentioning.

This seems a worse kind of paganism, a hopeless Utopian misery, a rat’s maze with no exit. Now, more than ever, people need something– Someone truly real, and with us and yet lifting us upwards. We need him– or at least his blessings– but as Holy week’s roller-coaster from palms of praise to shout of hate and nails, we don’t entirely want Him. God can be like dentistry in that way.

The human heart would be supreme– can’t we be bosses, Kings and Queens of our own selves, and get all the prizes and goodies, too? Why not get our cake, and eat it, but still have it? How come we can’t be gods, just like the Serpent in The Garden promised?

Because we are not God. We are finite, fallible, foolish, doomed to death, and trapped in shortcomings. We don’t want to be all that we are, and we are what we don’t want to be. There is no good– i.e., no saving eternal life and goodness and love– in us.

God shares all good things with us: he nails himself to us. The Son drinks the cup of sin and death and hell. Love is stronger than death: Christ’s infinite life shared with us in our faith and the sacraments begins the process of making us partakers of God’s nature– into little gods and goddesses on his terms, not ours (or the Serpent’s terms).

Sharp, Like Three Nails

Holy week– the sharp focus on life and death, sin and salvation, sacrifice and selfishness, shows us there’s no such middle ground. He will die to save us, while we were yet sinners– but if Jesus is Lord, then he is Lord of all the things, all the open areas and little corners and hidden closets, too.

The sad fact about the slow deflation of the West form the inside out: simply put, supernature abhors a vacuum. Believers in Jihad and demonic slaughter are inside and crashing through our gates, seeking submission of all things to the blood-demon “Allah”– if we are spiritually dead, or dying, we have no true or lasting inspiration or reason to fight back.

It’s the question of this time, but of all times: will we rebel against our rightful King and Lord, and so be defeated by ourselves and our enemies? Behold your King, on Palm Sunday, humbly riding a donkey; on Good Friday, humbly taking up his cross and dying; on Pascha or Easter Sunday taking up his life again, and in him, all things can and shall be made new.

Behold your King!

So Saith,

Teh Binks

This. More.

The Full Transcript of the speech, 15 March 2016, Budapest (reproduced below)

~ BINKS HAS HAD ENOUGH– Send them home.

Except for the actual refugees from Syria, especially the persecuted ones– and peaceful integrated non-Jihadi immigrants: home you go. Second or third generation extremists? Pick a country, and go away from here.

Screw the EU parliament, Soros, Merckel, Erdogan, Warmongering Overlord Obama and his excellent Syrian Adventure, Trudeau, and all the other socialist globalist lunatics supporting this evil scheme of cultural overthrow and enslavement.

Screw us, too, for failing to bother to do the most basic thing required of all lifeforms, from the algae on up: reproduce. Then we import the kids we didn’t have or prevented or aborted, except the imports don’t all want to be like us, because we’re becoming soft, decadent, wimpy, and passive slaves of our stuff and our comforts and pleasures.

Set Europe free from this new chapter in the 14 centuries of The Book Of Jihad. Or else. Set it free from the grey faceless plotters and schemers and central planners who all have their brilliant dreams of taming and enslaving humanity forever.

No more free rides, rape-gangs, taharrush, crime, riots, assault, welfare Jihadis, no-go zones, poolside molestation, changing room assaults, deliberate thuggery, child & polygamous marriage, soft jihad, or any of it.

Send them home, now. Canada: only let in a few at a time, and if they won’t assimilate and obey the laws, and build up Canada– then send them home.

And why not let the PM of Hungary know what you think about his truthful and fearless words?

So saith,

Grumpy Binks

Binks is not amused.

The PM of Hungary full transcript, Budapest speech by Prime Minister Viktor Orbán on 15 March, 2016.

“Salutations to you, Hungarian freedom, on this the day you are born!”

Ladies and Gentlemen, Compatriots, Hungarians around the World,

With a cockade sewn by Júlia Szendrey pinned to his chest, a volume of poems in his pocket, and the still thrilling experience of the Revolution in his head, these are the words with which the poet Sándor Petőfi welcomed the fifteenth of March in his journal. Salutations to you, Hungarian freedom, on this the day you are born! And today also, one hundred and sixty-eight years later, it is with unfettered joy, the optimism of early spring, high hopes and an elevated spirit that across the Carpathian Basin we celebrate – from Beregszász to Szabadka, from Rimaszombat to Kézdivásárhely: every Hungarian with one heart, one soul and one will.

