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Positively Now

Interesting: I have friends that “say positive things only” yet watch horror movies, listen to Slipknot and entertain themselves with 7e Laan and such. I fail to see anything positively constructive in that, nor do I see any Jesus or His Spirit therein.

When we are “positive” like that, are we even real?

vocalist performing on stage
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

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Block Unwanted Windows 10 updates

Techradar writes: 

Windows 10 update

There are now two ways for users to defer Windows 10 update installs under the new system, which Microsoft says is designed to “prevent confusion”.

While the deferral facility was removed from the Advanced Update options, it can still be configured by business users of the operating system via group policies.”

 

Block Windows 10 Updates

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Why Realists Rule

The optimist built a plane.

airplane flying against sky
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The pessimist contemplated that and made a parachute.

silhouette of person on parachute during sunset
Photo by Balakrishnan Raman on Pexels.com

Observing it from a distance, then upon closer inspection, the realist came and learned to fly both.

 

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her milk turned

Disclaimer: This is no medical discourse but maybe a pre-geriatric observation finding its way along a computer’s keyboard to escape from all the medieval hullabaloo that defines it.  See your medical professional for medical advice.

She goes from room to room, spreading ideas of positivity while her negative, egocentric profanity goes before her to warn others of the mad cow’s advance. Did she or didn’t she swallow her happy pills, the ones that make her broody and moody, and intolerable?

I believe in science. Grow it in a Petri dish and I know it’s real. Otherwise, it may only be in the mind. Some drug dealer’s mind at that. Being a bit careful to call anything unseen a disease or some weird condition. Now, strangely, the same people that cannot believe in a Living God can somehow believe in an imaginary disease, in some spooky thing that comes behind that pillow stuffed in the face. Stranger still, they then turn to science to medicate an unseen, unproven condition.

Meanwhile, they are profane and go through life, pushing walls of negativity ahead of them, like a speed boat bulldozing its way through a lake at the wrong speed and propeller angle. Headed for disaster. The negativity flows freely within a complex world of intricate taboo’s of “don’t do that” and “don’t say that” and “don’t ever put that in your body, it’s poison.

Just now, said healthy body spewed a flurry of profanity, a volcano of rejection and an avalanche of abuse, of very negative attitudes. As the person’s milk had turned and it had turned very long ago. What’s left, is a lumpy mess that permeates the air and soils every aspect of life with destructive attitudes. Because of their own polluted souls, they then become anxious and irritable and positively atomic. They reject knowledge and embrace old wives’ tales.

These are the people that mess with the food on my plate, food generously provided and ordained by the Living God. The very God that they reject but then wants to eat His paradise food. It was her type that had brought the curse on the planet, that had turned 300 equal days into severe seasons, that had caused man to need to eat meat, as without that, he now cannot absorb the goodness from the medication called food. And supplements won’t work. From diverticulitis to very soiled personalities, there seem to be a common denominator: I will metaphorically call it mad cow disease.

Is it coincidence that Paul called such people “weak” or “having no faith.” Maybe they will feel better once they had eaten a solid meal and not verbally assault, disrespect and offend others on the go. No, I call these folks “crap on the go.” Interesting how very negative the influence of the positive-only tribe is on the world and their dependence upon those that treat and medicate imaginary diseases.

When the milk turned, it became organically sour.

(it should’ve stayed behin the lentil curtain)

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You Cannot Defer Windows 10 Updates, go Linux

Techradar writes: ”

Microsoft will no longer allow users to manually defer Windows 10 update downloads in a bid to “prevent confusion”, according to new documentation issued by the firm.

First introduced with Windows 10 1703, the update deferral facility allowed users to push back feature updates for a specific period of time, up to a maximum of 365 days.

However, starting with Windows 10 2004, users will no longer be afforded the same level of control, with Advanced Update options reduced to the ability to pause all updates for 35 days.

For us living in rural areas and having to cope with internet speeds measuring a few bits per second sometimes, big old Microsoft gets condemned to go through the Hell of Gates.  We install Linux instead as nobody can do essential work, such as day-long zoom meetings, while Microsoft is updating on the same network.  Maybe if we could have our own Project Loon static at fifty thousand feet above our home.

We just had a little crisis when contractors showed up and there wasn’t anyone to answer the door, which is on the far side.  No phone calls could go through as it was raining and there were a few muffled rumbles in the cloud.

When living out in the woods and being frogmarched by a faraway IT digit, uncivil thoughts come to mind, let me assure you. But, even if I sat right atop the WACS cable, it still is MY data that Mr Gates wants to abuse.  Perhaps he should give away every dime and come live in the bush.

My Linux updated yesterday, at my command, after politely informing me that it needed a few megabytes.  Easy does it.

No More Deferred Windows 10 Updates

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Malagas Pont: A Public Disgrace — Wag ‘n Bietjie

From Mayor Nicholas Myburgh: “I want to share with you some thoughts on this very important matter. This pont is the oldest and probably the last of its kind in SA. It is an icon of our region, the Overberg. It is an important part of our history, and a significant tourist attraction. Tour operators […]

via A Public Disgrace — Wag ‘n Bietjie

Malagas, erroneously called Malgas even on road signs and maps, is where one could cross the Breede River via South Africa’s very last hand-drawn point.  If I understand correctly, this essential piece of history is no more.

A tourism attraction of note, its demise is nothing short of disastrous.  I hauled that point many times as a young boy in the early 1970s when Mr Moxie Dunn was the sportsman,  Few people knew that Moxie was a really good artist that had produced several paintings during his monotonous yet memorable life.

Please share this to help raise awareness.

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Whêkkie Whensday

Ek was op pad om te gaan help werk vir ‘n belangrike funksie en het nog nie iets geëet nie. Ek was op daardie stadium maar so twee maande op die nuwe Bantingleefstyl. Wegneemeetes vir Banters is maar soms dun gesaai en al wat ek kon kry om te eet, was ‘n pakkie neute. Die […]

via Hoekom? — toortsie.com

As jy by Toortsiefontein aankom, dan wei daar ‘n lekker braai onder elke bolletjie spierwit Suiwer Nuutwol. Daai mense se bergie is mos die Sleeping Beauty en daar is net mooi plasies daar. Groen koringlande, lusern en lupine. En al die kossies daar is plantgebaseerd, soos jy sal sien op die videotjie onder. Dít loop mos net op die lande en in die kraal. Daar kom geen vleis in die kos op die bantingboerdery nie. Miskien as Peppa Pig daar loop sal sy ‘n maanskynhoenertjie bykom, een van daai wat nog bietjie rondhol as die kop al af is. Ons het sikkes gehad op onse plaaswerf.

Wat het iemand te doen met wat iemand anders in sy bord het? Jy gaan nie daai vis red deur dit nie te bestel nie, die ding is klaar vrek. Of eet jy lewendige visse rou? Nes ou Bontlies wie se sappige T-been in my bord my die argwaan van die swak, ongelowige mense op die hals haal. Want dis hoe die Bybel mense beskryf wat net groente eet. En swak is jy wanneer jy nie kos in jou lyf het nie.

Raynier het sommer net eensklaps flou neergeslaan, tydig en ontydig. Sy oë altyd swart kolle gehad asof hy hom in Grootkoos vasgeloop het in die kroeg. Poef! en daar lê hy, totdat iemand hom eendag ‘n biefburger ingee om hom te lawe, sommer net daar op die keisteentjies reg voor Burger King. Vandat hy vleis begin eet het, het hy nog nie weer openbare grond gekoop nie. Hy is nou Regop Raynier.

Die begogelde wilgerlatinsek met haar sjiek designerlyfie kom deel my tafeltjie in die Food Court met my en my wyfiki. You simply must eat plant based, kom dit uit haar asketiese rigting. Sy lyk soos ‘n spookwyfie wat helder oordag loop en ram soek. Wat sy seker nooit gaan kry nie tensy sy haar iewers vasloop in ‘n nerdy geek wat saam met my kos gras vreet. Want my kos eet plant based. Soos gras en bossies.

Hoekom is mense so bleddie militant oor waarmee my vurk sy tyd verwyl? Was hulle daar die laaste ses keer toe ek byna gevrek het van bloedklonte deur die kop terwyl ek minstens 55% koolhidrate ingekry het? Dis wat Prof Tess van der Merwe op RSG sterk aanbeveel het, om dit sag te stel. Tannie Tess, van daai koolhidrate is ek amper vrek want wat vir een diabeet goed is, is gif vir die ander. Of: wat ek vandag kan eet, is more vir my gif.

Kom leef in MY LYF om te voel hoe dit is.

Ek is al heeldag in die bed en voel naar. So by eenuur laasnag myself wakker gegil van die bleddie pyn en julle kan sien ek is gatvol en keelvol en moervol. Want as witwarm ysternaalde herhaaldelik by jou tone indruk terwyl jy droom van wit strande, warm son, mooi meisies en groot visse, dan is jy sommer skuinsbedonnerd as jy daarmee in groot pyn wakker skrik. En Meesgeliefde wat liefies aandete gemaak het met verdomde winkelbrood wat sy weet sy nie mag koop nie, se sagte warm lyfie is onskuldig aan’t droom van wolkies en engeltjies en skapies wat tussen serafs in die ruimte dans.

En ek is wakker.

Omdat my voete pyn en ook Proffessor Tess is nie hier met salfies of driedubbelsterkte whiskey met steroids nie. Nee, ek suffer alleen omdat ek ‘n snytjie witbrood en kaas gehad het om my suiker konstant te hou. Want die kombuis was bar en banaal, daar was nie ‘n krieseltjie iets wat ek KAN eet daarin nie. Omdat ek nie peulgewasse, neute, kaas, stysel en sulke goed moet eet nie want my lyf het onafhanklik besluit.

En die akademiese paargeestige spookwyfiebegogeling dink sy het my lewe vir my georden toe sy in my bord gekrap en haar twee sterretjiestompies drooggeskrik het oor sy vleis in my bord gekry het.

Dit was op Whacky Wednesday.
(Los my kos uit, dis in MY bord.)

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Demasculated

A thought: up to WWII, before Hollywood had changed how we think, men would be friends in different ways than today. My Grandpa and friends would share a bed, as people were poor and many rural homes lacked rooms anyhow. So they’d lie like pilchards, head to tail and share. A man would easily say to his friend, “I really love you, man” and then it would be like David and Jonathan. Not like Adam & Steve. That liberty was taken away by a number of things, strangely including Women’s Lib that came with new rules for men. Men were denied masculinity and trained to become effeminate. I don’t think there’s a single man alive on the planet today, that’s truly masculine and accepted by all. Masculinity became the new pet hate and women wanted men to change, globally. Then, when men stopped being real men, they complained and asked what’s wrong with men. The other day in PnP, I saw a young boy aged around 3-4 yo slap his mother through her face and she encouraged it. And I thought: that’s nice socially engineered GBV in the making. The one needing the few slaps, by law can’t get it and the one that shouldn’t be slapped was encouraging it.

Your thoughts?

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A love so pure.

Would you ever know of my Love?

When I opened my mouth to ask, my smile was empty as a I was robbed by a very poor tooth fairy, maybe a Greek one as she believed in austerity. With my 1960s farm boy brush head and very uncool safari suit and Dear Jesus sandals, I stood there on the red Annlin soil. Pretoria lay to the south of us, obscured behind the unimpressive Magalies mountains.

Stiff from the three hundred and thirteen miles in the narrow rear of a little overladen Porsche 356, I was taking in the new, strange environment and my mother and her cousin, a few months her senior, quickly reprimanded as “the red soil would stain” my precious clothes and leave an indelible mark on my impressionable character.

And then I saw you, a perfect little job of three years old, with blond tousles peeping from beneath a red cloth hat. Angelic big blue eyes were slowly rolling in your rosy, round face. Said eyes drilled holes straight into my heart  and on, attaching themselves to my inner soul. You were the newest addition to my life, the youngest of my only two small cousins. Your elder sis was about five months my senior.  At that age, she was Jurassic by comparison.

From then on, I did play with my brother and your Big Sis, but I don’t recall a thing. Your little toddlerism still block my view. And you put your red-soiled little feet into every chamber of my heart and started dancing in there, leaving toddlerfootprints to cover every square atom in there.

Eleven years later, when I came to visit for that week in July, your sis called me to come join you girls for early coffee in bed. And there I lay, a bit shy, with me two precious small cousins with me, one at each side. And then the marrow in the bones of my soul stirred the syrupy blood in my heart, as you lay in my left arm. Soft, tender, so very fragile in your youthful innocence. And I caressed your back, felt the soft, warm flesh and could not believe how tender you felt under my rough hand worker’s fingers. It was then that I realised how much you had trusted me, trusted me not to let a finger slip or stray, as would be a natural young man’s wanton inclination.

