Two Supreme Courts Justices Defend the 2nd Amendment: With a world at war, guns are the only thing keeping peace

Once again, the Supreme Court punted on several lower court challenges in the year of 2020, but not at a complete loss. Justices Clarence Thomas and Brett Kavanagh defended the 2nd Amendment and the very conscious decision the Supreme Court has made to not take up gun rights cases over the last decade to defend that amendment properly. There has been for a long time, and still is today a fantasy from institutionalized society that government can manage everything, yet as we are currently in the middle of World War III, all pretense of such a concept has been thoroughly destroyed. We are used to thinking of wars as battles organized by armies where wills are pushed until someone gives up. That has been the way human beings have fought for thousands of years. But that has changed recently, wars are now fought on the battlefields of the media and the purpose of capitulation has changed to reputations instead of actual lives. Instead of killing people, these new attackers fight to keep us from even being born and if we are, they seek to weaken all individuals through collective influence. The end game for the attackers is to institutionalize everything so that a central authority can literally rule the world and in this last year of President Trump’s first term in the White House, we have seen everything and to what extent the attackers of American sovereignty are willing to do to advance their position. And the only thing that has stopped them has been the Second Amendment. So the defense of that amendment of our Constitutional Bill of Rights comes at a good time from our highest court and should serve as a platform of understanding in the future.

I will go as far to say that both major tragedies of 2020, the government lockdowns of our entire economy and the race riots, were military attacks, not tragedies. They were instigated by institutional challenges to authority by government seeking to erode individual freedom for the service of the state. We do have domestic enemies in America, and we have been slow to admit as much to ourselves. We want to trust our government. We want to believe that our institutions are designed to serve our needs as people. We want to believe that our friends and neighbors have the best of intentions. But if they do not honor our flag, our agreement to the rules of the Constitution as a foundation of law, then we are a nation at war. It may not be the kind of civil war that we had in the past where Republicans worked to free slaves from aristocratic Democrats in the South where the battles were fought on actual battlefields and guns were used to destroy lives to the extent that one side would eventually be forced to surrender by running out of people to fight. This new kind of war is fought on the level of people’s lives where freedoms are robbed at the most fundamental decision levels and an ancient appeasement of the great gods of government are the goals of the day.

I often talk about guns as an advancement of civilization while the anti-gunners are seeking to keep mankind chained to the aristocracy of the past, where institutions meant more than individual liberty. The trouble with that mentality is that every society on the face of the earth that has adhered to those rules has perished—the Persian Empires, the dynasties of Egypt, China—the kingdoms of Europe, the great empires of North America before the Indians divided up into many tribes of nomads—the patterns are all over the earth and to my thoughts, were best chronicled in the great book by James Joyce, ‘Finnegan’s Wake.’ Joyce made a great observation when he wrote that fantastic book that many consider to be the most challenging book to read in the history of the world. I spent ten years reading it, and came eventually to understand that the entire purpose of the book was to preserve the history of the world as a kind of skeleton key to all society because of the trends of the Vico Cycle, the tendency that all institutionalized society has to move through four cycles of evolution, theocracy, aristocracy, democracy only to destroy it all to start from the beginning through anarchy. That is the cycle of every institutionalized society and has been with us since likely the age of the dinosaurs, even before it perhaps. Joyce wanted to capture our current history within the puzzles of his book because from the vantage point of Ireland during the pre-industrial age, it looked like mankind was poised to crawl back into the caves of Neanderthals and to begin again as a theocratic society once anarchy and war destroyed all human progress up to that point.

But the invention of the gun has given individuals the ability to say no to that institutional tendency and that Vico Cycle has been stopped by American society, which has made it the enemy of the world that wants desperately to follow that cycle back to the beginning to begin completely again once anarchists have destroyed all current progress, to our medical advances to our very obvious advances to get off earth and start migrating into space. When people talk about guns as some relic of the past, some stigma that puts individual liberty over the goals of the state and speaks of that as if it were selfish, and even evil, what they are really saying is that individuals must give up their thoughts, feelings and ambitions to the needs of a collective state as they had in the past—because those attackers literally want to go back to a society of theocracy where they can rule easily over mankind in the traditional way—because that way of life isn’t so scary to them—they understand it. This rule by the gun and the advancement of individual liberty is a new concept in the world—only 300 to 400 years old, and the old institutionalists are oblivious as to what will happen next, and they are terrified of it.