Just as then in the decisive battles of the Freedom Fight, now also Hungarian hearts are cheered by the fact that we have with us a Polish legion. I welcome the spirited successors of General Bem: we welcome the sons of the Polish nation. As always throughout our shared thousand-year history, now, too, we are standing by you in the battle you are fighting for your country’s freedom and independence. We are with you, and we send this message to Brussels: more respect to the Polish people, more respect to Poland! Greetings to you. It is a sign of the shared fate of Poland and Hungary that another glorious revolution of ours – that of 1956 – was born between the Bem Statue and Kossuth tér in Budapest. It rose up with the unstoppable force of our glorious ancestors, and by the evening it had dragged the Soviet generalissimo out of his boots.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

By nature, Hungarians stand up for what is right when the need arises. What is more, they fight for it if needs be, but do not seek out trouble for its own sake. They know that they can often achieve more through patience than through sabre-rattling. This is why those like us are rarely given to revolutions. We have only gone down that path twice in one hundred and seventy years. When we did follow that path, we had reason to do so: we felt that our lungs would burst if we could not breathe in freedom. We threw ourselves into it, and once we had started a revolution, we did so in style. Modern European history has preserved both Hungarian revolutions among the glorious memories of the world: two blazing stars, two national uprisings bursting forth in 1848 and 1956 from Hungarian aspirations and Hungarian interests. Glory to the heroes, honour to the brave. Chroniclers have also recorded the revolution of 1918–19, but the memories of that period are not preserved on the pages of glory; indeed, not only are those memories written on different pages, but they appear in a different volume altogether. The 1918–19 revolution can be found in the volume devoted to Bolshevik anti-Hungarian subversions launched in the service of foreign interests and foreign ambitions; it features under the heading “appalling examples of intellectual and political degeneracy”. Yes, we Hungarians have two revolutionary traditions: one leads from 1848, through 1956 and the fall of communism, all the way to the Fundamental Law and the current constitutional order; the bloodline of the other tradition leads from Jacobin European ancestors, through 1919, to communism after World War II and the Soviet era in Hungary. Life in Hungary today is a creation of the spiritual heirs and offspring of the ’48 and ’56 revolutions. Today, as then, the heartbeat of this revolutionary tradition moves and guides the nation’s political, economic and spiritual life: equality before the law, responsible government, a national bank, the sharing of burdens, respect for human dignity and the unification of the nation. Today, as then, the ideals of ’48 and ’56 are the pulse driving the life force of the nation, and the intellectual and spiritual blood flow of the Hungarian people. Let us give thanks that this may be so, let us give thanks that finally the Lord of History has led us onto this path. Soli Deo gloria!

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Not even the uplifting mood of a celebration day can let us forget that the tradition of 1919, too, is still with us – though fortunately its pulse is just a faint flicker. Yet at times it can make quite a noise. But without a host animal, its days are numbered. It is in need of another delivery of aid from abroad in the form of a major intellectual and political infusion; unless it receives this, then after its leaves and branches have withered, its roots will also dry up in the Hungarian motherland’s soil, which is hostile to internationalism. And this is all well and good.

A decent person who raises their children and works hard to build the course of their life does not usually end up as a revolutionary. The right-thinking person who stands on their own two feet and has control over their future knows that upheavals and the sudden upending of the ordinary course of life rarely ends well. The person of goodwill who seeks a life of serene and peaceful progress knows that trying to take two steps at once leads to you tripping over your own legs, and instead of moving forward, you will land flat on your face. And yet these right-thinking people of goodwill, these upstanding citizens of Pest instantly rallied to the call of our revolutions, marching at the front, right behind the university students. They formed the backbone of the revolutions and freedom fights, and they were to pay with their own blood for the honour of the Hungarian people. Every revolution is like the people who make it. On the committee which oversaw order during the 15 March revolution, in the shadow of the colossal figures of Petőfi and Vasvári, we find the furrier Máté Gyurkovics, and the button-maker György Molnár. Our revolutions were led by respectable citizens, military officers, lawyers, writers, doctors, engineers, honest tradespeople, farmers and workers with a sense of national duty: Hungarians who embodied the nation’s best aspects, our homeland’s very best. Hungarian revolutionaries are not warriors for hare-brained ideologies, deranged utopias or demented, unsolicited plans for world happiness; in Pest you find no traces of the illusory visions of quack philosophers or the raging resentment of failed intellectuals. The revolutionaries of 1848 did not want to salvage stones from the ruins of absolutist oppression in order to build a temple to yet another tyranny; therefore the Hungarian revolution’s songs were not written in honour of the steel blade of the guillotine or the rope of the gallows. Our songs are not sung by lynch mobs or execution-thirsty crowds; the Pest revolution is not a hymn to chaos, revenge, or butchery. The 1848 Revolution is a solemn and dignified moment in our history, when the wounds of the glorious Hungarian nation opened once again. Springing from constitutional roots, it demanded the granting and return of the rights seized from and denied to the nation. It is exhilarating, but sober; ecstatic but practical; glorious, but temperate. It is Hungarian to the core.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Three weeks before his death in battle, in his last letter to János Arany, Sándor Petőfi asked the following question: “So what are you going to do?” When we, his modern descendants, read this, it is as if he is asking us the same question. So what are you going to do? How will you make use of your inheritance? Are the Hungarian people still worthy of their ancestors’ reputation? Do you know the law of the Hungarians of old – that whatever you do should not only be measured by its utility, but also by universal standards? This is because your deeds must pass the test not only here, but also in eternity.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