I was seventeen and I soon found logic in my mind; that I had to know the limits of my graciously granted freedom, as the only barrier you had ever set up was unspoken trust. A trust that had kept me civil and sane, the perfect gentleman. As there were just millimetres between a cuddle and molestation. I had to know the limits without discovering the lay of the land, uncharted terrain. I’d rather not get lost. Or stray.

Forty years later, I thought back to this moment, and found it was the most beautiful experience of my life. A moment you had gifted me without having me unwrap it. A gift best unopened. In that unopened gift, I found what I saw in your eyes over a decade before: deep, loving trust. You trusted me.

And you trusted me with everything you ever were, your most prize possession.

Yourself.

Recently, I longed for you just as I went looking for you on airports all over the place, but didn’t find you. As I longed for you, I wanted to hold you so very close, to whisper in your little ear, to tell you it’d be okay. To calm the storm in your soul, to douse the painful consuming fire in your little heart. I wanted to comfort you and anoint you with the Love that Love Himself had planted in me.

A love so pure.

Later, two years later, I would learn through the grapevine of your dear Dad’s disease and death and I knew. I knew that when you hurted so deeply when you had to send him on, that your sweetmost little heart was still somehow bonded with mine.

I last saw you in 1984 but I had been trying to find you around the globe, I looked in every nook and cranny. And you weren’t there. I looked for my littlest sister in all the wrong places. As you were cuddled up deep in my heart and you had never left from that day in the sixties.

Yes, you are the only little sister I ever had, you are beautiful and I so deeply love you.

 

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Vegetarian Considerations

As a diabetic with an array of other auto-immune situations, I have many questions as I am trying to eat more vegetarian. I am no overindulging carnivore.

Situation:

  • Tend to go hypoglycemic easily
  • Intolerance of legumes, especially lentils. They cause hypoglycemia and make me jittery.
  • Gluten intolerances OR witchcraft in “shop bread.”
  • Higher sugar content in plant proteins

I ate a good vegetarian dinner last night but was up at 2:30AM, hungry to the marrow of my soul and jittery. As in hands shaking.

How to address budget, a tiny one, combined with a vegetarian approach considering the diabetes.

Peripheral neuropathy is already a serious concern.

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Bilateral Mastectomy

He was five years old and told my wife: “You are now my Mama, a mama must be soft.” His own young Congolese mother was taken aback.

My darlingmost wificle is really kuddlisoft. A bit of comfortable padding doesn’t do harm, does it?

A friend on IG is a well-known model and, as far as the eye can see, could be used as a cheese grater. Those ribs could hurt. And, from what I can see, she’s not at risk of a mastectomy any time soon. There just isn’t anything to remove, nothing meaningful, at least.

Four, no five, other friends weren’t as fortunate. Ten sightly, cute bags of baby food ended up in the medical waste bin. Ten soft paddings that announced the presence of ladyship, of womanhood. Much of their identities were entrenched in those ten presentable sachets of motherness. Of femininity. Of being lovable.

A man won’t ever be able to fully understand, even if we tried.

One finds it in her heart to sing to the world from her balcony, sending out motherly love to a dying world needing comforting sustenance. From the twinsoft remembrance in her soul flows motherly love through the harpsichord of her angelic voice.

Another packs a covidian box of kitchen love and sends it off to a faraway family needing a motherly soft touch. A brown box with duct tape can work wonders. Motherly love remains tangible, even if the box is heavy and rectangular.

I think of them all, my dear lady friends. Their mirrors stare back at them, drawing two neat blanks and a few scars, I guess.

No, they’re not any less woman, not any less the ME they used to be. As their beautifulmost sweet hearts weren’t amputated, their amazing souls echoeing beauty from the deepest corners of their hearts.

And, as men, anything more than a handful is a waste if you cannot have more than a mouthful anyways. I could love, really love, a breastless woman for who she is.

My hope is that men look past the physique and explore that warm soul with both hands, read her innermost being with your hearts. As it is pulsating with life itself.

I salute every brave woman out there, with or without them twins. As you’re beautiful as you are.

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Die Resident Vroetelaar

Toortsie skryf annerdag, aangevuur deur Christa daar doer onder haar vlag in Oskemen, van ‘n dogtertjie wat onder ‘n pedofiel deurloop.

Sekspeste is niks nuuts nie en ek het tien maal minder hande as wat ek nodig het om te tel hoeveel onskuldig bevlekte mensies uit my grootworddorp gekom het. Anderdag name by gesigte gaan sit en by 105 uitgekom. Ek was baie gelukkig om daaraan te ontkom, maar tog het ek dinge gesien.

Na drie dekades van berading gee aan veral vroulike abuse victims, weet ek dat een uit elke drie vroue voor ouderdom 18 daarmee te doene gekry het. En baie seuns ook, party van hulle eie vriende se mammas of ousussies het ook maar lekker hormoonstres gehad. Ek het eintlik ‘n korter woordjie daarvoor maar mense gaan tee mors op die mat.

In my tyd het Waterpens vir ou Blokkies vermoor. Blokkies was ‘n onnie met bynaam Blockbuster na aanleiding van daai liedjie van The Sweet. Toe sommer net blokkies.

En die klaviermeneer by my laerskool is toe ook later jare opgesluit.

‘n Seun word vir vakansie genooi plaas toe, aan die onnerkant van die Richtersveld. Hy gaan nie want sy pêl se ma is lastig. Haar Bluetoothstoutspeelgildingetjie se bêtteries was seker pap.

En die Christenmeisie op die Christenradio nooi ‘n vyftienjarige seun om “heelnag saam met my onder die duvet te kom fliek.” Sodat sy hom Christelike waardes kan leer. Sy wou seker maar net uit die Hooglied praktiese lesse gee.

En die charismatiese gospelsanger wat nie sy eie niggietjies kon uitlos nie. Hy is op klagtes van dade met twee van hulle skuldig bevind en, soos ander, gevonnis maar loop los. En is hoeka lankal weet betrokke by kinders, dalk gaan joune vanjaar saam kerkkamp toe. Al verbied sy vonnis dit.

Sy driejarige niggie se saak is deur die hof uitgegooi. Te moeilik om te bewys.

En net om die draai is ‘n dominee gearresteer en hof toe oor baie kinders. Vergeet maar die grappies oor Roomse priesters. Dis die skuldiges wat dit graag vertel.

Sy was dertien, blond en beeldskoon. En hy was rondom sestig. Toe gaat hy oor ‘n skoolvakansie met haar kerkkamp toe. Hy het daar, soos baie ander, ‘n intieme houthuisie gehad. En daar was hy met haar intiem, soos in honeymoon intiem vir dae lank.

Toe die ding begin bekend raak, toe huur die space age apostoliekerk op die bult die beste prokureurs. En eerwaarde kerkraad dreig Blinde Blondie se ouers daarmee dat hulle pragdogter hel in die hof kan verwag, want hoe gaan ‘n stokblinde kind die statutêre verkragter aan die hof uitwys? Lekker om geeste te dryf en in tale te praat as die seksgeeste jou beet het.

By ander gemeente was ‘n ou oom ontrent op die case van ‘n blonde, blou-oog pasbekeerde verwaarloosde tienerwesie. En hy wil net hande op haar lê.

En eendag, toe ek nog jonk was en plat hemde gedra het, het my wyfietipe dokter dinge ondersoek waaroor ek nie gekla het nie, en toe aan my vrou gesê “jou man is darem baie skaam.” Jip. Ek het baie las van professionele vroue in die werkplek gehad. Ek dink die hele ding van GBV word deur mense met slegte gewetes bedryf. Te veel ketoolse vroue kom daarmee weg.

Of die wyfipastoor wat onder gebed die manne bevoel. Sekerlik het ‘n gees haar beet.

Kan die mense nie maar net tevrede wees on by die huis te eet nie?

Ek dink die media is medepligtig deurdat seksualiteit oral aangewakker word. Selfs karre van yster en plastiek is al “sexy.” Ontleed daai woordjie ‘n bietjie.

Ek dink dis verkeerd dat mense voorwerpe word vir ander se belustigheid. Vriendin het haar man verloor aan ‘n tienertefie op Facebook wat agter sy geld aan was, want hy is ‘n dokter. My een radioloogvriend vertel juis hoedat pragtige jong vroue skaamteloos op hom jag maak. In ‘n land waar sy kop kan waai as hy kop sou verloor.

Kom ons gaan drink tee iewers. Die werklikheid is eens te erg.

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Loon

A few billion people on the planet still have no internet.

Someone please tell those “experts” at Gartner. They thought 98% of all people were online. And they advise you in business. Once again, their opinion is far from reality, from fact.

Someone got an idea to send up something like weather balloons with transponders to spread internet coverage. A bit looney, this idea? Project Loon was born.

Project Loon

I often watch how these drift at above fifty thousand feet.

Five Loons over Southern Africa

One can even read their altitude and ground speed.

Here is HBAL172 at 53,200ft over Namibia

And they drift fast across an entire country.

HBAL172 just a few hours later, already over Kgalakgadi aka Kalahari.

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How well can you surf a tsunami?

KarisMatiek writes about turmoil. I’d been having it since 1998 in the most crude form and became a persecuted fugitive at the hands of my own godless faith community.

https://wp.me/paM6B2-9H

I had to surf tsunami upon tsunami for every day of every year since 1998. In my tribe, it is usually laziness and thirst that bring about calamity. In my instance, it was disability after a botched laminectomy, the loss of everything and everyone near and dear, the ruthless selfish greed and manipulation in hellholes called churches, the grand theft and heartless covetousness and then the sin of gossip and opinion, that had brought my little empire, called LIFE, down. Take a good read of the book Job, see how he had passed some of the most brutal testing. When the average Christian thinks Job’s troubles were over, it actually just began. He had multiple such seasons and, with me, it was no different. Covid 19 taught me to hate the average hoogmoedige, dranksoekende, lyfsoekende, nikotienverslaafde selfsugtige Afrikanerman. Lustful, thirsty, nicotine junkies.

I am ashamed of my people, but then, other men did the same. Covid-19 and the loadshedding that went before, took away what we had been building up from NOTHING over the past fourteen years.

It were black youths that gave us the most support, that often saved the day. So, that is why I unfollowed an Asian gent here seconds after I followed him, because he was crude and uncivilized enough to draw the inverted race card. That is so primaeval.

Diabetes would follow, seven cardiac arrests, twelve strokes. All of these just complicated matters. Christianity looked on, declared me persona non grata and went their haughty, selfish indulgent way. And active chased our little family out of their towns.

As there has to be something wrong with me. I am as guilty as the farmer that gets a drought because God is speaking to the city dwellers’ wallets. God speaks to them in the only language they understand: their money. As money is their only true God, the one they depend upon.

Job did well and ended up at His feet, enjoying God’s favour.

Thunderstorms are weather phenomena in God’s power.
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Gideon Defeats the Midianites, SS Lesson notes 062120 — Beholding Him Ministries

These notes are an accompaniment to the “Adult Bible Class” book published by: Union Gospel Press; Christian Life Series 2020; Cleveland, Ohio These notes are points of emphasis that would be made if we were having in-person classes. The notes are not repetitive of the book but additional points. The Scriptures in the book are […]

Gideon Defeats the Midianites, SS Lesson notes 062120 — Beholding Him Ministries

I once retold this story and brought in Gibson Les Paul guitars, a Hoffner base guitar, a set of Marshall drums, an Orange amp and JBL Vertex speakers. I thought it would’ve help Gideon cause a nice rumble. It worked for Rammstein. Yet my modern approach was rather not welcomed. It didn’t suit a religious spirit, maybe.

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Fathers make an impact — Morag Noffke

As it is Father’s day I would like to wish all the fathers a very happy day. I hope you feel cherished. I was also thinking about my father. The last time I got to celebrate Father’s day with my father was when I was 5 years old. As you might know my father enjoyed […]

Fathers make an impact — Morag Noffke

Morag writes to fathers: “If you are a father…
I want to encourage fathers who are reading this, that you too have an influence on your children. The contact is very personal and nobody can tell you how, but part of it is just being yourself and being interested in your children. Follow their lead by getting to know them better and finding out what they like doing. I am sure you will find common interests that you can share in. You might be surprised at the impact. The most important thing is making the opportunity to show love. I hope you enjoy being a father.”