And when they made their latest global attack with coronavirus to shut down the entire economies of the world, and when that didn’t stop individual will, they provoked these race riots to corral up minds into groups of skin color and tried to use that to push people back to a primitive state of anarchy to collapse everything back into a theocracy, it was gun ownership in America that stopped the spread and maintained civility. It is gun ownership that prevents institutionalists from advancing their plots of menace through anarchy toward a social rebirth into a theocratic culture, which has been done in the past so many times that history has long forgotten the beginning. When people can defend themselves from faulty governments and institutions destined from failure, then the power of the state has been taken away and is truly governed by the people of a republic instead of another failed democracy, and the potential of free minds everywhere is unleashed to its full potential, which is obvious by the antics of SpaceX and several other positive achievements that are blooming in spite of the obvious institutional failures that are obvious to us all. The separation between failure and its corrosive following is that the ownership of guns keeps the chain reaction from reaching all people and allows them to be independent of failure which is the heart of the Second Amendment. And its good that at least two Supreme Court judges understand that.

Cliffhanger the Overmanwarrior

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Yes, there was Life on Mars: Relearning our own ancinet past and meeting our future with honesty

As sure as you are reading this, I am quite sure that there was life on Mars and that at least at a microbial level, there may still be. When the question of as to whether there is life on other planets comes up I view such a proposal as absolutely preposterous—of course there was. Life on Mars is not at all farfetched, the big difference with it is that it supersedes the timeline that we accept on earth as a history of understanding. Entire civilizations could have risen and fallen in the hundreds of millions of years before the relatively recent period on earth that we might call loosely the days of the dinosaurs. I am reading a very good book right now by Peter Frankopan called The Silk Roads: A New History of the World which puts a focus on our own world history around the Caspian Sea region just over the last 1000 years or so and a lot of things change as to our own historical perspective if looked at in such a way. Take the center of focus of human civilization from a study point of view away from London and suddenly many things look different. I have for instance written many articles talking about how the orient settled North America much sooner than anyone previously has thought, and how trade around the world occurred even back in time to the period of the Phoenicians. It is surprising how many people have trouble with just these very easy understandings of history, so they just aren’t intellectually prepared to deal with the fact that many human beings on earth are likely descendants of Martians, and that by the time that planet had lost its atmosphere and water, life there that could, found a way to reestablish themselves on earth for their basic survival, just as we today are looking for options among the stars for our next phases, if we can survive the present one.

Announced this week in a story that would have been the biggest news on planet earth a few years ago, NASA’s Curiosity rover was reported to have uncovered signatures of an environment on the red planet that may once have been habitable. In two separate studies on data collected by the Mars rover over the last few years, scientists have identified an abundant source of organic matter in the ancient soil of a long dried up lake bed and traced some of the planet’s atmospheric methane to its roots. The findings could help to guide the search for ancient microbial life and improve our understanding of seasonal processes on Mars which indicate that there may be some forms of life still functioning there. I am quite sure that once mankind starts settling on Mars during the upcoming 2020s that we will find all types of archaeology on that red planet that really for us will be like coming home. Its been a long time, but I think innately we all understand that our roots on earth started in the stars, not that we are now going to them for the first time.

It’s not just the scientific proof that is now emerging that points toward this conclusion, but its two books from our human culture that has basically captured how this can happen which I’d advise everyone to read. The first is Finnegan’s Wake, within that great novel is the keys to all known human history—centered from the European perspective—and articulates how the human race continues to reinvent itself over and over again through birth and death leaving the original history difficult to trace due to poor philosophies of mankind constantly destroying all our progress only to rise again somewhere else in the world over and over again perpetually. It doesn’t take long to realize that great societies long forgotten in our history books are probably on the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, or under the English Channel, lost under the Persian Gulf and many other places as the ocean levels were much shallower tens of thousands of years ago, even hundreds of millions of years ago. Big cities like New York and Tokyo of course would have been along coastal waters in those ancient times and those locations are now under water making archaeology difficult to study if not impossible, because anything older than 10,000 years old would be by now virtually erased due to erosion and other forms of degradation.