We have our inheritance, the Hungarian people still exist, Buda still stands, we are who we were, and we shall be who we are. Our reputation travels far and wide; clever people and intelligent peoples acknowledge the Hungarians. We adhere to the ancient law, and also measure our deeds by universal standards. We teach our children that their horizon should be eternity. Whether we shall succeed, whether finally we see the building of a homeland which is free, independent, worthy and respected the world over – one which was raised high by our forebears from 1848, and for which they sacrificed their lives – we cannot yet know. We do know, however, that the current European constellation is an unstable one, and so we have some testing times ahead. The times in which we live press us with this question, which is like a hussar’s sabre held to our chest: “Shall we live in slavery or in freedom?” The destiny of the Hungarians has become intertwined with that of Europe’s nations, and has grown to be so much a part of the union that today not a single people – including the Hungarian people – can be free if Europe is not free. And today Europe is as fragile, weak and sickly as a flower being eaten away by a hidden worm. Today, one hundred and sixty-eight years after the great freedom fights of its peoples, Europe – our common home – is not free.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Europe is not free, because freedom begins with speaking the truth. In Europe today it is forbidden to speak the truth. A muzzle is a muzzle – even if it is made of silk. It is forbidden to say that today we are not witnessing the arrival of refugees, but a Europe being threatened by mass migration. It is forbidden to say that tens of millions are ready to set out in our direction. It is forbidden to say that immigration brings crime and terrorism to our countries. It is forbidden to say that the masses of people coming from different civilisations pose a threat to our way of life, our culture, our customs, and our Christian traditions. It is forbidden to say that, instead of integrating, those who arrived here earlier have built a world of their own, with their own laws and ideals, which is forcing apart the thousand-year-old structure of Europe. It is forbidden to say that this is not accidental and not a chain of unintentional consequences, but a planned, orchestrated campaign, a mass of people directed towards us. It is forbidden to say that in Brussels they are constructing schemes to transport foreigners here as quickly as possible and to settle them here among us. It is forbidden to say that the purpose of settling these people here is to redraw the religious and cultural map of Europe and to reconfigure its ethnic foundations, thereby eliminating nation states, which are the last obstacle to the international movement. It is forbidden to say that Brussels is stealthily devouring ever more slices of our national sovereignty, and that in Brussels today many are working on a plan for a United States of Europe, for which no one has ever given authorisation.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Today’s enemies of freedom are cut from a different cloth than the royal and imperial rulers of old, or those who ran the Soviet system; they use a different set of tools to force us into submission. Today they do not imprison us, they do not transport us to camps, and they do not send in tanks to occupy countries loyal to freedom. Today the international media’s artillery bombardments, denunciations, threats and blackmail are enough – or rather have been enough so far. The peoples of Europe are slowly awakening, they are regrouping, and will soon regain ground. Europe’s beams laid on the suppression of truth are creaking and cracking. The peoples of Europe may have finally understood that their future is at stake: not only are their prosperity, their comfort and their jobs at stake, but their very security and the peaceful order of their lives are in danger. The peoples of Europe, who have been slumbering in abundance and prosperity, have finally understood that the principles of life upon which we built Europe are in mortal danger. Europe is a community of Christian, free and independent nations; it is the equality of men and women, fair competition and solidarity, pride and humility, justice and mercy.