Life is not guaranteed. Will my Dad be here tomorrow? He sits alone in his tiny room in the old age home, alone at 89 years of age and doesn’t understand why we can’t visit during the Covid-19 lockdown. Will I ever get to see him alive again, or even be able to bury him if I don’t? How would I know as I cannot foretell. Will I see my son again? He is 30 years my junior just as my Dad is my senior by 30 years.

I had suffered twelve strokes and seven cardiac arrests, I am fortunately blessed to be alive. The next moment isn’t guaranteed. Make the most of it and pick up that phone.

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Praat mooi. Be nice. Be kind.

Ek is vanoggend atomic as gevolg van nice & kind mense wat my heeldag en aldag in hulle valse positiewe vormpies indruk. Mens mag nie eens oor werklikhede praat nie, dan word jy stilgemaak. Ek kom uit ‘n ervaringsveld waar mense brutaal vir hulle geloof vervolg is, soos ook ek en my liefste vrou.

Hulle agter die Yster- of Bamboesgordyn, ons sommer waar ons ookal te vinde was.

Die kerk is nie wat ons dink dit is nie. Lees weer Esegiël 9 van so vers vier tot sewe, kyk maar daar.

Ezekiel 9:7

He said to them, “Dishonor the temple! Fill its courtyards with dead people, and then leave.” So they went out and killed the people in the city.

Viktor Frankl was op pad om ‘n Duitse soldaat se harspan met ‘n graaf in te slaan.

Paulus preek oor hoe mooi ons moet praat maar het dit self nie reggekry nie.

Jesus, wat God is, is juis doodgemaak omdat Hy allermins diplomaties was.

In my lewe is dit die positiewe, mooipraatmense wat ons ons huis, kosbare handgemaakte vertoonstukmeubels, alle huisraad, klaar betaalde direkteurskoets, selfs ons kinders, van ons weggeneem het.

Sulke saligsprekende kerkdonners. Praat net mooi asseblief. Mooi asseblief en moenie skree as die lem agter tussen jou ribbes inknars nie.

Be nice.

‘n Lewe wat strek oor sewe dekades en wat nét abuse ken, van goed genuanseerde sprekers met gif in die hart.

As nóg iemand kom sê hoe nice & kind ek moet wees, dan verloor ek dit helemal. Want ek is gewoonlik nice & kind todat die nice & kind mense my hok skud.

Soos gister weer. Mense wil nie praat oor negatiewe goed nie maar ander moet maar daardeur leef en dan boonop nice & kind bly om nie die abusers aanstoot te gee nie.

Want die lewe is vol boelies, op preektstoele, in uniforms, soms in sexy kleertjies, soms in pienk marshmallow-wangetjies en rosige neusies, maar abusive sal hulle bly.

Ek is bang vir nice & kind mense. Wees bedonnerd maar eerlik, moenie jou as engel probeer voordoen nie.

Want jy sal nooit een wees nie.

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My KDE Connect Frustration

  • openSUSE claimed too much real estate
  • Manjaro booted into three lines of drivel after it worked well
  • Neither of the above will download over my rural African ‘broadband’. Not for a lack of trying.
  • SolydK which is built on Mint KDE, has its quirk. Boots beautifully from USB but then KDE Connect remains as if on formaldehyde. Apparently stagnant. Static. Fixed. Dead. No reaction to the very passionate mating calls from my sleek, sexy Galaxy S7. Maybe too old, already milf status? Me hopes not.
  • Tired of distro hopping on limited bandwidth.

Wisdom. Lord, grant me wisdom.

#sudo apt install geek

Update:

  • 1st tried SolydK which succeeded Mint KDE. From USB, KDE Connect worked a charm but failed after installation.
  • KDE Neon installation got stuck either side of 90% and discreetly departed to Code Heaven.
  • Kubuntu installation failed repeatedly but is running fine. And KDE Connect is doing its sheer magic. I did have a connection problem later on but fixed it by tweaking the firewall accordingly.
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666 is Coming: Benjamin Netanyahu Suggests Microchipping Children — BCNN1 WP

Cyber experts slammed Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu for his proposal to “microchip” children who return to schools and kindergartens as the coronavirus lockdown is lifted, Ynet reported on Friday. While speaking at a press conference on Monday, Netanyahu suggested the Health Ministry use new technology to help Israel adjust to its new routine as the […]

666 is Coming: Benjamin Netanyahu Suggests Microchipping Children — BCNN1 WP

It has long been said that the coming Antichrist, rather the False Jesus or False Mesiach, will be a non-religious Jew. Now, I am no expert on that but from my training and decades of experience both in Christian mission work and IT retail/POS systems, I would not want any chips implanted in me. It would make for an all too readily available tactical management system for the multi-tiered 666 beast which exists in the spiritual real, world religions including Christianity, governments, the corporate world, financial systems, etc. It affects every walk of life and is well-entrenched.

Strange that my Muslim and Hindu friends oppose human microchipping but then the more evangelical Christians in my life seem to embrace it. At least they defend the beast publicly. How daft is that and how daft are the educated pastors denying this while they surely lack the discernment of God’s Spirit. I find such false preachers despicable and I won’t entertain debates with such Christians.

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Why Desktop Linux Still Matters

He wrote about the ever evasive Linux desktop but utopia. https://wp.me/p2xwjx-4mw

Just today, I replaced my dear Linux Mint Cinnamon with Canonical’s Kubuntu. That is Ubuntu (pron oooh boohn tooh) with the sleek KDE Plasma desktop that affords the user all the niceties and accoutrements brought by KDE Connect.

With an OS booting into 0.68 of 1GB, you can imagine how un-taxed my system is.

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Do Black Lives Matter, to Blacks?

We must all commit to seeing each other before we can truly say that Black Lives Matter

Black Lives Matter

If black lives really mattered, it would have mattered to more black lives. Only this morning, yet another sad news report on local radio here in darkest Africa: the body of yet another 3yo found. And it’s blacks killing blacks, therefore no need to riot and destroy.

Several black people had been killed by black police in the employ of the neo-Marxist black government in my country at the time of Floyd.

Some 19 dead.

My country didn’t burn, the President didn’t bat an eyelid but the Flight Hypocrates took to the air to “show solidarity,” of course. I mean, black lives matter. As if no other freaking lives matter!

Barak Obama didn’t bat an eyelid when 30,000 Christians were decapitated. Beheaded. Their heads chopped off by the peaceful religion. And Hilary looked on, while they imported decapitators to America while planning a mass genocide, taxpayer funded, in the womb. For all the screwing in Hollywood, their would have been a quick fix.

Just kill the babies before they’re born. A Hillary-ous way with dealing with a problem. And, meanwhile, they delivered your head severer to your front door. Or your driveway, your back porch and your little kids’ play pen.

WAKE THE HELL UP TO REALITY, WORLD!! START SEEING STRAIGHT AND THINKING LOGICALLY, SOBERLY.

A divided America warned by God. https://wp.me/pb8NcK-DH

The world is drunk on anarchy, stoned on violence as it took a line of wokeness that is really just a communist revival, the rise of the Antichrist driven by supposed Christians.

Read my older posts on slavery for a facts check. If you liked reading here, please reblog and/or share on your social media accounts. 

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Rosemary Cod with Cauliflower Rice! — Lingual Sensory Seduction

Before I start tonight, I’d like to ask a favor. If you’re like me, then you’re doing all your shopping online. Yep, I haven’t gone in a store for 77 days. I’m buying everything online –including groceries — through Amazon. And my “ask” is that, the next time you shop on Amazon, if you could…

via Rosemary Cod with Cauliflower Rice! — BeautyBeyondBones

When a good girl pulls that Eve trick by feeding her man, or any other man, or a nation, it has to be good. I woke up in the wee hours of the morning, not because of the hour but because of what I had said about said hour. And, as I am a non-millennial geek, I had to check my phone.

And there it was. More attractive and seductive than anything else that I had encountered at that hour of the starlit morning. While night owls and wee little jackals called outside to scare rodents into a digging habit. Right in front of my eyes, a cod swam in. No, it rowed an island of cauliflower, using asparagus as an oar. And I could get the smell, the taste, even the drool was real despite the distance of just less than eight thousand miles.

What an aroma, that elegantly dressed cod. As its creator described it: “I mean, danggggg it was so tasty! And in case you’re afraid it tastes like cauliflower, think again! It was nutty and buttery and rich, and was the perfect backdrop for the warm, earthy flavours in the cod and the asparagus.

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Recovering from Stroke

After about my 5th or 6th stroke, I couldn’t speak for very long and my logic reasoning was just gone. So, I got myself disks with the Linux operating system on it, one called Mandrake if I remember correctly, and taught myself, in days where no help was available and everything was text-based. I literally gave my brain boot camp and forced it to recover.

We had to relocate a few weeks ago, despite lockdown, as some landlords were conceived in hell and born in outer space. So, the new home is a very nice apartment leading directly to a huge main house and I’ve been using the open spaces to wean myself off my walking stick.

photo of head bust print artwork
Photo by meo on Pexels.com

So far, so good.

No accidents, not even mild threats. I must just now try the steep gradients over 1,6km to town on foot. There are over 300 distro’s or versions of Linux and I have mastered about 30 of them with perhaps advanced levels of proficiency.

And I think my recuperation rate shows it. I can write again but struggle reading. Paul Coelho’s The Alchemist is untouched by my bedside and I haven’t seen my Bible since we came here.  I have several Bibles from Geneva and Tyndale to NET on Android and Windows and on Linux on a USB stick.

Stroke recovery can be hard; one tends to get a kind of tiredness English with its extensive dictionary cannot describe.  Perhaps other stroke survivors would like to share their experiences here, or use the Contact page to do so discreetly?   I still have much to learn about that.

Educate me.

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FREE SPEECH — Valerie Cullers

The service for FREE SPEECH will be held tomorrow in the Chapel on campus. Although the Chapel is a building held in disdain by many professors and students, it was the only place that would allow her service to be held. FREE SPEECH was born several millennia ago in Athens, Greece at the Socratic School. […]

via The Service for FREE SPEECH Will be Held Tomorrow — Valerie Cullers

In lieu of flowers, those who knew FREE SPEECH believe her preference would be for each of you to go to a library and read a book of your choice (yes, even a Bible if you want to) and share the ideas you’ve learned with someone

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Crush

A lawyer friend once said:

“things don’t easily go wrong but they tend to start that way”

Over time, life proved him right and hindsight was affirmation. You see, we often disagree when someone says something and we don’t necessarily agree, so we disagree, at least to some extent.

I am giving you a good example, based on a real experience, but somewhat changed to protect the people I’ll be telling you about. So, bear with me if I seem to get the plot wrong.
AWOL

I have always been an utterly reliable conscientious person, utterly reliable and trustworthy, as that is how I was raised. I have driven about two million kilometres in my life and have only ever collected a parking ticket at an unwelcoming spot called Gordon’s Bay, right next to a major beach, on a quiet day, in a legitimate parking space. On a Sunday – in those days, paying for parking anywhere else in South Africa was unimaginable. I had two speeding tickets, one when the LandRover I was reviewing, suffered some electronic failure leading to an excess speed of about 2km/h, the other time doing 70km/h in a 60km/h zone, out in the sticks, because I wanted to drive at a leisurely pace. I still think that bringing the speed down from 80, using a badly posted sign and five kilometres out of town, was a money-making device.

I paid my fines, in total two hundred South African Rand, in total.

Back to 1981.

We were stationed in an Army depot during conscription and we were a thousand miles from home. The lucky ones that lived closer by, went home to eat Mama’s food while we Capetonians remained behind to eat dust. And the Seducing Satan showed up in the form of a pamphlet proclaiming an agricultural show at a nearby town, complete with merry go round and other attractions. So, to avoid obvious detection, Hansie and I dressed in our best step-outs to appear as if we were on a weekend pass and hit the road. We arrived at the showgrounds about an hour later and opted for the Ferris wheel, to “assess the lay of the land” from a better vantage point. The big wheel did two rotations and, already coming down-ward on the first, I noticed two teenage girls looking fairly intently in our direction. I gave it no thought until the wheel finally stopped. Two young girls waiting for US. Yes, they were a little welcoming committee with rosy cheeks and one had dark eyes and chestnut hair. I can’t say that I didn’t notice, as I am a man for gingers, the rustier, the better, yet babysoft white skin with thick, wavy chestnut hair certainly will go the distance.