The second book is by Ayn Rand which doesn’t get much attention where it should, and that is her little book called Anthem. In that novelette mankind has recently just discovered the light bulb—set well into the future. Obviously, that is hard for us all to comprehend, after all we are preparing to recolonize Mars, and we enjoy a technological society with the internet and delivering packages from all over the world to our doorsteps. But over the many years we find that the human need to blanket their minds with religion and superstition clouds their observations of reality—such as building an epistemological belief system in America that slavery and the abuse of the Indian are political concerns specific to the foundation of the greatest capitalist country on earth—if successful it would be possible to erase all the history of the United States from any record and to reinterpret everything through the lens of whatever political order arrives to replace it—which is a process that was well on its way to occurring before Donald Trump became president. But barring similar dynamic circumstances it is evident that all through human history this is precisely how events have unfolded, meaning that the inventions born from humanity may have occurred over and over again out of necessity only to be wiped out by political decadence and a yearning to always start over. A society might be said to be successful if it can stave off this trend for a few thousand years, but it is unrealistic to assume that it can do so over millions of years, which is the primary reason that we as human beings think that our history began only 12 thousand years ago with the stone monuments of Egypt, or Gobekli Tepe. There are even people functioning today especially in the Appalachia culture from the American south who believe that all of the history of the world is only a few thousand biblical years old—according to the latest religion of Christianity.

It’s easy to see how this could happen, most of us can relate to some circumstance where we may have a cheating spouse, and we chose not to see it because it’s too painful to deal with, or we may have bad parents which we fail to see their faults because it makes looking in the mirror much more difficult—when we do this on a much larger scale as nations it makes the analysis of history much more difficult to resurrect. I can say personally I find the history of England very fascinating, and they have fabulous programs on archaeology, but their national history sort of begins and ends after William the Conquer arrived on the scene and shaped their national identity. The current communist government of China is completely ignoring their own ancient past as they don’t want their people to have reverence for what came before, but rather what is before them now. Africa has some wonderful treasures from the past, but uncovering it is impossible as Marxist strife has enveloped the entire continent—and we all know the history of the Middle East today, what was obviously a cradle of civilization is locked behind a struggle of Islam versus Christianity.

Those are our struggles on earth, so it’s not hard to understand how we have managed to bury our own past with the planet Mars which likely took place before there were ever dinosaurs on earth, or after—or both. There could have been travel between there and here for many thousands of years until Mars was uninhabitable, then some stayed on earth while others headed for elsewhere. The evidence of such feats is in our own mythologies, which are obviously more than stories—they are footprints in the sand which do get washed away over time but are there just long enough to indicate that something happened which provoked a story in the minds of humans. The big news from NASA on the building blocks of life being discovered on Mars isn’t at all surprising to me. I expect we’ll have many more and much more profound discoveries over the coming years. The big question remains however, how can we avoid the pitfalls of the past that tend to erase such memories to begin with, so that mankind can continue to expand and exist instead of always reinventing the light bulb over and over again? That is the big question, not as to whether there was ever life on other planets and if they interacted or even started life on earth, its whether life can sustain itself long enough to advance as a civilization so that history isn’t always repeating itself for millions and millions of years. The question is not are we alone in the universe, it is whether or not we can keep life directed long enough to actually advance. That is the achievement that seems to be the biggest challenge of human life—how long can we last under a philosophic system that allows for actual progress. That is the real answer that we will soon be digging up on Mars, and how we deal with that evidence will decide our fates as humans for the next several million years—which is just a blip of geological time in the perspective of our solar system.

Rich Hoffman

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The River Liffey: A message of warning to all women–especially young ones

One of the many metaphors of the great book Finnegan’s Wake is the role of Anna Livia Plurabelle within it who is often compared quite dramatically as the epitome of the river Liffey as it flows through Dublin, Ireland. I have in mind one specific young girl in this article, but this should be helpful to all young girls and old girls alike so that they might know their place in the universe not as a law constructed by politicians, ideological college radicals, and bra burning feminists—but rather the rules of life itself governed by a rapidly expanding universe and the forces from without which drag that momentum. Women are what they are just as men are—and for our bearings we must refer to our arts to measure the honesty of our analysis.

