Literally, Nothing Short of Dying is Half as Lonesome as This Sound

I write this from a coffee shop in Nigeria, Sunday morning. The beer I had for breakfast wasn’t bad, so I had one more for dessert. I don’t drink beer, as a rule, but God help me Jesus, it is autumn and we are all on a rollercoaster into the mouth of hell, just as those six million rode the rollercoaster into the incinerator.

A recent truthful book I’ve read from the honest Jews described the rollercoaster into the incinerator as more of a log ride, like Splash Mountain at Disney Land, or the log ride I used to go to at Cedar Point in Sandusky, Ohio, when I was a boy.

Cedar Point will be completely cashless by 2022, because too many children are getting the deadly coronavirus from the use of dollar bills.

But it’s not like that is going to keep it open. It will close, as everything from my childhood will close, due to the absolute deadliness of this deadly virus.

I’ve ordered eggs, and they have not yet arrived at time of writing. I keep a weird schedule, so my breakfast is effectively a dinner, but I will not eat something other than eggs in the morning, especially a Sunday morning.

Regardless of the coronavirus or the vax or the Jews or six bagellion Haitian immigrants, there is one thing that will always remain true: there’s nothing short of dying half as lonesome as the sound of a sleeping city sidewalk and Sunday morning coming down.

This is particularly and explicitly true when you’re already drunk and Sunday begins and you have to go out on the streets. Coronavirus either makes this worse or better, I’m not sure. Definitely, even in October of 2021, there are fewer small kids cussing at balls that they’re kicking than there were in 2019. Frankly, I haven’t seen a single kid cussing at a ball.

Frankly, my cleanest dirty shirt is a lot less clean than it was in 2019. What is the point of cleaning these shirts, if 90% of the people whose faces I’m going to see are wearing masks? These are not people, they are drones, and I don’t care what they think about the cleanliness of my shirts.

I’m losing touch with the core of the social order.

I wish, more than anything, there was a church I could stumble into, where a man of God with warm eyes would comfort me, and tell me this is all a part of God’s plan. I know it is all a part of God’s plan. I believe it and do not doubt it for a second. But if some man of the cloth who I respected as an understander of Christian philosophy and a carrier of the traditions of our ancestors would tell me that, it would light up my soul.

Our civilization is not dying. It is dead.

We lost.

Donald Trump not only failed, he failed and then he came up at our backs with a deadly knife – or perhaps, with a syringe.

But we will prevail.

We must prevail.

The church might be dead, but Christ is risen, and no Jew can erase this fact.

In many ways, the worse things get, the better, as the closer we come to the point where this system will end, and we will all be free.

We have all suffered so much. Not one of us has been spared.

Our childhoods and adulthoods have been defiled by the most significant evil the earth has ever seen, and the coronavirus hoax is simply the killshot, wiping out what remains of our society.

But it is not over.

We lost the battle, but we are destined to win the war.

Deus Vult.

Nothing is over, as long as you and I live and breathe, and Jesus walks.