For hope, try here: tinyurl.com/LifeSavingWord

Because this world is going to end in sin, and there’s only one, true escape.

I hold out hope because China is showing the world that a nation can use its wealth and resources to improve human quality of life, harness renewable energy and expand scientific innovation instead of using the wealth and resources to wage wars and turn billionaires into trillionaires.

The only one on your list I go along with totally.

As Adolf put it, men compare themselves with other men, a competition that is natural and has uses.

Adolf might only have been paraphrasing Hesiod, who said there are two sorts of anxiety: One is negative, when you are behind some artificial class barrier and all your frustration is a result of your work doing no good.

But the other sort of anxiety (“strife”) is when the other man’s achievements act as a goad to push you to do more, to try and jump higher, run faster, and otherwise win by improving yourself.

As we get past the irrational times, as we thwart the invasion, that strife will pull us through and allow a new European Golden Age.

Humans caused the mess. But hold on, humans to the rescue!

The lady doth peyote too much, methinks…

Ms. Johnstone’s “I” is, as usual, much too much with us in this piece. Therein lies the principal obstacle to ever actually realizing all she hopes-for.

Is that some silly Jew hippy new age shit you’re pushing? We need more identity, and more ego, not less.

In his book The Prince, Niccolo Machiavelli asserts, “It was never a wise course to make men desperate, because he who does not hope for good does not fear evil.” He argued that fear becomes impotent if a population is entirely robbed of hope. To control subjects or soldiers, a ruler must balance both.

Who is this “we” Understory is wishing even more of the organically-crippling”self” sickness on here? Understory could use a lot less reliance on colicky cliche and puerile pejorative.

The very last thing Caitlin wants for the world is hope. She’s a keyboard revolutionary, a digital despair-monger, perched in ergonomic detachment, sneering from the top of her Substack ratings at the laborer grinding through graveyard shifts and underpaid overtime who are always the first to be harmed by her revolutionary disruptions. She dismisses those who don’t agree with her as monolithically against her, blind to the fact that while she types hollow manifestos like this one, the actual revolutionaries are the hopeful ones illuminating the world through sheer, unglamorous sacrifice and continued, quiet endurance and, above all, faith.

To anchor one’s soul in the shifting sands of temporal security is to build a castle on a fault line. These worldly constructs Caitlin dreams about, often mistaken for deliverance, are little more than modern chariots and horses, powerful yet profoundly mortal. They offer only the illusion of hope while masking the deeper crisis of unbelief. When the inevitable darkness descends, leaving the faithless stranded in the crevasse of grief, the absence of divine reliance strips the heart bare before life’s cruelties. True hope cannot reside in that which is subject to decay. To trust in princes or systems is to invite spiritual bankruptcy, for they cannot save. Only the eternal remains when all else crumbles into dust.

Caity, I hold out hope humanity will continue far into the future. Really I do. And the strong, rich, powerful, greedy, scheming, criminal minded psychopaths that have traditionally shaped the world, will be doing what they always do, using our backs and brains to get it done.

I could be wrong on that last point, if they ever perfect a robot that can outperform a human.

Even the world’s most famous pessimist, Oswald Spengler, wrote that “if life is to be good, it must be hard.” How true that is—and, let’s think about that before complaining—, as anyone who helps others can attest. But as it should be obvious, Spengler meant his aphorism in the ethical and moral sense of taking a stand against the patent evils of materialism, sexualism, and egotistical self-satisfaction.

I’m not making a little joke when I say that hell on this earth is spending an afternoon on some celebrity’s 350-foot yacht or, say, making the mistake of spending a weekend at the Obama’s “gibs-me-dat” home on Martha’s Vineyard. These awful people, like the Clintons, are awful people and not our friends or fellow anything.

Take the majority in Congress. These people are the sine non qua of the insane butchery by the Jews in Israel. We don’t live there and are not the judges of the Israelis, but we surely are morally and ethically obligated to stand against the Jews’ whores in Congress who make it happen. We hear of the hideously evil remarks from Jewish freaks like Smotrich, a pantywaist who couldn’t defend himself from a goldfish, but ignore the American Jews’ puppets in Congress who enable and support every thing that disgusting wanker Smotrich wants.

It’s too much. The current President kisses the hand of Israelis who will, factually, kill members of his family—if he realizes that, at his back, are the worst traitors for Israel, the Republicans in Congress. But, where the hell are we? Aren’t the rest of you sick and tired of disgusting fruitcakes being positioned with money by the Jews as our representatives? Little Mikey Johnson . . . well, let me leave cowardice at there.

I hold out hope because I’m seeing more and more chatter online about a strange phenomenon I’ve been experiencing in which people discharge deep psychological conditioning and energetic fixation points from their bodies using burps and dry heaves.

I’m having better luck with farts.