 This is for every girl who shows up at 16 years of age to a family event in tight jeans, knee-high boots, a few body piercings to be sexy and sheik by contemporary standards and makes sure that her shirt is just short enough so that when she raises her arms, her belly button shows—these days pierced and occasionally tattooed—and believes that she is the first of her kind to arrive as a seductress of mankind and has the power of all existence between her legs. Such girls are often reckless and smoke cigarettes thinking that their fine skin will not wither away into dried leather any time soon, and abuse themselves with drugs and alcohol thinking that it aligns their minds to the impulses of animal instincts without any recourse. There is only one way that such stories end—and for women—all women, it is a box canyon of options that defies escape once they’ve moved into it. It is the hardest thing in the world to watch young girls you care about enter this void to know what will become of them on the other side. So to chart the course we must turn our gaze at Anna Livia Plurabelle.

Anna was the wife of HCE in Finnegan’s Wake and was forced to come to his defense when her husband fell from grace. Like all women who have the gift of giving life through their sexual exploits, Anna is seen in the novel as the river Liffy itself which runs in from the countryside to the west to enter the suburbs just outside of Phoenix Park. It then widens and moves into the harder—seedier elements of Dublin where the prostitutes discard often of their waste as well as the various pubs and the ruckuses which proceed after many ales of Guinness have passed through the mouths of many humans, through their digestive centers and out onto the streets of Dublin at the small hours of the morning to be washed with rainwater down the city streets and dumped into the river Liffey day in day out for all eternity.

 The river then widens more and carries all of the garbage of the city into Dublin Bay to wash out into the sea only to be evaporated by the sun and predisposed back across Ireland in the form of rain to begin again at the foot of the River Liffey far to the west where the great body of water starts as a thin little attractive stream of purity and sanctified newness. The water that runs down this river is considered beautiful and fresh when it is in the upper part of the river and is thin enough and shallow to walk across with ease. But toward the middle and end of its lifespan, prior to mixing with the sea, it becomes a vision of filth which carries away the contents of mankind’s waste—its indiscretions.

 The best way to see the River Liffey is not to visit Ireland and sit upon its shores to watch the water roll by, but to visit a typical funeral. There are a lot of River Liffey’s which cry after their deceased friends and families–the girth of their asses barely fitting their pew seats. They cry not just because they will miss their deceased icons, but because they know that they too are carrying with them all the garbage of mankind’s existence with them into the sea to be integrated and evaporated into rainwater only to be sprinkled once again across the land. Another way to see the River Liffy is to visit the Pepper Pod in Newport, Kentucky at 4 AM. That is where the strippers from the Brass Ass and the Playpen come after their shift is completed to catch a bite to eat. They cover up their c-section scars and put on street cloths looking like young ladies trying to pay the rent. Under their cloths they are in need of a shower, but the food is the first order of business as they stave off the last of the night’s drunks still hoping for a hook-up. Some of the older ones—in their late 20s and early 30s are starting to wrinkle up from a decade of smoking and abusive living. They have been pissed on and covered in enough reproductive juices over the years to pave a highway from Cincinnati to Florida—but at 4 in the morning, they just want an Iced Tea. They are the river Liffey before it passes by Phoenix Park in Dublin—still nice to look at, but starting to fill with trash. To see the river further downstream you have to go to a Waffle House during the same hour and the waitresses there have their lives filled with all the garbage of mismanaged lives, all their bad marriages, the abusive drinking, the ungrateful children, the failing health, the general degradation of any city anywhere in the world washing away its waste into the rivers which flow through them. Women are the rivers who carry away the waste of their families whose lives are filled with embarrassments as they near the bay.

 But rivers never start that way, there is always hope that a river will maintain its beauty and grace well into it long journey into the sea. But it never works that way. Men craving the scenic structure of a young river that is still thin enough to cross from one side to another—that hasn’t had the world’s trash dumped into it yet—seek the vibrant waters of a shallow stream. They like young girls because nobody has yet tainted them with their glutton behavior. So upon seeing such a creation of beauty seek to be the first to dirty the waters with their waste so to declare to the burgeoning city downstream which will ultimately dump its cargo into the much wider river that they were there. For the perverted man of middle years it is like graffiti indicating that their lives were once important and that they existed as they too are facing death’s door with hesitation and drunkenness. But unlike the women, they are not flowing anywhere. They do not bring forth life, they only deposit themselves into the rivers they encounter and so are free to walk from river to river dirtying up all that they can along the way. The woman has no choice. She is the summation of what gets dumped into her as she flows through life. Fair or not, that is her fate because women—unlike men are the givers of life and the primary target of life’s garbage—which has to go somewhere.