We were a bit astounded but quickly saw the opportunity for a GOOD MEAL when they said to rush, Mommy is fetching us and we’ll have dinner. In no time, we were invited to stay for the weekend. Mommy wasn’t overtly impressed at first but soon the hairs on her back relaxed when she saw we didn’t sound like ravers, clubbers or cradle snitches. Home we went with Chestnut, to finally meet T H E O L D M A N, one that grunted and cleared his throat and tried not to look surprised or offended. After all, a daddy knows his little girl’s heart and girls just wanna have fun, yeah.

Hansie went home with the fair chubby little thing, that turned out to be seventeen and not twelve as her abbreviated profile suggested. At least, she grew a little sideways but not aggressively so. It soon became clear that two artillerymen were, in fact, issued with two very innocent, sincere teenage lovers, to use the word within the context of modesty befitting South Africa in the 1980s. Yes, we were all “above board and above the blanket.”

Chestnut soon ensured that my rather inexperience at kissing became and art, one that could get me to celeb status if word ever got out. There were no thoughts of screaming sergeants and bellowing field guns, of dust and sandy food. I ended up with something extremely cuddly, soft and with sufficient padding at places lest any parts of a growing sixteen year old skeleton could pinch holes in me. Some very beautiful girls, I had found, are hard to the touch but this one was like the softest cotton wool, cuddly beyond comprehension and just holding her was like a six week holiday on the Riviera. Or somewhere exotic. At just over five feet tall, she easily slipped under my arm and I kept playing with those luxurious chestnut waviness in her neck.

Something, she apparently took no offense of. To the contrary.

We had a long distance relationship on and off and I didn’t have much time to actually see her, but there were opportunities. As a young man with an unsaved soul at the time, I gave her wrong advice and, as a natural jock type, saw my own interests first.

Meanwhile, Hansie’s little catch caught a bun in the oven, nothing of his doing, and I never heard from him again. Two years later, Chestnut went to the city with me for the weekend, to my aunt’s. When we arrived, there was a note to say someone had passed away and the key was on the regular place. So, here we two youngsters were alone for an entire weekend, in a huge house, in the lap of luxury and with a large swimming pool. It was a deeply romantic getaway yet, as things happened in those days, I didn’t break the fire hydrant’s seal or anything similar that weekend. But I came very close to just that.

Soon after, my civil life began and I got a job hundreds of miles east. Between limited budgets, car trouble and studies, we just never could synchronise our diaries and then I was posted back to Cape Town and I lost her contact details in the process. I never had the means to take an eighteen-hour drive to go visit and we lost contact forever. I felt like a pig, breaking a sweet innocent little heart, just as mine was broken. Youthful poverty should be sued for crimes against humanity.
WRONG

So, how was this wrong? Let’s look at the obvious:

  • It started out wrong. (And I love, really love, easily.)
  • We didn’t indulge in any unplanned honeymoon but stopped before we overstepped the line. And that came from me, despite not oodles but ladles of French DNA in me. If you get what I mean. I wasn’t a sickly young guy.
  • We didn’t go to wild parties or clubs.
  • And we didn’t abuse booze or drugs and stuff. We both did smoke.

So, how’s that even wrong?

  • Because I went AWOL from the military, absent without leave. And I wasn’t where I was supposed to have been, and at a place where trouble could brew.
  • She had a crush on our uniforms without even knowing the “gents” she took us to be. A high school girl that loved to boast about her “brave soldier” whose fierce piece of thundering artillery was described as “desks, wood, office.” She saw what she wanted to see and had a crush on it.
  • Important to note : God didn’t put us together and the attraction, at first, was carnal, not spiritual. It was pride; she wanted a man in a uniform to show off.

If we look in the Bible, the way to get a life partner was to:

  • Wait on God for instruction, not just a hint.
  • Go to where your own culture and family are.
  • Find the partner GOD had chosen and then choose that one.
  • Get confirmation.

CRUSH

I see young ones sending their sweet, innocent hearts through shredders and steak tenderizers. They exit in tatters, their souls ripped to shreds. There are beautiful young people tonight, people that I really love with God’s most pure love. Some are making me feel as if I could impound them, take them into my home and look after them like Solomon did. Their hurt bleeds my heart. One of them pursued her teenage crush, another wearer of a uniform. She followed her heart and ended up betrayed. She knew this would happen but she thought she could change a dog that was chasing cars.

A girl should never, ever think she can “save” a guy that wants no salvation.

I never, generally, got involved with a lady unless I saw potential for permanence right from the start. Even with Chestnut, despite it having been initiated by her, I only agreed when I saw her sweet little heart and soundness of character and set of values. She really was a good girl. One shouldn’t date and one should become serious in a relationship until you have very clear instruction from God Himself. Don’t consult pastors and gurus and shamans.

A FINAL WORD

This was written with specific young people in mind, all of them really awesome, beautiful people that I had come to really love. I said it a second time now. And, with that, I mean the kind of Love that God IS for us. And my prayer tonight, my greatest desire, is that He will hold them like I would’ve but my arms are too short. Let Him hug a sweet young soul, coincidentally all of which I think have chestnut hair. And souls of pure, white spun silk. So delicate and pure.

Let Jesus be your true Crush.

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Let Life Change You — BeautyBeyondBones

I’m about to let you in on a little secret. In Manhattan, apartment doormen are the “keepers of keys” when it comes to gossip and the hushed “happenings” of the buildings’ tenants. They know who comes and goes. They know your daily patterns and schedules. They know your packages and food orders. Heck – they…

via Let Life Change You — BeautyBeyondBones

Caralayn writes: “And at one point in the conversation, he looked at me — just his eyeballs visible over his mask — and he said, “You’ve got to let life change you.”

In 1987, while driving on the narrow, twisty Bainskloof Pass, I religiously closed my eyes and gave God a blank cheque.  I said: “change me into the person YOU want me to be, at all cost.”  Trust me, my prayers had been answered.

God weaned me off religion.

God gave me a painful exodus from the Egypt we call “church.”

God freed me of bias, prejudice and a few other things.

God changed my ways and my thoughts.

I don’t attend reunions, as I am a different guy that would rock up.

I also became totally intolerant of crap, like the rioting in the USA, as I grew up in that communist-socialist-Marxist kind of civil warfare, where every parked car, every trash can, every shopfront or even an empty soda can could explode any moment. I grew up with gunshots in the streets and the ever-present threat of socialist take-over.  We fought a war between Christ and Satan that the leftist media portrayed as a black vs white thing.  If anything, ANTIFA over in the US just served to reinforce my aversion to socialism.  That rioting has Karl Marx written all over it.  Interesting to see that, like here in South Africa, it’s the same people that don choir robes, shouting their hallelujas frenetically, that also fight for the Antichrist, breaking down Christianity as they go.

I am a changed man, as I don’t socialise the way I used to and am positively jealous of my private time with Jesus.  Yes, let life change you, let Jesus be your life. 

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Creation An Act of Love

You don’t know Shia, but this is for her. Then again, maybe also for you!

Johnny Depp spoke a big truth when he said: “Spirit is woven of Love.”

Not wanting to argue, I’m going to have my say, show you a path to take and then withdraw. You’ll find the way on your own, I trust.

See, love has a wee bit of a problem. As love desires to be shared. So Love made you, as Love made me.

And it was gooooodd. Yep. Thát good, it was.

Vegetarian diets, lions ate grass, there were no seasons. Just the first man and his almost angelic being, the woman. Perfect. Just imagine, set your mind free to imagine a life long picnic, with a nude queen in the mist, no sunburn as earth was shrouded in a fog. And it never rained.

While being with your love, that stupefying beauty with the chestnut curls, a belly button with a strawberry in it and legs that could reach the moon.

And God, Who is Spirit, Who ís Love, checking in every evening to chat with Adonis and his Angelica. And God saw them together and that was good.

Love was satisfied.

Then, that knock on the door by yet another snake oil salesman. And she opened and let him in, as she liked his leathers and his aftershave. While her Adonis was herding dinosaurs, she gave the salesman a good time. And bought his encyclopedia with the porn and fraud and evil knowledge in there.

When Adonis got home, Angelica was still blushing, so seduced him, showing him the nice pictures in her books. He became aroused and listed after images in print. Just paper.

So, they both studied how to be corrupt, how to defraud and lusted after others’ bodies.

The Spirit came calling and found them spoiled, rotten, decaying fast. As there was a cancer in those books, one called Death. And Angelica’s booty became her shame, she had to suspend her milk tray from spider’s web suspended from creepers and her cleavage behind a leaf. As she then knew she was naked and lustful instead of a beautiful well of deep love. And Adam stood proud and hid every member and, in his hands, his face. As he was a disgrace.

And God saw that He was the perfect parent but that the kids were naughty while He was away to weave more stars.

And they killed animals for their meat and Simba ate his girlfriend Bambi.

God cursed the earth.

Seasons came, they brought droughts as they brought floods. Winter was cold and summer a scorcher but Angelica became flabby and Adonis’ belly grew and his biceps sagged.

Then they cried to God, who saw their sorry. In His compassion, He forgave them and said He’d come in five thousand years, to redeem His creation. To buy back the title deed to Paradise and He’d seal it in His own blood.

Came He did.

Pay He did.

Then He went to build a New Earth, where we can live forever, no cancer or diabetes or depression, no anxiety or PTSD, we’ll eat Angel Food and never hunger or thirst again.

The way there:

  • Admit your fallen imperfection
  • Give it to the Spirit who is Jesus
  • Submit your will to His
  • Repent by turning from your old ways to His proven way.

Did that, even secretly? Tell me! Tell the first person you encounter. And welcome back to Paradise.

And this is why we shared this space the past few days. It is love, Shia, love for you. And for all like you. 💝💖💯

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Calling out Wokeness and Snowflakes

racism, definition: prejudice, discrimination, or antagonism directed against a person or people on the basis of their membership of a particular racial or ethnic group, typically one that is a minority or marginalized.

Here in South Africa, the only country that actually ever had Apartheid laws (others called it by another name, “segregation”) we sometimes frown upon the raw and acute racism we see in other countries. And I don’t mean just people hating blacks but also blacks hating others. This problem has been around for at least half a millennium and isn’t going to go away soon.

It will survive because obstinate people intentionally keep racism alive, as they benefit from it. They benefit while playing victim, make others look guilty until someone yet again comes along with hand-outs. Sending emotional bills have a means of accruing material payments. Someone is in a big-time here and we already hear about Antifa raking in the Dollars. Crime pays, just sometimes.

Racist conduct, racism, hate speech and such is a crime where I live, but somehow only a crime when aimed at blacks. Slander the whites, no problem. They can’t sue as no law protects them.

Yet their illogical, racist hatred needs to be exposed. They are mum on some seventeen million African slaves stolen from Africa and brutally enslaved in Arabia by Muslim Arabs and Swahili traders from the Zanj, Africans living on the eastern side of Africa. Seventeen million?? Against that, out of yet another twelve million, just short of 388,000 ended up in the USA. 388,000 vs 17 million yet African Americans “feel the pain” four hundred years later, to blame, shame and burn, loot and destroy while pardoning Meccah for their seventeen million? And, bear in mind that the ones that went to the USA were caught and sold by their very own tribal chiefs to a Black slave trader in the US. Eat that, swallow, regurgitate and chew again.
White Slavery
To the USA:

Over 300,000 white British were used as slaves in the pioneer days of the USA, almost one white for every one black slave, save for a few. So: where is the white rioting, pain, blaming, looting, arson, anarchy now? Why don’t they do as their black fellow countrymen do?
To North Africa:

Between 1600s and the 1800s, some 1.25 million whites were raided by African and Arab Muslims, from Europe. From Greece and Turkey right up to Iceland. Yes, people living near shores were simply raided and kidnapped. Unlike their black counterparts, they were not caught and sold by their own but truly stolen. Please exhume Mr Robert Nestor Marley, so that he can correct his lyrics. He got it wrong. At one point in time, a cardinal in Rome requested the then Pope to pay a ransom for 3,000 Maiiorcan men – said Pope complied, the Muslim Man got his dough and the folks went free. Whites seemed to have treated their own families and tribes better than did the Africans.