This danger is not now threatening us as wars and natural disasters do, which take the ground from under our feet in an instant. Mass migration is like a slow and steady current of water which washes away the shore. It appears in the guise of humanitarian action, but its true nature is the occupation of territory; and their gain in territory is our loss of territory. Hordes of implacable human rights warriors feel an unquenchable desire to lecture and accuse us. It is claimed that we are xenophobic and hostile, but the truth is that the history of our nation is also one of inclusion and the intertwining of cultures. Those who have sought to come here as new family members, as allies or as displaced persons fearing for their lives have been let in to make a new home for themselves. But those who have come here with the intention of changing our country and shaping our nation in their own image, those who have come with violence and against our will, have always been met with resistance.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

At first, they are only talking about a few hundred, a thousand or two thousand relocated people. But not a single responsible European leader would dare to swear under oath that this couple of thousand will not eventually increase to tens or hundreds of thousands. If we want to stop this mass migration, we must first of all curb Brussels. The main danger to Europe’s future does not come from those who want to come here, but from Brussels’ fanatics of internationalism. We cannot allow Brussels to place itself above the law. We shall not allow it to force upon us the bitter fruit of its cosmopolitan immigration policy. We shall not import to Hungary crime, terrorism, homophobia and synagogue-burning anti-Semitism. There shall be no urban districts beyond the reach of the law, there shall be no mass disorder or immigrant riots here, and there shall be no gangs hunting down our women and daughters. We shall not allow others to tell us whom we can let into our home and country, whom we will live alongside, and whom we will share our country with. We know how these things go. First we allow them to tell us whom we must take in, then they force us to serve foreigners in our country. In the end we find ourselves being told to pack up and leave our own land. Therefore we reject the forced resettlement scheme, and we shall tolerate neither blackmail, nor threats.

The time has come to ring the warning bell. The time has come for opposition and resistance. The time has come to gather allies to us. The time has come to raise the flag of proud nations. The time has come to prevent the destruction of Europe, and to save the future of Europe. To this end, regardless of party affiliation, we call on every citizen of Hungary to unite, and we call on every European nation to unite. The leaders and citizens of Europe must no longer live in two separate worlds. We must restore the unity of Europe. We the peoples of Europe cannot be free individually if we are not free together. If we unite our forces, we shall succeed; if we pull in different directions, we shall fail. Together we are strength, disunited we are weakness. Either together, or not at all – today this is the law.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

In 1848 it was written in the book of fate that nothing could be done against the Habsburg Empire. If then we had resigned ourselves to that outcome, our fate would have been sealed and the German sea would have swallowed up the Hungarians. In 1956 it was written in the book of fate that we were to remain an occupied and sovietised country until patriotism was extinguished in the very last Hungarian. If then we had resigned ourselves to that outcome, our fate would have been sealed, and the Soviet sea would have swallowed up the Hungarians. Today it is written in the book of fate that hidden, faceless world powers will eliminate everything that is unique, autonomous, age-old and national. They will blend cultures, religions and populations, until our many-faceted and proud Europe will finally become bloodless and docile. And if we resign ourselves to this outcome, our fate will be sealed, and we will be swallowed up in the enormous belly of the United States of Europe. The task which awaits the Hungarian people, the nations of Central Europe and the other European nations which have not yet lost all common sense is to defeat, rewrite and transform the fate intended for us. We Hungarians and Poles know how to do this. We have been taught that only if you are brave enough do you look danger in the face. We must therefore drag the ancient virtue of courage out from under the silt of oblivion. First of all we must put steel in our spines, and we must clearly answer the foremost, the single most important question determining our fate with a voice so loud so that it can be heard far and wide. The question upon which the future of Europe stands or falls is this: “Shall we live in slavery or in freedom?” That is the question – give your answer!

Go for it Hungary, go for it Hungarians!

(miniszterelnok.hu, Cabinet Office of the Prime Minister). Link.

Trump: Very Distraction, Much Spoofing

ANOTHER UPDATE: ITEM: Just FYI.. Soros’ board member chairs firm running Utah’s online voting. What could possibly go wrong? COUGHVotingFraudCOUGH.. mind you, the entire U.S. online & e-voting system is completely and totally corrupt, ridiculous, unverifiable, and transparently defraudable at every stage. The pretense of American democracy has been subverted for all future elections. 

In unrelated news, LEAD ORGANIZER Jacinta Gonzalez Who Shut Down Hwy to TRUMP RALLY Is.. wait for it… a Soros-trained “Soros Fellow” from New Orleans.

UPDATE— ITEM: Nothing To See Here– SHOCK VIDEO: Protester beheads Trump effigy hanging from noose

~ ITEM: Bush ’43’s RINO Consultant– Donor Class Must ‘Put a Bullet in Donald Trump‘.

~ ITEM: Breitbart’s Aaron Klein: ‘Don’t Be Fooled,’ Anti-Trump Protest Movement Really ‘Professional Agitators’; Largest Civil Disobedience Action of the Century isn’t Anti-Trump, It’s Pro-Democracy; plus MoveOn.Org-Backed Protest Movement: Breitbart Readers ‘Are With Us’. Snort. 

