Patriot's Diary 4/7/19 The Ever Returning Question
Posted on April 13, 2019
Patriot's Diary 4/7/19
The Ever Returning Question
If you scroll back through this group, as I do sometimes, you will see ONE particular question asked, in different forms, many times. It's an important one. It is fundamental. It will crucially decide how Europe will fare in the next few critical years. Here you go:
What do you think?
Here's my take: YES, indubitably, mon ami, and I'll tell you for why.
God, we are told, experiences a thousand years like a single day. We little humans, on the other hand, sometimes experience a day in our lives as a thousand years. Meaning that we look back, and see a seismic change occur in a very short period. I started out, many moons ago, as a Liberal Pacifist, desperately well meaning, hoping to save the world. I ran a youth club in Ghetto land, in darkest North Dublin, for juvenile delinquents. Fervently anti-violence, anti-gun, and I would have hugged a Jihadi with a pure heart. Moments before I bled to death from a stab to that same organ, I imagine. That was then, and this is now. The thousand year day arrived, a long time ago, when I was watching -from the shadows- people getting hurt, and even at risk of fatal injury. It was a very ugly situation, degenerating quickly. My FIRST instinct, (raised on Kahlil Gibran's seminal work, “The Prophet”, and a steady diet of readings on Mahatma Gandhi, and a love of poetry) was to heroically interject myself between the parties, and solemnly intone some fine and noble sentiments. Maybe I would get seriously hurt, and then I could earn bonus points heroically lying in a hospital bed, being comforted by all the pretty University girls. I'd have flat out sex for weeks after, for sure. The trouble was, that spot had already been taken by no less than THREE heroes, doing a truly fine and moving Mahatma Gandhi job. Should I join them? Eh?
And all of a sudden, there come this rush of “Oh, F**k that!”
“What a load of cobblers.”
“This is nothing but a sophisticated excuse for cowardice!”
Enter the hormones, long suppressed genes kicked in, an ancient Celtic war cry, and I discovered that a broken billiard cue (after you headbutt the ugly basket trying to slug you with it), makes a handy tool for spreading poetry of a different kind. Dark poetry. Fists, feet, teeth, spitting mad… a fine sight I was. Needless to say, I also got disowned, and no sex with the pretty University girls, all of whom were shocked at the wild savage. But I prevented a lot of people getting hurt. I put a stop to that sh*t super quick. I remember a nice one-two I'm STILL proud of.
Now… I build guns on a CNC computer-mill set up, for academic research purposes, and I look back on a knowledge of shooting and fighting. And throwing a Law Enforcement helicopter around dark mountains, at night, on NVG, chasing bad guys, cranked over at some crazy angle, talking on three radios, and nonchalantly operating the Starburst spot light, and, for fun, making rude comments over the P.A.watching the K-9 do the biting bit.
Hey, I still write poetry.
My pojnt? Make a man mad enough, f**k with his wife and daughters, hurt his children, and watch what a vicious monster you will (suddenly) create. Those 'battle hardened Jihadis'? A bunch of thug-bullies, with minuscule IQ, zero empathy, very poor judgement, and too stupid to know
not to light
the blue wick.
Last edited by Francis Meyrick on April 14, 2019, 12:28 am