In 2017, I met a Kenyan girl online, of uncertain age. From her photo, I estimated her to have been anywhere between fourteen and seventeen, at the most. A man from her village promised her a job; she just had to raise funds to get to Qatar, first. So, she worked hard to be able to travel and take up her new position. She also had to pay the local man a thousand dollars or so. Upon arrival in Qatar, she was bundled into a vehicle and ended up in Saudi Arabia as a slave. Another black African sold into slavery by her own. But all will be cross with whites because of this, however illogical that would be. Because you can’t, in Africa, put blame on an older village person and you can’t even imagine suspecting a good, faithful Saudi Muslim. (But read Carmen Bin laden’s autobiography for background.) She was being held captive and had no freedom, had to stay in the back yard behind locked gates and high walls. She also had no contact with her loved ones back in Kenya. Somehow, someone will find a way to blame me, just because I am white. Yet I am the guy who learned about her, then spoke to her via social media and reported her to a rescue mission. That is where I lost contact and have no further knowledge of her whereabouts

I think that, if people can irrationally burn down a country in 2020 for some perceived wrong done in 1620 to less than 400k people, there should some retribution be aimed at the real culprits, the Muslims of Arabia. They had enslaved many millions and still seem to be doing it. Apportion blame where it is due but, black mister, don’t subdue my innocent Christian lady friend in Manhatten to go on her knee for you. As your brutality is nothing short of raping her. I think you should be found and left to rot in Alcatraz.

EaJFKG9WAAAZ0X6

In South Africa, I heard a white Afrikaans radio presenter mention “the Khoisan slaves” on national radio. An experienced presenter and a very esteemed one. She should go back to where she collected her degree as her factual knowledge is in deficit.

White farmers, the actual food producers, get decimated in an ongoing genocide. What a rainbow nation we are.

At no point in time, were the Khoisan ever formally enslaved – fact. Don’t come with your opinions, bring me the facts. This is why I hate sleezy opinions, as it can affect millions of innocent people when someone let some fart slip from the lips. Up to British occupation in 1806, all had suffrage and all were free to choose where to live. Sixty per cent of the residents of the famous Bo-Kaap were political prisoners from Java, Indonesia, Batavia, Syria, Malaysia, India, East African countries, etc. The term “Cape Malay” is really a misnomer. Bo-Kaap also is where Afrikaans became a written language when parts of the Q’Uran was translated into the local vernacular.

South Africa’s slaves mostly came from Angola, Madagaskar and East African countries. I can’t vouch for that as I didn’t live back then, so don’t blame me.

Finally, the illogical, misappropriated and toxic acidic hate for white people is none other than raw, primaeval R A C I S M by the very ones accusing others of just that.

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Why Apartheid, Floyd

 

A criminal gets killed, unlawfully, and the world burns.

Firstly, read https://beautybeyondbones.com/2020/06/08/take-a-knee/ about how she was forced by a stranger. He should be charged with assault.

It is violent conduct by the last settlers to the Cape (in 1853) the blacks, that had caused the British to install segregatory laws, the start of Apartheid in South Africa. Karl Marx, the embittered atheist communist, then lived there and instigated violence.  He exploited the then very basic, illiterate blacks, using them as unpaid soldiers. Ever since, blacks conducted themselves in this mindless, destructive way, proving they held no power over themselves.

To force a defenseless lady to kneel to any other than Jesus, is just rape in another format. I have never been a racist, but recent conduct makes me consider the option.

I discriminate freely on the basis of conduct, regardless.

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‘n Stukkie Getuienis

So net vir die wat nuut is hier:  in 1994 is ek aan diens beseer, toe ek nog ‘n soldaat was.  Ses of sewe jaar later is ek op vervroegde mediese pensioen geplaas terwyl my toestand toenemend verswak het en ek my mobiliteit sleg begin inboet het.

My ruim ongeskiktheidsdekking sou uitbetaal word; ek het dit reeds op skrif gehad.  Maar toe besluit ‘n gangogga by die hoofkwartier in Pietoorsdorp om my bloot medies af te tree (sonder maandelikse pensioen) en dus het my ongeskiktheidsdekking nie uitbetaal nie.

Vir ‘n jong pa, suid van veertig en met twee jong kinders, was dit ‘n harde slag.  Ons het net mooi alles verloor en almal wou my aanstel maar kon nie, vanweë daai AA-gogga wat in net mooi elke werksadvertensie was.  Toe vang iemand in die familie ‘n dom ding aan en ek verloor my kontant betaalde Duitse direkteurskoets, ‘n netjie kar met min km op en die model wat bekend is vir ‘n miljoen kilometer op een masjien.  Myne het maar 79,000km opgehad maar was nog nie op my naam nie, lang storie, geen kar sedert 2001.

As wedergebore Christen met ‘n baie sterk roepingsbewustheid, het ek my toegespits op wêreldevangelisasie en het betrokke geraak by sendingaksies tot diep in die Suidsee, maar ook Asië.  Intussen was daar geen inkomste en ons moes maar plan maak; die ryk vriende en familie was heel eerste om te onttrek en oor die kerk praat ek liewer nie.

Van 1998 tot nou, het ons meer as vyftig keer verhuis, meesal sonder om te weet waarheen ons volgende gaan. Ons is selfs met ‘n onwettig bekomde hofbevel uitgesit maar dit was die eerste en enigste keer dat ons blyplek verloor het, dit terwyl ons huur op datum was.

Pas, tydens 2020 se inperking, het ons ‘n onwettige uitstettingsbrief gekry, wat my net weer laat glo dat Kaapse landlords agente van die Hel self af is.  Dit nadat ons die man met meer as driehonderdduisend Rand verryk het.  Ek kan – en behoort – boekdele te skryf oor wat Christenmense beleef net omdat hulle wit en Afrikaans is.

‘n Vriend kom van ons penarie te hore en bel my dadelik.  ‘n Week later bel hy weer en sê hy is oppad, ons moet regstaan.  Gelukkig is sy ryding groot en ons pas net-net in.  Van toe af woon ons op sy werf.  Nie in die “klein kamertjie” waarop ons voorberei was nie, maar in ‘n lekker ruim kamer met deurstap-aantrekkamer en badkamer en suite, kombuisie en aparte woonvertrek, met twee stoepe en reg teenaan ‘n natuurreservaat.

En, soos die Here in 2018 met Skrif bekend gemaak het, het Hy ons teruggeneem na “die land waar jou voorvaders vandaan kom.”  Sien, kort na 1658 het my voorsate hier gevestig en ook Kaye hetb hier grootgeword.

Aan ons vriend se tafelgebed, want hulle nooi ons gereeld vir ‘n braai, hoor ek sy verhouding met sy Vader en sien hoe dit sy hande en voete motiveer.

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Love is Spiritual

I live in Los Angeles.

Never to be improper, or on a wrong track, or be misrepresented in thought, this route march by angels takes flight into a fantasy world of the purest, most appropriate thought, as purity isn’t defiled. With crystal clarity and as a rainbow gushing from an overflowing heart, let me spill my mind onto your lap today, for you to dispose of it as you best please.

Not than one in California but the one on Twitter, as there is a cyber City of Angels.

Angels that wake me in the morning with dollops of goodwill and love, as in the opposite of hate.

My coffee comes from a shy, confident smile with almond eyes. She always makes my day and she sees life from other angles, maybe more beautiful ones, with tongue in the cheek. And that smile sometimes is an innocently naughty one. Thirty years ago, I would have tried to get her number, so that I could invite her to coffee to lure her into my life. I still think the coffee will be great, yet no more luring. That’s not what she’s here for, rather just to bring her beautiful mind to the communal campfire. The mere thought of her, a caress of her soul would stir, captivate the heart.

And then there is that El Angel, one with the beautifulmost mind and, if her profile pic is legit, one with chestnut hair and blue eye that could slowly melt a glacier. A lady with a warm heart, a poetic mind and a carressable heart, the kind you would want to hold close, never to let go. She would be your symphony, your ballad and your limerick. Putting her name on your lips could blister them, if you whispered very closely. Also she would have warranted a great measure of attention thirty years ago, should she have lived then, If only I could be a real poet that could let the well of beautiful thoughts overflow into her silken soul. My command of English is in deficit, keeping me from saying what the heart dictates in its own secret language. What does it say?

(My head is spinning already.)

And then there is this woman who had discovered fire. She is a druid that mixes things in jars and dishes and then paints that soluble solutions to our hearts. She goes by a mountain to pick herbs, then by the restless, calming lake to get wave upon wave of inspiration, before shouting words of encouragement, inspiration and love from the wild horses galloping through the heart, written into the DNA of the marrow in the bones on the grid. As the marrow in my bones tell me of an ancient tragedy, a comedy of circumstance, that had secured her adventurous heart for times to come. A crystal clear, unpolluted soul bubbling spirit, like Helen the Conqueror – da vat hy

Let’s honour the memory of El Sis, the guardian angel that guides weary souls Home to new pastures, comforting their last stay on the esoteric railway platform, there final lay-over at the Spirit Port, so that they can slip away softly into eternity, to live on. Our communal elder sister that checks if we brushed our minds and combed our tongues before we come out to tweet street. Yeah, down where wooden boats rock and sway, she’d be called Catch of the Day, don’t let this one get away!

Yes, we are the dwarves where a Snow White roams, or where she shellz her bellz, and where Lady Zamar can sing about hearts colliding, converging into a deep, slow river of love that will live on long after the flesh had departed, as love is eternal, it is as beautiful as the Spirit that had woven it. As Spirit is woven of Love.

Love doesn’t happen on picnic blankets or between silken sheets but in an untouchable intimacy deep in the spirit chambers of the heart. As love is spiritual.

Yes, it is their memory, a legacy, that I had defended through the sights of my steely black assault rifle. These angels makes my sacrifice in a war of bush and dust and corporate battles of deceit and distrust all more worth the while. As for my Angels, I will slay dragons and walk through fire, as my spirit is fire-proofed.

Do I need to say it out loud, shout from the mountain tops – hell, yeah, I TRULY LOVE MY SWEETEST ANGELS HERE! And I want to meet up with you in the Sky when we go to live with Love Himself.

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Top Arch-based User Friendly Linux Distributions That are Easier to Install and Use Than Arch Linux Itself — It’s FOSS

In the Linux community, Arch Linux has a cult following. This lightweight distribution provides the bleeding edge updates with a DIY (do it yourself) attitude. However, Arch is also aimed at more experienced users. As such, it is generally considered to be beyond the reach of those who lack the technical expertise (or persistence) required…

via Top Arch-based User Friendly Linux Distributions That are Easier to Install and Use Than Arch Linux Itself — It’s FOSS

And that’s the problem with Linux: each making its own and no unity.  Such a house won’t stand.  I ditched a system that I called Mandrivel because it booted into three lines of drivel text one morning.

Windows 10 is just easier and really works well after the 1909 and especially 2004 updates.

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How Windows 10 deleted Pete 1986 to 2020 – and why 10’s back with him.

I own a server farm.  Now seriously, as I don’t, I like to think that I do.

I have this nifty USB 3.0 military-grade metal-cased external 1TB hard drive. As my laptop’s Samsung Evo 750 SSD is of the minuscule 256GB type and I work with 4k video. And, with Windows 10 Pro about, things can become tight.

On that 1TB drive was my whole life since 1986, as I was a bit broke during a lockdown and couldn’t afford my usual GoogleOne cloud space and then some.

My regime is to always have two of each, except for my “server farm & mainframe.”  I do have this IT corner where you will find several USB flash drives and a microSD card sitting in an SD card reader – or two.   My views were expansive as I overlooked part of Table Mountain, Lion’s Head and Signal Hill, a trilogy of likeable, climbable structures around Cape Town. That was my paradise that opened up to a small but very pleasant balcony.

And that is where it had happened.  I did, while working in Linux Mint, download the woeusb.deb file to easily install Woe-USB, using the gdebi package manager.   So, with the Windows10.ISO file already downloaded from the Microsoft page, I so easily made a bootable Windows 10 USB flash drive, as I had a friendly Sandisk Cruze 16GB one handy. I always format these to exFAT beforehand but noticed that Windows itself prefers it to be in NTFS.  I love the larger file handling of exFAT.  Of course, in Linux, I use the Ext4 file format that can handle files of up to, I think, 2TB. I stand corrected.

And my little Sandisk worked wonders.

Once I had installed Windows 10, updated, fine-tuned and tweaked it beyond recognition, I wanted another bootable USB, of course.  Object of interest being my very reliable 16GB Adata item.

So, from within Windows 10, I followed each prompt and let the process continue on its own.  Only to find that, upon completion, the Adata was totally blank and my server farm wiped, formatted, ruined.

I dislike operating systems that would employ any peripheral without user permission, which is why I love Linux.  As you have to manually approve virtually every system action.  Apparently, Windows 10 thinks it owns my IT infrastructure and just wiped out every little thing I had recorded and, dutifully transferred, from my old floppy-driven Sanyo MBC-1150 running C/PM-80 to this latest Lenovo fast jet.  The weird part is that it had never asked, prompted or queried but just silently went on to do its thing.