 Feminists have tried to rectify this situation by making men clean up the table at the end of a family meal, but to a large degree this will never take. Men might be willing to clean up a dinner table so that their women will give them sex later—otherwise they will just desire to return to the living room to watch football while the women carry away the waste of the meal. But they are not inclined to do it unless there is something to be gained for them in doing so. Unlike women, they do not feel inclined to carry away the family’s waste. They do not feel the responsibility to do so. They only feel inclined to make a mess. They are like the drunks who dirty up the streets of Dublin which the river Liffey carries away daily. The cycle never ends even though the characters might change.

 Most young girls at 16 think that their lives will always be as they are at that point in their lives, thin, shallow, and a little bumpy from rocks that are visible in their clear waters. They don’t think of the consequences of a little dirt here and there because their waters are rapidly running and pure with sparkling radiance. But anybody with a brain knows what’s downstream and once there, that young 16-year-old will begin to fill up with trash. They’ll widen proportionally, their depths will deepen and they will no longer be able to see the bottom. They will quickly become dirty and contaminated—and much slower moving. The cries of the rivers at funerals are not so much that their end is near, but that they are no longer sure who they are as they are so filled with everyone else’s junk, that they have lost that slim body of water from the start which they understood so clearly. At the end of their lives they are like the river Liffy before it hits the harbor, wide, dirty, and so deep that the bottom can hide the bodies of the past without detection. The 300 pound Waffle House waitress missing most of her teeth and wearing the face of a cigarette ash try is just such a river before it hits the bay. The same could be said of the Mississippi River south of New Orleans, or the St Lawrence before hitting the Atlantic, or the Nile before hitting the Mediterranean Sea. There is no escape for such women. It is the fate of their nature, and the destination for every young river still shallow and clear.

 So, while you can it is good to keep away those who seek to muddy you up. When they come near, push them away. And slow yourself down as much as possible because what is downstream will contaminate your waters and the faster you get there, the quicker you become the river Liffey prior to its dispersal into the bay. There is no cuteness, no tattoo, no skin-tight jeans that will steer your life away from such a fate. Instead, they accelerate your decent into such a deep and muddy river. The more lucrative the sight of your countryside beauty, the more inclined the men will be to imprint you with their marks of defacing graffiti.

If this is a little obscure, then so be it. The warning has been cast. Fate will do the rest. The only escape from that fate is to slow down the water’s flow of a river and avoid the contamination of a city if possible. And seek not the lure of the impure to carry their filth to your fresh waters to be the first to mark purity with waste. The path of such a river is clear; they will within a few short years of their rebellious rapids from the “west” become those whores of the Pepper Pod so sick and tired of love juice that they just want a freshly made cup of tea and coffee. As I said, this message is intended toward a specific person who is on the last gasp of a young river about to flow into the red light district of Dublin. But it is useful to any young women trying to find their direction in life.

Rich Hoffman

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Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker: Paris terrorism and the guilt that gives them strength

Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker was running for public office in Dublin, Ireland and was a prominent pub owner who carried a reputation as a great man. A husband and father of three–two boys and a girl he was a man on the rise.   That is until he was walking through Phoenix Park and noticed two young girls urinating with their pants down to their ankles and their sexual mechanisms exposed. Three soldiers spied Earwicker and would later provide testimony as to what they saw as a cod with a pipe approached the distracted celebrity with an inquiry as to the time. Earwicker feeling guilt for noticing the young girls quickly stumbled through an answer indicating guilt that was not justified.

