There are two heathen altars in American cities on which ordinary citizens sacrifice their children on a regular basis, and it's unclear which has done the most evil, overall. I'll let others decide which is Molech and which, Chemosh, but the first, most obvious idolatry takes the form of Planned Parenthood's so-called "clinics" and other… Continue reading On Sacrificing Children to Educational Abstractions
"One of the most important things that an author should know in order to write good and even great stories, readers and future writers, is that evil in fact exists."
It isn't politically correct, but if true, these proposals will be validated for all male and female human characters, respectively, and resonate with the disproportionately human Reading Public. H/T to Cane Caldo.
Re-posted from the inimitable Sarah A. Hoyt: During the weekend, while doing my normal weekly cleaning (usually a running affair lasting 4 hours and starting at around 9 am, involving dusting, vacuuming and making wet-areas (kitchen and bathrooms) sanitary, yes a little easier now that I’ve been keeping things more … organized) I listened to… Continue reading Teach a Child — According To Hoyt
And by “we” I mean writers and parents and teachers, and anyone who is supposed to give them an idea of how the world works. By “children” I mean those of us who were children in the last 50, maybe the last 70 years, and although the problem is most prevalent in America, it has […]… Continue reading We’re Failing Our Children: repost from Sarah Hoyt’s blog.
A solid discussion of violence in video games. Snapper nails it.
Neither I nor Dalrock mean to imply either that biblical headship is "a game" or that it consists of the self-appointed-stud-bull attitude marketed as being "Alpha" or having what its marketers call "Game" (capital G). They are in fact mutually incompatible, but are far nearer in form-- and this is Dalrock's point-- than either is to the culturally-popular emasculated gamma-male role that is too often mistaken for "being a Good Christian Husband."
Jonas had never been so far up in all his life. The sidewalks he was used to had no railings because it was only twenty centimetres to the street, not hectametres. He walked more carefully, one hand against the reassuring wall. The air was clearer up here, and the early morning light was almost blue after thousands of yellow and grey-green mornings below. He looked again at the address as a tungsten-yellow Phœnix Valkyrie roared past, freely sharing bullets with the DPD at close range. Jonas pulled his coat around himself, thanked the OneTrueGod for a day out of the factory, and prayed for Clara's safety.
“What's the word, Feng,” he asked the alien as it hovered back and forth, stirring this pot...mixing that... “I just told the blue boy I ain't seen nothing,” he mumbled. “You eating tonight?”
We pushed our way through the shattered city. All around us were the signs of a race without hope, an entire nation devoid of both love and life. "Is this what they saw at Pompeii?" I wondered. Men and women both, dead before they died.
The familiar carol's paradigm downshifted like McQueen and floored it, and I realized what the shepherds saw that had them "sore afraid."
Were those footsteps? He hid himself behind a massive oak—greater than any he had seen in Europe. The trunk was more than five feet in diameter, and smelled musty—very musty. He could almost smell the centuries of age in the bark. But there were the footsteps again! This time he was sure of it. He peered out around the trunk...
Then a roar like the fall of a second Atlantis tore the jungle behind us. The great pillar stood shuddering, and then it fell, smashing branches and saplings on its way. It shook the ground when it fell, and the treetops parted ...
Ladies and gentlemen, and scoundrels of all ages, this is the page for the stories.
Tigers walk here, where Maharajahs rode, with jackals as their grooms and serving men. There lies the ancient, ruined city. There lies Delwaar San.