And so, for the 3rd time around, the Arch-based Linux Manjaro KDE ended up on said SSD device, taking very little space and booting into less than half a gigabyte of RAM.  Fast and light, a pleasure to use yet not without its quirks.  One morning, it booted into three lines of gibberish text, nonsensical stuff that would even have excited the most weirdo geeks I know.  Such geeks thrive on mouldy, long-dead pizza and ice cold coffee with fungi growing on it.  They are only aware of their physical surroundings that exist deep inside a 22″ screen.  They don’t reed three lines of Mandrivel.

So, on went Linux Mint Cinnamon, the Toyota Camry-like reliable, dependable, stable, trustworthy and, therefore, sometimes boring OS where “everything just works.”  Except KDE Connect, which is why it came off a few nights ago and the very stable, Linux-like fast, creamy smooth Windows 10 Pro went on, currently up-to-date with the latest feature updates installed.  OS build version 2004, if anyone asked.  Up to date as of June 5, 2020.

On my bedside an Adata 16GB bootable, ready, willing and able should anything go awry.  As it is bootable into Linux Mint Tricia 19.3 Cinnamon DE, just press F12.

Always be prepared………………………..

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Is Throwing a Floyd Temper Tantrum Christian Conduct?

Each of us are born with a specific set of one or more aptitudes, a skill set, to prepare us for our future purpose in God’s Kingdom. The first mention of interaction with the Spirit of God aka Holy Spirit comes in Exodus 35:30-35. We also read in Job that it isn’t the greyness of hair, but the Spirit of God, that brings wisdom.
Now, different people have different skill sets. Some can serve others, a few are called into philanthropy, others again can doctor, nurse or teach, etc. You may be getting the idea now? I place on record that I am no prophet and that I don’t claim to be one. I have no such aspirations. Yet I am a fixer, and as a fixer, I mourn over the wrong in my society. (Read Ezekiel 9 on that.)
I have a few of these myself but the one that sometimes is a burden, is the anointing into prophecy yet I am no prophet, let me assure you. Yes, I do get prophetic dreams and the odd vision (while awake) yet time had proven so many of these dreams to be exactly spot-on. This can become a burden as these mostly are warnings, as explained by Job, to “hide man from pride.” God warns us beforehand so that we don’t make fools out of ourselves, His grace is generous in wanting to save us the embarrassment. He doesn’t want us to “step into it.” Sometimes, He will disclose what’s going to happen, or warns against happenings, in rather detailed dreams.
I had such a dream about a year or two before the death of former President Nelson Mandela, well before that Polokwane-Zuma meeting and shared it publicly. When the event finally took place, the details were astonishing. In the same vein, I discussed the 5 January 2011 floods online in 2009 already.
And then we had warnings of bombings at a stadium and I worried, as we lived less than 300 yards from an international sports stadium at the time, but I only understood when Paris happened a while later. In the same vein, a very disturbing dream about the permanent division of the USA had led to a US scientist educating me on the New Madrid Fault. My inner conviction that God meant it is figure of speech, was brushed aside. As I questioned the scientist’s ideas, I even wrote to the USGS and asked their opinion on the New Madrid Fault. They said not to worry, it won’t happen. But America was badly divided, along racial lines, under the tenure of the then POTUS, prior to President Trump.
President Trump was shown as God’s choice by an old real prophet, the most reliable since the 1st century. The old guy was a shepherd that could read, from the Bible only, and he couldn’t write. His daughter pencilled down his amazingly accurate visions, visions sadly interpreted by biased people lacking the spiritual gift and understanding. These interpreters did more harm than good. However, America did get divided and then there was a second vision, of the USA being entirely destroyed, even entire states ploughed under with only smouldering parts of basements protruding, upturned and only bits exposed above the seemingly violently ripped soil. In that vision, I travel to both Americas, starting down South, and bind the Satan where I arrive, pray with small groups of five or ten people, then take them into a Boeing 747 and fly on to the next little remnant some distance away. Fly, bind, repeat until we fly them south, to South Africa. Now compare Isaiah 18.
Isaiah 18 so badly interpreted by so many scholars that still cannot read a map or follow a map description, that is. So many people don’t understand this blue, spinning globe we live on.
The typical socialist-communist unrest we now see in the USA, around May-June 2020, is something I grew up in. In my country, we had this as far back as 1850-ish and that eventually was the biggest reason why apartheid ever happened. We must understand communism, which by its definition, is atheism. Now, I don’t deny atheists their right to choose, if they are zealous about a belief in nothing, it is their business, not mine. Where it does become a problem, is when well over sixty million people get brutally tortured to death, where brutality is the ruler, not sanity. It became worse, as the global head count is well over 250 million such brutal deaths. There was an Iron Curtain and also a Bamboo Curtain, then some. The whole apartheid thing in South Africa was a reaction to the ungodly Karl Marx and his cronies, but “nobody knew” as the cricket score and betting on horses was the talk. “Don’t talk politics,” they say, so we study it tomorrow when it’s history.
And I don’t deal with opinions, I have conducted forensic audits in my life and know to deal with facts. Some believe opinions are the way to go, I call that ugly names. History is well-recorded as even I recorded certain history as it happened, even conversations word for word. Yes, opinions deceive and send people down a slippery path; it should not be entertained by the intelligent. Leave opinions for the rural gossip market square when you draw your water from the central well. The world is in shambles because of people being steered by opinions. There is truth, find it, use it.
The sad truth is that so many supposed Christians are liberals, in other words, siding by their own adversary, the Satan! Yes, you heard me right, their humanist sugar-coated kind of Christianity isn’t rooted in the Creator God Jesus Christ and that is a;ready where it is wrong. They rather follow humanist sentiments than His Word. So, to hell with choir robes and shouting “Halleluja” while their is anarchy on the streets.
Nelson Mandela ordered two public massacres, yet he got the Nobel Peace Prize. Explain that. The Church Street Bomb and the Shell House Massacre aka Luthuli House Massacre. He wasn’t ever charged and he also didn’t get jailed for being black. Just so that readers know the true reason: he was a communist, and on the register, even on the day of his death. Nice gent as he was, he wasn’t ever a victim of his ethnic orientation but rather of his own loyalty to the Red powers across Asia. It were the white voters who had voted to free blacks in South Africa, in two referenda. That is why there is democracy now. But opinions differ. As they are, as opinions go, baseless and devoid of fact. That is the stupidity of being opinionated, that people follow what sounds right and not what is right.
It is about time for some good old veritatem petendus aka truth seeking here. America needs to return to the God they vociferously proclaim and actually start serving Him. I regularly have to repent from my sins and so do you need to do now. Leave your Kingdom Now and Cabal teachers by the wayside, follow and serve the Creator God Jesus Christ, the Unknown God that Paul told people of.
As Jesus seems to be the Unknown God of this age.
If you are young and not liberal, you have no heart but if you’re an adult and not conservative, you have no mind!
Reading material:
Ezekiel 9:1:
Then he cried in my ears with a loud voice, saying, “Cause those who are in charge of the city to draw near, each man with his destroying weapon in his hand.”
Ezekiel 9:2:
Behold, six men came from the way of the upper gate, which lies toward the north, every man with his slaughter weapon in his hand. One man in the middle of them was clothed in linen, with a writer’s inkhorn by his side. They went in, and stood beside the bronze altar.
Ezekiel 9:3:
The glory of the God of Israel went up from the cherub, whereupon it was, to the threshold of the house; and he called to the man clothed in linen, who had the writer’s inkhorn by his side.
Ezekiel 9:4:
The LORD said to him, “Go through the middle of the city, through the middle of Jerusalem, and set a mark on the foreheads of the men that sigh and that cry over all the abominations that are done within it.”
Ezekiel 9:5:
To the others he said in my hearing, “Go through the city after him, and strike. Don’t let your eye spare, neither have pity.
Ezekiel 9:6:
Kill utterly the old man, the young man, the virgin, little children and women; but don’t come near any man on whom is the mark. Begin at my sanctuary.” Then they began at the old men who were before the house.
Ezekiel 9:7:
He said to them, “Defile the house, and fill the courts with the slain. Go out!” They went out, and struck in the city.
Ezekiel 9:8:
While they were killing, and I was left, I fell on my face, and cried, and said, “Ah Lord GOD! Will you destroy all the residue of Israel in your pouring out of your wrath on Jerusalem?”
Ezekiel 9:9:
Then he said to me, “The iniquity of the house of Israel and Judah is exceedingly great, and the land is full of blood, and the city full of perversion; for they say, ‘The LORD has forsaken the land, and the LORD doesn’t see.’
Ezekiel 9:10:
As for me also, my eye won’t spare, neither will I have pity, but I will bring their way on their head.”
Ezekiel 9:11:
Behold, the man clothed in linen, who had the inkhorn by his side, reported the matter, saying, “I have done as you have commanded me.”

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America Divided Permanently said God in 2009 – before eventual Total Destruction

It was in 2009 that God spoke to me in a very upsetting dream one night.  He showed me how the USA would be split in two.  An American scientist was quick to point at the New Madrid Fault, which I had no prior knowledge of.  Here in Africa, we only know about the San Andreas Fault, nothing more, generally speaking.

My own inner conviction was that the dream was a figure of speech and not to be taken literal, as we humans like to do.  I didn’t reject the scientist’s views but did check with the USGS via email.  Their response reinforced my own views that, while it was remotely possible, it rather was not probable.  I kept the belief that it would be a cultural or political divide.

Shortly after, under the tenure of President Barak Obama, the USA became a wounded nation, torn from the lakes to the gulf.  In my dream, it showed a divide running from Chicago to New Orleans.  Maybe one day, I should fill in the details, but it is scary.

Fact is that this had already happened, long before President Donal Trump was elected, so people who think that he had divided America, are really deluded.

The current riots as of June 2020 is a display of gross unpatriotic, uncivil and very un-Christian conduct.  Please burn those choir robes, silence the Halleluja’s, as the Jesus most proclaim, doesn’t live there any more.  As in the song, the three men I admire most, took the train and headed for the coast.   The music had died and rioting had taken over.

As a son of Africa, I always ask why those from my neck of the woods always justify the destruction as a means to vent anger.  The very same people indicate in census polls that they are “Christian” and then act as if there’s no Spirit of God, no Jesus, no Father and therefore no reverence, no respect.  And those guided by His Spirit are called sons of God.

It is as if the most Holy God never donned a man suit, came down, lived among us and bought us free with His blood.  The abusive, brutal crucifixion gone to waste in America, or here in South Africa where people burn down schools, hospitals, trains and whatnot?

Are there the typical communist powers at work, the Antichrist rising?  Delete history, destroy art, create a new socialist oppressive culture, destroy human lives like Mao Se Dung’s 77 million or the USSR’s 62 million.  The Gulag, torture camps like the ANC’s concentration camps in Africa, such as Camp Quadro (Quattro.)  Destruction like the Bolsheviks a century ago in Moscow, trains, railways and the arts first, plucked out the logistics infrastructure and the social heart of free Russia.

Did Jesus come to waste His time?  Should He have remained in Heaven and let us go to Hell, then?  Some seem hell-bent on that………….

Warning:  God showed America “ploughed under” and only upturned basements sticking out, thin trails of smoke emanating from the ruins.  In North America, I didn’t see a single live soul.  See it as a Jeremiah call to repentance.

Am I the fiddler on the roof here?

 

 

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Love your neighbor… — Beholding Him Ministries

And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. Matthew 22:39 Just a reminder to every true believer, true followers of Christ, true glory lights…this is what the Word of God declares, “Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger;for the anger of man […]

Love your neighbor… — Beholding Him Ministries
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Prayer for a sweet Virgin, Young or Old.

Jesus, that beautiful child is Your piece of fine gold, the one sold out on You, boots & all. She is a shining jewel in Your beautiful box.

Jesus, this beautiful child is Your piece of fine gold, the one sold out on You, boots & all. She is a shining jewel in Your beautiful box.

Because she loves You dearly and lays her beautiful heart in Your hands, hold onto what You have and drizzle her with Your anointing oil, with Your love, with every good thing You have ever wanted for her.

Let every dream you have for her come true. Erect a knight, Your own Representative, to cuddle her, to care for her, to love and cherish, till death parts them finally. Grow a young, sensitive yet strong man to kiss and comfort, or to carry her safely over rocks, one that can slay her demons and douse her fires.