Later the cod’s wife hearing her husband retell of the incident with a bit of flurry to his remembrance carried the story to the local priest. After all, her ear for the spittoon was a seduction that she had great notoriety for, and thus began the downfall of Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker. Soon after the priest uttered a slightly varied version of the story to Philly Thurnston who thus did the same to the next person, who did again to the next person, and so forth until all of Dublin soon knew of the encounter. A pub ballad was soon constructed at Earwicker’s expense called “as The Ballad of the Persse O’Reilly.” Earwicker was so shamed that he soon was locked up in jail—for his own protection, lost his public office, his reputation as a good man, and was put on trial. Eventually the men of the court having sympathy for Earwicker’s shortcomings—because they themselves were thus prone—found him not guilty and the family man and pub owner was somewhat restored once again to his life and daily maintenance.

Thus is the basic story of the main protagonist from the great novel Finnegan’s Wake written by James Joyce for reasons that have provoked the most astute minds of literature.   The purpose of the tale was not to just tell another sultry story of a middle-aged mind caught into the perversions of sexual indulgence by women at the prime of their seductive powers. It was to show a cycle that all societies go through as represented by Earwicker who is often just termed in the novel as HCE—or otherwise—Here Comes Everyone. Finnegan’s Wake is a heavily inspired metaphor of Giambattisto Vico’s cyclical theory of history which states that civilization always passes through four basic phases, a theocratic phase. An aristocratic phase. Right on cue it enters a democratic phase. Then once that cycle has run its course society drops back into chaos and anarchy. We presently throughout the world as seen most dramatically in the opening weeks of 2015 are witnessing the attempt of a theocratic order attempting to use chaos and anarchy to gain control of the world population through radical Islam to start the cycle again for mankind.

In a lot of ways Western Civilization has been undergoing this elusive menace for many years starting with the communist attempts for attention and world-wide expansion during the 1950s and 60s. Behind that mask was the Civil Rights movement who like the priest from Finnegan’s Wake took some of the collectivist uttering’s of the communist insurgents and added their own sprinkling of truth to the story under the guise of righteousness to further deteriorate into a quandary. Now society is so disarmed with guilt not completely justified, that it can do nothing but shut itself away from the world and hope that the courts will find them innocent—which of course they will. But, the damage to all reputations will have already have taken place and HCE—(all of us) will have to be born again and start from scratch under a theocratic order. In this case it is the Muslim who desires to set the new rules and have everyone bowing toward Mecca—or be decapitated as a surrender of individual sanctity in favor of collective identification.

The recent Paris attacks by young Islamic radicals are nothing more than the spreading of a new modern age “Ballad of the Persse O’Reilly.” Their military intention is to destroy the previous cycle of history and gain power for their order under the Vico cycle of an emerging theocracy. They are the girls in the park with their pants down urinating after a long night at the pub singing and dancing. The mechanism used to move society from one phase to another is guilt. Once a group of assailants can get portions of society to admit to “guilt” they can then control that person infinitely. This is what has happened in regard to racism and the progressive platforms. It was Republicans in the United States who put an end to slavery and started the Civil War to free men’s minds. But, using the same social tactics progressive radicals have demonized Republicans into inaction and thrown them in a metaphorical jail for being angry white guys old and outdated while the only people qualified to manage their “people” are boyz from the “hood” with crack sales on their resumes and baby-daddys from here to infinity as their family lineage. Like HCE, Republicans put themselves in jail to protect their reputations from the swarms of gossip and turned toward the law for help. But the insurgents have gained control of the law as well leaving no recourse but to stand on the sidelines and complain about the gross unfairness.

Finnegan’s Wake is a warning of this cyclical procession that has embedded itself in the human consciousness like a sickness destined to always destroy the grounds made among human kind. Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker couldn’t help but notice the young girls with their pants down showing their private parts to the world. Being a man of great reputation he was quick to catch his primal thoughts and get them under control.   But, the cod who asked the time assumed that Earwicker stuttered not out of self-regulation, but out of guilty yearnings, such as the cod likely struggled with. He needed to feel reconciled and momentarily superior so he passed on the story making himself the hero at Earwicker’s expense. The result of the book is to show that Earwicker was destroyed but rose again to return to the beginning of the story.

