The Long Reach of Destiny
Men prefer Arizona Blondes, on earth as it is in heaven.
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.
β Lao Tzu
A large Latino man passes by the guest casita window of Los Viejos Citizensβ pad in the remote Boomerville Happy Gilmore Golf Town of Saguaroland, Arizona, USA West Israel.
His dedication to speed and a tight brown UPS uniform signals his friendly purpose as he places a small box on the bench beside the front door. He scans the barcode on the box and reaches for theβ¦
β¦the sound of the doorbell not connected to a Bezos-NSA camera whups me out of my chair. I know that a 3/8th inch rabbeting bit has arrived for my latest entrepeneural-speculative-enterprise involving a design patent and a woodworking prototype.
As the large Latino man turns and passes the window, our eyes meet, and he stops dead in his tracks, which stops me dead in mine. I give him a friendly nod, as he looks down curiously toward what Iβm holding in my left hand, specifically at the dust jacket of David Irvingβs book Hitlerβs War, with the man himself standing between his Generals looking down at maps and plans on how they will survive the encroachment of Jewish-controlled muppet states coming from the west and Jewish Bolshevik savages (already responsible for millions of deaths before the war kicks off) coming from the east. I proudly hold the book up, and smile, and signal itβs a quality book with a thumbs up from my right hand.
No reaction.
He thinks Iβm celebrating Hitler or maybe that Iβm some white power guy.
βEssential reading!β I yell at him toward the closed windows over the sound of a whirling ceiling fan and buzzing air conditioning. He shakes his head with wireless AirPods jammed in his ears, frying his brain matter, as if to shame me, and walks toward his big brown rig idling in the cul-de-sac.
This is the most exciting interaction Iβve had with an Empire stranger since an Alaska Airlines Stewardess, a blonde from Arizona, began rubbing herself against me on a dance floor overlooking the mighty blue Pacific Ocean in Mazatlanβ¦30 years ago. It was back when there were still young stewardesses, when the over-30 stewardesses could retire to the comforting arms of toxic masculinity and didnβt need to work into their 70s to pay the household bills.
The destiny of young stewardesses for most of the 20th century was to meet that traveling businessman who would slap a ring on it after a few rendezvousΒ to collect Hilton Honors points, leaving a stinking mess for housekeeping.
Those βMad Menβ days are long gone, and even the pilots are sad about the continuous stream of Gays, Grannies, and Grandes who can barely fit between the aisles.
Though that Alaskan Airlines Stewardess, on that dance floor, that night in Mazatlan, never judged me based on a book sheβd never read, on a topic she knew nothing about, while frying her brain matter with wireless AirPods.
Still, it was exciting to be judged so quickly and negatively, in a primal βI-had-a-secret-that-I-really-donβt-care-if-you-know-about-mister-now-kindly-piss-offβ sort of way.
The destiny of a UPS driver is hundreds of stops in four ten-hour shifts each week until the company fires him because his union negotiated a salary of $150,000, which makes it much easier to hire someone half his age, for half the cost, maybe even an ace driver from Bangladesh who will perform unsignalled U-turns on five-lane freeways at rush hour.
The replaced driver will get the redundancy call on a Friday night, just after suppertime when the family discusses which private high school their kids will attend the following Autumn.
The family settles on St. Josephβs Preparatory Academy, the patron saint of workers.
Daddyβs phone rings. (play sad trombone music)
The destiny of any corporation in the Empire of Jews is profitmaxxing, at the expense of human citizen well-beingmaxxing. Itβs right there in black and white, in all the corporate lingo that murders the human soul: redundancies, mergers and acquisitions, headcount, human resources, headhunters, churn, turnover, pipeline, alignment, leverage, burnout, fungible units, wetware, grind, hustle, crushing it, rankings, stacks, write-offs, and my favorite of all time that reveals the traitorous nature of selected muppets in positions of power: FOREIGN TALENT.
Imagine what Monarchs would have thought of this term, had they used it as a replacement justification of their despised subjects:
Sire, weβve imported more foreign talent to replace the Serfs who are commanding an extra hectare each of arable land to help feed their families. Would you like me to double their royal tribute so we can expand the north castle and build your fifth hunting lodge? We can also allocate half of those World Liberty Financial shitcoins the Serfs bought before they go to zero.
Where will the replaced Serfs go?
Weβve injected them all with the new plague cures, Sire.
Where did you acquire so much foreign talent so quickly, Bosworth?
From India, Sire.
Oh, you must be shitting me? Well, where are we on The Odyssey Play to distract the Serfs from their replacement until they expire?
Well, Sire, wonderful news on the productionβthe chief importer of foreign talent is going to remake The Odyssey without woke casting, for half the budget.
The one who said a decade ago that weβd have self-driving horses four years ago?
Yes, Sire.
Oh, dear God.
(a few moments laterβ¦)
Bosworth?
Yes, Sire.
How will we man an army capable of fighting and defending the kingdom?
On earth as it is in heaven.