Make her even more beautiful, stronger, smarter. Let Your Love grow in her and become more and more full.

Now that I know the puppy is coming out of the cocoon to flutter with beautifully tinted wings, let her float like an eagle, on the jet stream of Your Spirit.

Even if it was prayed for by someone else, make it yours, even if you are only 108 years young.

Because she loves You dearly and lays her beautiful heart in Your hands, hold onto what You have and drizzle her with Your anointing oil, with Your love, with every good thing You have ever wanted for her.

Let every dream you have for her come true.

Make her even more beautiful, stronger, smarter. Let Your Love grow in her and become more and more full.

Now that I know the puppy is coming out of the cocoon to flutter with beautifully tinted wings, let her float like an eagle, on the jet stream of Your Spirit.

Even if it was prayed for someone else, make it yours, even if you are only 108 years young.

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Gebed vir ‘n Jong Meisie

Jesus, hierdie pragkind is U stukkie fyngoud, die enetjie wat sold out is op U, boots & all. Sy is ‘n blink juweeltjie in U mooiboksie.

Omdat sy U innig liefhet en haar mooi hart in U hande lê en klop, hou vas wat U het en bedruip haar met U salfolie, met U liefde, met elke goeie ding wat U ooit vir haar gewil het.

Laat elke droom wat U vir haar het, bewaarheid word.

Maak haar nog mooier, sterker, slimmer. Laat U Liefde groei in haar en meer en voller word.

Noudat ek weet die papie kom uit die kokon om met mooi getooide vlerke te fladder, laat haar sweef soos ‘n arend, op die jetstream van U Gees.

Al is dit vir iemand anders gebid, maak dit joune, al is jy dalk net 108 jaar jonk.

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A Coronavirus Sermon on The Christian Unbelief

It took one little virus, a little lockdown, some social distancing, a cough on the elbow and a face mask to bring out the worst in people.

Having lived through civil war, bombs in dustbins, churchgoers assaulted with automatic weapons & firearms, mass anarchy by evil socialist communists, terrorist attacks all around me, etc., I am used to distrust, yet still not fear.

For a few decades, I feared being alone in large buildings as I was stuck in one, as a young boy, during the devastating earthquake of 1969.

The sheer terror of life behind the Iron and Bamboo Curtains didn’t escape me, although I didn’t experience it first hand. That didn’t make it less real. Ditto WWII, or even worse, WWI. And the most horrific war, the Anglo Boer War.

I saluted freshly filled graves with the trumpeteer playing The Last Post, one time too many.

In following God’s calling and frequently circumvented by His children in business, some just common crooks and conmen, my family and I ended up homeless, destitute, me being disabled because of a plethora of medical situations. We lost our home, all of our means to earn, all our household goods, mostly inherited treasures. We lost friends & relatives who had executed social distancing when we became poor, that hellhole called church, a fountain of intimidation, manipulation, greed and deceit.

We started our various businesses from absolutely zero. No funding, no credit, no bank accounts as we had no address.

Fellow Christians looked on and left us to our own lack of devices. Such Christian love.

Then came loadshedding and it took away 90% of our informal, pedestrian business. By Christmas 2019, the situation was dire. The online English teaching entity stopped paying just after I started with them; they were sequestrated early 2020. Then came coronavirus that had halted anything tourism related in its tracks, well before lockdown.

Finally, lockdown came and we received an illegal eviction notice. The landlord is so typical from his tribe, seen the type before. Let’s not go there, as those chosen people are quick to be offended but bloody careless in how they treat others.

Over thirty-odd years, we have seen it all, suffered tremendously yet, for much of the time, people thought we were filthy rich when they saw God’s spiritual blessing upon our lives. Their first reaction was to try get to the money we didn’t have and, when failing to do so, turned nasty.

We were persecuted, prosecuted, abused by especially charismatics, but other Christians as well. Even physically assaulted be men of the cloth. What a dirty rag a black robe can be!

In all of this, we grew intimately closer to Jesus and totally ceased and desisted from the organised crime called church. I don’t mince my words here. Suffice to direct you towards His Word that so often denounces anything temple-ish:

Jeremiah 7:4-11

4. Do not trust the words of this saying, “This is the LORD’s temple, the LORD’s temple, the LORD’s temple!” It’s a lie. 5. “‘Suppose you really change the way you live and act and you really treat each other fairly. 6. Suppose you do not oppress foreigners, orphans, and widows, or kill anyone in this place. And suppose you do not follow other gods that lead you to your own destruction. 7. Then I will let you live in this place, in the land that I gave permanently to your ancestors long ago. 8. “‘You are trusting the words of a saying. It’s a lie that cannot help you. 9. You steal, murder, commit adultery, lie when you take oaths, burn incense as an offering to Baal, and run after other gods that you do not know. 10. Then you stand in my presence in the house that is called by my name. You think that you’re safe to do all these disgusting things. 11. The house that is called by my name has become a gathering place for thieves. I have seen what you are doing,'” declares the LORD.

It gets worse:

Ezekiel 9:6-7

6. Kill old men, young men, old women, young women, and children. But don’t come near anyone who has His mark on him. Start with my holy place.” So they started with the old men in front of the temple. 7. He said to them, “Dishonour the temple! Fill its courtyards with dead people, and then leave.” So they went out and killed the people in the city.

We all know what Jesus, Who is God, had said about church people and folks like Paul agreed. As did John.

Revelation of John 18:4-5

4. I heard another voice from heaven saying, “Come out of Babylon, my people, so that you do not participate in her sins and suffer from any of her plagues. 5. Her sins are piled as high as heaven, and God has remembered her crimes.

After a life with Jesus, spanning seven decades, I can safely say I’ve been around the block a few times.

Just a few pointers:

  • Been shot at
  • Been shot at and wounded
  • Been kidnapped as missionaries, not just once
  • Defrauded of our entire net worth by a man wielding his Bible
  • A missionary friend was in line to be beheaded, that was traumatic but Jesus spared her
  • Been persecuted in my own city like the KGB persecuted believers in the USSR

Oh, I can make a long list. People that had reached out to us, from faraway Vermont, USA, or Johannesburg, South Africa, are all people we had never met. One drove for an hour during lockdown, collected us with our few goods, brought us into his home, prepared a feast and let us live comfortably.

None of these stomp their feet or shout ” Jesus” from the rooftops. They are all flying below the radar. Yet their Love is real. None of them seem to be attending church but all of them, without exception, are doing His will in this. Which is more than the religious clan can say.

Finally, where has the faith of the religious gone to? I see them whine about wine, or another plug of tobacco. I see someone proclaiming Jesus on her Twitter status, yet vociferously wishing for alcohol poisoning on June 1, when liquor stores re-open.

Is this the feeble, thin, easily shaken faith Jesus wants? That a little virus throws us into a spin, or rather, a death spiral?

Where had our corporate faith departed to?

We have never lost hope, there were despondent moments, yet no despair.

We do have Jesus, still, don’t we?

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If It Ain’t Broke, Don’t Fix It

First, the registered our domain wrong, on another site and then told us how to fight them to put it right. They also cost us money in registering a G Suite we neither needed nor wanted.

Then came the pesky, irritating blockeditor which is an unnecessary complication designed for really stupid people who don’t know how word processing works. It’s like the Apple ecosystem that’s really designed for dummies.

Some of us have brains, don’t do the thinking for us! Or, at least, leave us some choices.

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How to Format a USB Disk as exFAT on Linux — by It’s FOSS

Brief: This tutorial teaches you how to format a USB disk in exFAT format on Linux systems. Both GUI and command line methods have been discussed. For a long time FAT has been the default choice of filesystem for formatting disks. It is compatible with pretty much all the major operating systems. The one major…

via How to Format a USB Disk as exFAT on Linux [Graphically and Command Line] — It’s FOSS

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Linux Desktop OS Market Share still Dropping?

Windows 7 End of Life support clearly hasn’t helped the Linux Desktop OS … WIN7 support ended on 01/14/2020 and the ‘Downward Trend’ of the Linux Desktop OS market share continues, especially if some 90 days of DistroWatch data is even close. Lots of red indicators pointing downward – for 3 months, last 30 days, […]

via Linux Desktop OS Market Share still Dropping? ‘DistroWatch suggests … Maybe’ — Linux Newbie – since 1996

As long as Linux user support forums remain a place for grumpy old men and belligerent youngsters, forget about it becoming mainstream.  I just had been pecked for a week on such a forum because an IT person could logically read and then responded according to his own eschewed presumptions, even using terminology I never used. A sour bunch of  sad antisocial radicals won’t keep me for long.  One has to be real in this life. The ONLY consistently compliant user forum, in my experience of ten years with them, had been that of the boringly reliable Linux Mint. Which is why it sits installed alongside my Windows 10 Pro and Manjaro reduced to an .ISO file on a backup drive.

It doesn’t surprise me, then, that the migration from Windows 7 never happened.

The broader public will much more readily pirate Microsoft software than venture into a world where heads get bitten off.

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Die lekker van ouer word … — Dr. Christa van Staden

Soms verkyk ek my aan die jong meisies van vandag, maar ek vang veral hulle kritiek op ons ouer vrouens op. Veral as mens saam met hulle kuier. Daarom is ek sommer net so, op die oomblik, lus om oor die lekker van ouer wees te gesels. Ek het lankal vrede gemaak met hoe ek […]

via Die lekker van ouer word … — Dr. Christa van Staden

As jy nou klaar daar gelees het, hier is my stukkie kommentaar:

As ek eendag dalk af en laf raak om ‘n skelmpie aan te hou, sal sy verseker nie ‘n jong wilgerlatlyfie in ‘n minikini wees nie. Ek kyk hulle so as hulle min of meer kaalgat van die strand af kom, dis 300 meter ver, om skaamteloos in hulle naaktheid tussen ons te kom eetgoed koop, skynbaar eet hulle enigiets behalwe kos, wys lyfies vol belofte maar ogies vol van doodse leegheid. In drie jaar se tyd het ek nog net vyf regte mooies gesien, want hylle hartjies en ogies het geglimlag. Maar hier is ‘n hele paar anties van my ouderdom en selfs ouer wat gees in hulle het, wat aantreklik is omdat hulle eg is. Hulle is mooi binne en meesal aan die buitekant ook. Nekplooitjies kan oulik lyk wanneer dit gepaard gaan met die sexyste ding aan ‘n vrou, daardie glimlag wat diep uit die hart uit kom. Eendag het ek vir ‘n 80-jarige tannie op Vishoek se promenade gevra of sy weet hoe mooi sy die dag laat lyk het. Want haar mooi was as gevolg van soveel meer as die rooi in haar netjiese klere, of die goed versorgde hare of haar geriatriese wilgerlatlyfie. Haar mooi het helder geskyn diep uit haar siel uit en die hele seestrand aangenamer gemaak. En ek dink dis wat sexy regtig is.

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Homemade alcohol kills Brakpan man and lands his dad in ICU

Homemade alcohol kills Brakpan man and lands his dad in ICU https://a.msn.com/r/2/BB14sazL?m=en-za&referrerID=InAppShare

The family of the two men told police said the concoction they drank was either brandy or vodka and that they got it over the weekend in Boksburg.

Since the start of lockdown on 27 March, the sale of alcohol has been banned and many people have been making home-brewed alcoholic beverages using pineapple and other fruit mixed with yeast and sorghum, among other items.

Following President Cyril Ramaphosa’s announcement that liquor sales would not be allowed during lockdown, Google SA reported that ways of how to make your own alcohol was one of the top searches in South Africa.

The above excerpt from the newspaper report. I was disgusted by the whining about alcohol by otherwise sane adult males in society here. I never knew the level of infantile behaviour I’d live to see.

Lockdown had brought out the best and the worst in people.

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What DID Jesus do?

It really isn’t about that WWJD bracelet but rather “what DID Jesus do?“After decades of neglect, deceipt, circumvention and getting betrayed by our own, total strangers reached out to help us get through this instead of telling us to “get over it “We are blossoming.The proverbial poor widow sent us $25 via Western Union, from across the Atlantic pond. It had bailed us out of hunger for a week. The week prior, a lady who doesn’t have a job during lockdown, did the same. Another week saved.When our landlord gave everyone 7 days notice illegally, it wasn’t a relative but a couple at the other end of the social scale that drove up, brought us into their new home, where we now live in peace and quiet comfort.And an internet friend who can least afford hit, had bent over backward and there is a large box of whatever on its way to us, groceries most likely, as couriers can now deliver again.Neither of these had told me to “get over it.” They saw my disability, the dire need due to South Africa’s primitive labour laws discriminating on basis of gender and race. These mostly unmet friends carried my bags for some distance, giving Kaye and I a breather.They helped drag us through it. That is how they had made the difference. And we thank the Almighty God for these people, these Samaritans we have mostly not ever met, who had showed the Love of Father God.In so doing, they became the best missionaries, evangelists, preachers, in His employ. Without saying a word. Their deeds did all the talking.