~ ITEM: HUMOUR– Secret Republican blueprint for stopping Donald Trump revealed. Shhhh! Be vewwy, vewwy qwiet! It’s Twump hunting season!

~ ITEM: Protesters clashed with supporters of Donald Trump after he gave a speech in Utah on Friday

~ ITEM: Conservative movement professionals in Washington, D.C. are plotting to form possible “blacklist” of Donald Trump supporters to be shunned by the conservative movement, never to return?

+ + +

THAT’S A GLORIOUS sight above– a C-130 doing an emergency maneuver called ‘Angel Wings’ (for obvious reasons). It’s cool-looking, but very serious– the plane is practice-dropping flares meant to distract & deflect deadly heat-seeking missiles from ground or air. To make the missiles mis-track as if one of the flares is the actual target.

Our modern life is full of deliberate disinformation, and large-scale distraction from events, truth, facts. One way to tell what’s really going on is to pay attention for more than four seconds– to look past the chaff, the distraction, the misinformation.

Track-back. Dig deep. Screen-cap. Fact-check. Check twice, and thrice. Verify. And check out the enemies-list, too.

Comb-Over Rising

Love him or hate him, the super-polarizing Donald Trump seems to be a Yuge pounding migraine headache to all the various establishments, secret groups, and master-planners. Why?

He’s not in the plan– unless it’s some secret double-cross where he IS the plan, but is made to look not so, but then we’re so far into the rabbit hole that Bugs Bunny himself stopped digging a while back. Not going there….

As far as horrid scumbags go, I’d be honoured to have Big Mama Hillary and her mafia of drones, the NYC Banking clan, the Bush dynasty, the Bilderbergs, George Soros, the Republican backroom, the rental mobs of faux protesters, and the entire American political establishment flipping out and having a stroke at the sound of my name. Fraud! Literally Hitler! Clown! Devil! A cancer! Disaster! Racist! The Destructor! Stupid hair!

It’s not about politics– it’s about control, power, money, and the future. This is the biggest election since the incompetent fraud known as Obama was foisted on the world in 2008.

I Have No Idea

Perhaps, just maybe, The Donald is what he says he is— an outsider, someone who is politically awake, someone who sees a West being bankrupted, flooded with Muslims, ideologically brainwashed, and he’s not having it. Just maybe.

After all, what if he kept some of his promises? Opened all the archives? What if he called out Goldman Sachs, international criminal and election-fixer George Soros, or the secret U.S. government founded by the Dulles brothers and others, post WW2? Exposed the ongoing election fraud over the past 70 years and more? The whole 911 story? Revealed the guilty behind the 2008 market crashes? Horrors!

Free Shrugs All ‘Round

What if he told the truth about American thieving and warmongering in Central America, Vietnam, Iraq, Iran, ‘The Arab Spring’, Benghazi, Syria, and Ukraine? Or allowed journalists and bloggers and citizens to know ALL about the CIA? Really listened to & responded to the angry American people? Can’t have any of that.

Then again, maybe he’s just another American political fraud in a long line of criminals, conspirators, put-up men, and dirty politics. Dunno.

Nice Hair Ya Got There…

Either way, America has a long tradition of political murder, ‘accidents’, strange coincidences, conspiracies and cover-ups. Especially since the early days of the 1900s, things have become weirder and more secretive and more treacherous in terms of what is propagated as news & reality, versus all the busy people behind the scenes doing all sorts of other things.

Hopefully all the malice and threats against Trump are just hot air and hyperbole. Pray for him and the other candidates, love them or not.

America has a messy recent history– the killing of JFK (and a lot of people connected to his political assassination) and Lee Harvey Oswald, then MLK, then RFK,  Malcom X, then Reagan (he inconveniently survived), then Clinton & Obama’s ‘usefully dead’ corpse lists, possibly Justice Scalia, and others. Teddy Kennedy at least had the sense to survive, and zipped his lips on touchy topics.

Speculation is worth every penny. I dunno: I sincerely hope nothing like this were ever to happen to Trump, or anybody else for that matter.

Finally, In Conclusion

If I were in the States, I’d be voting Trump, or, more likely, None Of The Above– or some dark horse candidate with the chops (NO, not Ted “Bought & Paid For” Cruz).

Mind you, if I were in the States, I’d also be looking at the ticking doom of the debt clocks, the tiny dollar, the negative interest rate scam, the bubble economy, the mass unemployment, and realize all that soaring mountain range of engineered disaster is not going to be easily fixed, especially not by Hitllery Clinton, or Burn It Sanders. ~