When not importing foreign βtalentβ with fake degrees through massive state-sponsored money laundering schemes, most corporations are just adult day care centers, so women donβt ever lean into crushing a fulfilling life by maximizing their biological destinies. The corporation husbands them right past their natural sell-by dates, and straight toward that ((feminist)) wall of regret.
Iβll take Social Engineering Civilizational Collapse for $2000, Alex.
Itβs a daily double.
Iβll wager it all, Alex.
Okay, for 271,310 dollars: In the Empire of Jews, these protected entities destroy White menβs futures with foreign replacements, while babysitting the White women in cubicles next to those replacements.
What areβ¦Citizens United?
Oh, no. Sorry, itβs Corporations.
(play sad trombone music for another 271,310 lost)
Long sigh.
My brain had been hitting walls of regret for a while now, and the thought of another piece for this Substack began to weigh on me. Iβd been tooling with one on Flock, Axion, data centers, and the sinicized social engineering goals for western Fedslaves in the Judeo-Empire for months when a barrage of podcasts and essays hit the digital ether simultaneously on the calculated tyranny of the rollout of 115,000 Flock βSafetyβ Inc. surveillance cameras for facial recognition and social association graphs, to monitor every fedslaveβs movements from birth to death.
The nature of the post was becoming bogged down with too much fake and gay minutiae, and then took pivots into the duty of every American to impale every camera using a 45-70 round from a lever action rifle, which isnβt as easy at it sounds since these devices detect every other nearby digital device including cars, phones, watches, smart bikes, and scooters, so the entire piece turned into a kind of heavily researched βbecome a ghostβ instruction manualβa Flockified Anarchistβs Cookbook.
But whatβs the point?
If the common reaction of a people whose Fourth Amendment rights are being violated twenty billion times a month is either to do nothing at all and shrug, or to give speeches in front of the very people in city councils who contracted with a private corporation for the violation of said rights using their own tax dollars, then Iβm not sure itβs a people inspired enough to take the necessary action to turn this tide of tyranny back. I abandoned this βflock offβ post to this sad reality.
There are 119 incomplete drafts in my folder of false starts, and false hopes for clear thinking via completed essays. Each one had a fifty percent chance of failure. Each one was a journey aborted.
Instead of tooling with words, I returned mid-month to the sounds of variable-speed routers, sand drumming kits, and jigsaw blades blasting noises in my head. Since the start of summer, itβs been my only refuge against ideas of what fake-and-gay events I should craft thoughts on next, knowing my safe βFlockβ readers (patrons) know that I know that they know nearly everything that enters the public consciousness is fake and gay to varying degrees.
As the 105-degree (41 C) "dry heat" drips sweat into my bandanas, I don N-95 masks with filtration systems to keep the wood dust out of my lungs. Since being forced by Totally Safe Again workers and airlines to wear them for travel five years ago, I never thought Iβd see one again, let alone purchase a pack of ten.
Inside a makeshift former golf cart garage now a woodworking shop, my destiny is anchored to an idea and MANUAL LABOR.
A design idea for a useful product is just that until a human brings it to life.
Corporations having more power over politicians and courts than the will of citizens? Humans brought that design idea to life, and other humans permitted it.
115,000 Flock surveillance cameras monitoring all slaves from birth to death? Humans brought that design idea to life, and other humans permitted it.
What kind of humans brought it to life?
Reptiles come and go outside the open garage door woodworking shop. Four-legged critters, and even a young California king snake, the king of all snakes in the Arizona desert, pass by some quartzite rocks ten feet from the door. I watch it slither into some bushes. I call the local firemen at the firehouse down the street (HOA protocol), who are there in a flash to swoop him up with their hands into a bucket with a lid.
One of the firemen is beyond thrilled, βIf you have a snake in your yard, this is the one you want! Iβm taking him home.β
Why would he take it home to keep him on his property?
The California King Snake will EAT the diamondback rattlesnake.
Nature has many beautiful and poetic correlaries for so much in our world today. The snake that appears dangerous to humans is safe around humans, and will actually kill and eat the snake that is dangerous to humans.
After a century of being abused by venomous reptiles working for foreign entities, where is Americaβs California King?
Working with my hands and my mind (not attached to computer chips and keyboards) is the most liberating thing Iβve done in years, at least since abandoning any thoughts of a career in the higher academy of lower indoctrinees.
Iβm glowing now from MANUAL LABOR.
My creative belly is distending.
I have to go into labor to bring to life an idea Iβve conceived of that is supposed to solve a significant problem, and create demand within a marketplace that must eventually be targeted, or God willing, created.
The final product birthed from this idea must be light enough to be mobile, durable enough to last and not feel like a Temu purchase, simplistic enough to CNC produce in a factory for flat-pack retail and wholesale shipping, and aesthetically cool enough to make people think that by purchasing the product, they too might become cool.
I wonder during these weeks of toil through MANUAL LABOR if I can go on with the brain-finger-keyboard interface, in a world where everything is fake and gay, and the exhaustion from realizing Iβve spent half a lifetime debating the minutiae of fake and gay events wears down the soul. For now, these are my only remaining life regrets, but I will soon replace them with foreign talent.