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Murgsagte Taai Lieslappie van n Ou Skaap

Taaivleisie? Kook maar, hy raak sag soos Santie se binneboud. Maar wees geduldig.

Onder in die swart platboompot lê hy, met peperkorrels, growwe sout, ui en dalk stukkies wortel daarby, maar dis opsioneel.

Lieslappie stowe, hy’s nêrens heen haastig nie. Die gasvlammetjie is klein, op ‘n donkerbewolkte dag sien jy skaars die blou skynsel. Moenie haastig raak nie. Lieslap kook is nes romanse, mens jaag nie die tyd aan nie. Kook is immers die voorspel tot ete.

En ek gooi so ‘n skeut vyfjaar wingerdmoles daarby, dit sal afkook en die gees sal daaruit weggaan. Gee genoeg tyd.

Baie ure later, ‘n goeie boek op ‘n reëndag verder, kan jy hom begin pluis met ‘n vurk. Uitmekaar sal hy val. Nou het jy die basis vir boontjiebredie, of dalkies waterblommetjies. Skaap en daai Bolandse groen groentes werk lekker saam. As dit vars groente is, laat lank en stadig gaar word.

Dis vakansie, hoekom haastig wees. Ingeperk? Maak die meeste daarvan.

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500 Posts by an Illiterate Man

Already after my first stroke, I couldn’t speak for months.  After my eleventh stroke in Jule 2019, I could neither read nor write. “John” got spelled as “swrsrwk”, for instance.

In the hospital, I started this Whimsickle blog and have posted 500 times.  Maybe not the best quality posts, but a bit of an achievement considering my induced illiteracy.

AI KANT SPAL KWIT. And it shows…..

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Uilkraal Boontjiebredie – Ideale Grendelstaatresep

Daar in die melkhoutwoud is die houthuisie met ‘n lekker vet gasstoof, met die beste oond wat ek nog beleef het. Gewone vierbrander sonder elektronika of ruimtetegnologie. Steek nog aan met ‘n vuurhoutjie.

En wyl die vlammetjie brand, swaar ysterkastrol met sommer ‘n handvol gekapte uie wat jy in min olie braai. En hoekom nie lekker baie knoffel daarin nie?

En as die uitjies lekker gebraai het, sit twee handevol ertappels in, so in blokkies gesny. Verstaan jy?

En dan kom blikkie of twee gesnippperde groenbone daarin, met so bietjie van hulle sous daarby. Dit gee geur. En varsgemaalde swart peper.

Einde ten laaste ‘n blikkie of twee Bull Brand boeliebief, so in stukkies gesny. Ek laat die spulletjie se water wegkook sodat die vleisie effens braai. Jammer, maar net vermelde blikkie se vetinhoud is reg vir dié joppie. Dit moet die papier om die blikkie wees.

Nou so op ‘n wintersdag en die otters speel in die duine en buitjies reën val sag, die sand is klam en die melkhoutwoud ruik sy ruik, dan smaak so ‘n boereverneuk blikkieboontjiebredie heel reg.

As jy altemit effens aangebrande klonte jasmynrys of basmati onder hulle het.

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How Safe Is Your Mac Really?

True to my nature, I was quick to give our 2012 MackbookPro a NIX change of heart; it was converted to a Linux Mint Cinnamon box and ran about 330% of its original Yosemite speed. It was one of those beautiful i5’s running at 2.5GHz, 8GB DDR3, 1TB SSD, that sleek DVD-RW on the side. Best laptops ever, those machines.  It’s tiny 13″ Retina screen real estate never was a distractor.  It’s unreliable- not to mention costly to replace – touchpad was a pain, though.

My current rig is a ThinkPad Edge E540, supposedly not Linux compatible yet everything works rather smoothly.  It sports an Intel i7 Quad 2.2GHz CPU, Nvidea Geforce GT740M GPU, 8GB DDR3, 256GB Samsung Evo 750 SSD and – luckily – not any Thunderbolt or USB-C ports that I know of.  Not that I had looked.

Loopholes abound, back doors left wide open, seemingly, across the IT landscape.  I am sure that even my dear old safe Linux has a few vulnerabilities.  I don’t mind them as I don’t bank gold bullion online, my debit card is acutely anaemic and I surely don’t plan to violently, or otherwise, overthrow any banana republic any time soon.

Here is an interesting article on the Thunderbolt issue, please do follow the link and take a good, attentive read.  https://9to5mac.com/2020/05/11/thunderbolt-security-flaws/amp/

‘n Blote Blootvoet

Die Blootvoete was almelee mos Sandvellers, Renostervellers, Weskussers, maar hulle het in 1658 aangeland op die Voorschoten. Gevestig naby Mostert se Meul, later jare daar by Tokai en by Laborie in die Paarl, maar eintlik by Durbanville, plaas Diemersdal. En dan by Maasbury, daar by die Paardeberg. Uiteindelik Leipoldtville, Lambertsbaai en daai omtes. Dis nou […]

‘n Blote Blootvoet

Do you speak English?

A fellow blogger, from a 3rd world country, was getting badly confronted in public for his lack of acumen and rather minimal command of English. The English speaker afforded him “no excuse.

I thought that was rude and, having felt that heat in my own neck before, decided to defend my fellow third world apprentice. Here goes……

English is not my mother tongue and it often shows. Having said that, the Anglophones in my neck of the woods sometimes display a linguistic skill that clearly is in deficit.

I was taken aback by someone rudely confronting a fellow blogger that had tried to convey a message, one that was understood yet it came out quite wrong.

Some even don’t know that pronunciation isn’t pronouncuation. It’s that bad. Or that nobody ever got hung but hanged. Then, they also don’t know the difference between trousers and pants.

Foreign names mesmerize them. They want everything to be English. So, Paraparaumu becomes Paraparam. Para para umu. It means “man man BBQ.” YET they affix that M to the end. Why?

Thibault (tee-boo) becomes Thai Bawled in Cape Town. Lord, have mercy…….

The Bible was given well before the Virgin Queen lived. Elizabethan English wasn’t the language in which God “breathed a Bible.” And He did so well before 1611, zealots take notice.

In fact, God spoke Hebrew….

The rudeness displayed by some Anglophones, the haughtiness, is just stupefying. Intolerant of mistakes offered by native speakers of Chichewa, isiXhosa or kiSwahili. TshiVenda, Shona. People who try, yet may ending up meddering a bed.

Please, in public, on social media, be civil, tolerant and don’t think that only you are right, or that only you have rights.

Maybe getting a spelling checker may help, but some had turned this into sheer exorcism by using a spell checker. Spooky thing, that.

For as long as you cannot pronounce aluminium, don’t correct others or mock and ridicule them.

As you may end up looking stupid.

Kovid 19 Repatriasie-Kontakvorm

Vir enigeen wat my privaat wou kontak.

Repatriasie na kwarantyn, vervoer, permitte, ens. Ek ken die persoon wat almal help tuiskom.

Do you wear God’s Mark on your forehead? Ezekiel 9.

Will people ever really understand that not getting God’s mark is the real issue here?

Lots get said about 666. https://wp.me/p9v0KQ-1KM

Everyone that doesn’t have God’s mark as in Ezekiel 9, by default has the 666. As a retired tech expert and seasoned missionary fairly well trained in both retail systems and the Bible, let me assure you that the ICT systems are a tactical control function of the 666 but that the Mark of the Beast already is a spiritual condition.

Good to avoid getting microchipped but too many also won’t receive God’s Mark and still die eternally. Ezekiel 9.

Going to hell for lying?

Did you know that Jesus don’t send anyone to Hell? Even though many believe He does that?

Mothers scare their kids by saying “you’ll go to hell if you steal/lie/cheat/swear/do drugs/get drunk/etc. But people only ever go to hell when they choose to. As rejecting the Everlasting Father Jesus, the Almighty Creator is how they choose to. When they say a little sinners’ prayer yet going on to rule their own hearts, do their own will.

Being a disciple is a cognitive decision and being guided by God’s Spirit ain’t no spooky business. It is a choice.

Sell your cloak to afford you a Sword. As the Word of God is the Sword of the Spirit. It doesn’t mean to go out buying a gun, it means getting into Jesus.

You don’t need no relidgin. You just need Jesus.

Choose Him.

Choose Life eternal.

Attaboy. Attagirl.

Instabook and Facegram

They are siblings and it shows. People that don’t exist go there to meet others that don’t exist. At least not in real life. Let’s play pretend.

Fake personas, false promises, very poor folks that go half naked, girls that don’t get attention at home, crazy cat women……..

The same nastiness happens, the same herd mentality of “we are all uniquely the very same.” A level of stupidity, a systems equaliser like Java, that forces all computers to the same low speed.

Such is the social media platforms, with baditude, that defines a mindless pseudo humanity.

I am there to share a sunrise, a flower, a bird. But, then, didn’t we all tire of that?

COBOL revived by Covid 19

My son is learning computer programming. That was born of a need to do certain tasks in his world of creating animation.

In the 1980s, there wasn’t any proper tax planning software so we made our own. I did very basic COBOL programming, but never tried FORTRAN. Today, people use Java.

Oh, I could to HTML as well. And I developed apps in DBaseIII+, DBaseIV, QuattroPro and Lotus.

Lotus 1-2-3 was a powerful spreadsheet tool with excellent database functionality. IBM killed it off.

There was another language I vaguely remember, I think it was called RPN. As you can see, I never made it to developer status simply as there was no need to.

I only ever created what I needed, yet a function that comprised 132 @ functions in Quattro, was later employed in 18 countries but in a mainframe environment. At least I initiated it although I didn’t to the mainframe development.

COBOL was fairly easy to learn. I recall using spaces rather carefully and everything resembled 8 bits. By 2020, all memory’s gone even while both FORTRAN and COBOL are alive out there.

Due to Covid-19, there is a new demand for COBOL developers.

Google News – This new botnet has recruited an army of Windows devices

“Google News – This new botnet has recruited an army of Windows devices” https://news.google.com/articles/CAIiEG1L5XysfFjenftUc_j2uWoqGQgEKhAIACoHCAow_IaaCzCmkbIDMNPF1wY?hl=en-ZA&gl=ZA&ceid=ZA%3Aen

Lucifer malware leverages old vulnerabilities to infect users’ systems

Just installed Firejail to my Linux laptop

Some folks tend to think Linux is immune to malicious code. I’m not much at risk to contract coronavirus or AIDS because of how I behave. Yet it would be medically possible though not probable.

I take precautions with my own health and I care for my innocent little Thinkpad. I have replaced Kubuntu with the latest Mint Cinnamon. As I want to keep it intact, I have installed rkhunter and firejail.

I don’t think that desktop users have more than maybe one virus and a rootkit or three to worry about, but rather safe than sorry. Sophos has a greet FREE AV which should suffice.

Firejail runs every individual process in its own isolated sandbox, as far as I could figure out. I don’t gamble online or watch porn, I don’t pirate other people’s stuff and should be safe.

Here is where to find Firejail

https://firejail.wordpress.com/

‘n Dag vir Ouers

Vadersdag, Moedersdag, Grootouersdag https://wp.me/paM6B2-9O

Soveel ouers en kinders leef by mekaar verby.  Ek vind, oor die laaste 40 jaar of so, hoedat geloof ‘n wig indryf. Vernuwingsbewegings sit vol intolerante mense wat neersien op tradisievastes. Pinkster en tradisie is ook maar vormgodsdiens, as mense dinge doen omdat die groep dit doen. En dan word gereformeerd, pinkster en charisma eenkant gestoot vir Kingdom Now en ander dwalingagtiges. As iets net halfpad reg val op die oor, tou almal in daardie koers soos skape, sonder om gesonde verstand te gebruik. Want mense laat hulle lei deur ander se opinies ten koste van die ware feite.

En die fundamentalistiese, nuwe tradisiekinders verwerp die soms ware verligte ouers.  Laat hulle alleen, verwese, droefgeestig alleen in hulle oudag. 

Spyt kom te laat. Die dooies skink nie tee nie. Karma vergeet nooit ‘n adres nie en die blinde sambok neuk hard.

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