I have spent time with various folks as I progress eastward—almost to the sea now—and I have noticed how the National Gaslighting Initiative, a 350-million person ongoing lie machine, has worked on almost everybody.

-Most people are terrified, groomed and ever fatter mice scurrying for moral cover. I was at an outdoor swap meet attended by thousands in the sunny, wind-bitten April cold, and very few people had the courage to unmask, so terrified were they to disobey their disembodied masters.

-A small minority, who can not abide to be bullied from media pulpits—those who would have been burned at the stake in a past age for witchery—are dancing on an inner precipice, their peace-of-mind constantly rocked by friends and family pressuring them to get vaxxed. Pittsburgh was instructive: For instance, Punky's friends would not have lunch with her until she got vaxxed. Cutie, who had Brovid, and as a healthcare worker has patients who got vaxxed and then got Brovid, is being pressured by media puppets in her family—straight up dumb-dumbs—into vaxxing, as they claim that the science they follow with no scientific training is Gospel and the science she learned and practices as a Registered Nurse is heathen superstition. This minority faces constant induction attempts by those closest to them to submit to the glaring gaslight, to embrace the light of right and stop forever thinking for yourself and follow...

-Then there are the few eye-fuckers who seem to be immune, a couple of men I know personally who have always seen the world as an alien enemy planet they are exploring, men who express their contempt for the lame meat-sticks of mass humanity like Baruch who sent this email:

"Stalked in Baltimore

Mon, Mar 29, 12:31 PM (5 days ago)

These videos bring up memories of life as a young white pedestrian man in NYC, Syracuse NY, Providence RI...

You can only survive as a man if you decide you are dead already-the mindset of a rabid rat in a city full of cats.

On foot in Providence, walking six miles to the synagogue on Shabbat-no cars allowed-I used to purposely walk through packs of young dindu bucks on the sidewalk, eyefucking them, snarling internally, making them drop their eyes and make way. If they'd gone for me, I probably would have ended up dead, or in a coma, but I had nothing to lose in my mind, and meant to take a couple with me.

Mentally, I was as much of an alien to the Americans around me as any Martian would have been...

Now I'm pushing forty, five little kids, terraforming a patch of thorns and stones, and the math has changed. I miss those days sometimes...

Sincerely,

Baruch"

In corresponding with Baruch for these five years now, he reminds me of a religious version of Big Ron or Yeti Waters, someone who has dealt with enough feral Neo-Bantuism to know better than believe the pronouncements that the men who once ever eyed them for harm, are now innocent, martyred and even ascendant deities.

The suburbanite in their cul de sac fall for the media doctrine.

The cerebral contrarian, the dissident faraway mind of the rare free thinker does not fall but is tormented in the flames of the lie.

It seems that only the violent men who have glared back at other violent men and smoldered with their eyes, "Fuck you!" can look at the lie and laugh in its ever-morphing face or simply break into operational insurgency protocols.

I was, in 1981, on my return to Baltimore, a gittering sissy, terrified of the packs of predators threatening me on my way back and forth to work. I had sworn not to train and to give up violence after committing a violent crime.

I was lost and alone.

I had turned my back on God and embraced the Lie of Man.

But the Neo-Bantus, they corrected that, they taught me with their hate and opportunism once again, that the world hated me and was dedicated to my torment and destruction, and that the least I could do was snarl, "Fuck you," while I was dragged to my doom.

And that was enough, the beatings and muggings of my childhood would not be recreated in my majority. As it turns out, predators want easy prey—not a fight. What Baruch describes above, with variations on my part to compensate for me not being a big man, was where I learned that the Lie has more power than trickery—that it demoralizes—and to glare back was to glow free in a furious way, if just long enough for your besieged soul to breathe.