Yet my proposal and the purpose of this site is to step off that Vico cycle all together. It might be remembered that I had a bit of controversy once, which I considered to be equivalent to the court trial in the novel Finnegan’s Wake. When Scott Sloan asked me on 700 WLW in front of many hundreds of thousands of people to admit guilt and say I was sorry to all the fat-assed despots and levy supporters that I had properly identified, what he wanted was for me to play the role of HCE and put myself in jail awaiting judgment and forgiveness by my peers. Of course I refused because my opinions were my own and I felt no guilt for them. Just as HCE should have never felt guilt for walking through a park and noticing a couple of girls with their pants down. He didn’t pull down their garments and ask them to conduct themselves in such a way, so he should have never stuttered when the cod asked him the time. He had done nothing wrong. Yet, because HCE knew that there would be judgment cast upon him, he knew he had to be careful how he answered, so he made a mistake which then perpetuated itself into chaos—which is the aim of all these endeavors against logic. And so it is that no Christian, Muslim, or Buddhist should feel guilt for the plight of the modern communists behind ISIS, or the Sykes-Picot agreement after World War I, or for slavery in America that was ended by the American Constitution, not sustained and justified.

The enemies of our age are using guilt to destroy us dear reader. You would be advised to stop feeling guilt and allowing it to control your actions. You must first have convictions about things, and be willing to stand by them. If you do not, you will end up like poor Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker from Finnegan’s Wake. Society uses guilt to advance the Giambattista Vico cycles which ultimately always erase whatever progress we truly make as a society in the fields of philosophy, history, religion—even mathematics and science. America is a step off the Vico cycle, and its high time that those lucky to be born under its protections stop feeling guilty about their fortune and protect the philosophic advancements passed down to us for sanctuary. The human race is in our hands, and it cannot be surrendered to chaos and theocratic despots by simple unfounded accusations designed to invoke guilt—and thus surrender of the emotional high ground for which America sits. Be warned, and listen to the quandary of Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker for what it is—a warning to us all. Do not make the mistake he did and carry willingly the guilt of mankind just because a cod asked for the time. Give him the time if he asks for it, but don’t feel any guilt for what you see. All the girls of Phoenix Parks everywhere will do what they do. But those of us who are like HCE have a right and obligation to walk where    they do and not be steered away just because society has its own agenda and a desire to regress back into a theocratic rebirth—and loss of all human advancement thus gained.

Rich Hoffman

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How the Rothschild’s Made Their Money Off Waterloo: Secrets revealed from the cryptic text of ‘Finnegan’s Wake’

I suppose its time to carry you dear reader further down the rabbit hole. For a long time, I have treated my readers here like children learning the alphabet for the first time, patiently allowing the language of query to percolate from a question mark into an exclamation point. That’s not to say that it’s anybody’s fault so much. Information has been purposely withheld, so there isn’t any way that you could know certain things unless you had access to uncorrupted source material not altered through the public education system. But its time I think to take a new step and to share with you a new layer to the great mysteries of life. To answer the question which started this journey so long ago against the traditional mode of public education to the present is to understand a key book in my own education process—my college. The story goes that I attended traditional university on several occasions believing that I had to in order to secure a good living. But after my own business experience early in life, and a quick understanding of how the world really worked I needed more and traditional education didn’t have it. So I found my education in the most obscure book in the English language—Finnegan’s Wake.

Finnegan’s Wake is a cryptic key to many things in life and over the course of the year 2015 I will refer to it more and more often because it’s directly relevant to our present subjects. It’s very relevant to the here and now of today. For instance, any conspiracy theorist will point to many of the present financial problems and contemplate about the Rothschild family and the global bankers who dangle world leaders from their fingertips to control the world through the money supply. That family specifically is responsible for much tampering in the marketplace and political movements from all sides of the social spectrum strictly so that they can profit from the turmoil. I learned very early about these political dealings not from conspiracy theorists but actually from Finnegan’s Wake and its many lyrical puzzles which are carefully concealed from the lazy and uninitiated—particularly the unlearned. I am extremely proud of my unique education because there are only a handful of people who have really tackled the James Joyce novel Finnegan’s Wake including lettered academics, to the level of mining from its depths the intentions of his vast work.

The novel was written to begin civilization again once the forces of destruction have ripped it apart. It’s something of a human time capsule encompassing many religious and political beliefs through historical context containing nearly 70 different languages in the text. Unlike James Joyce, I am not content to surrender to this circular born again motif—but to change it with the strategy and force of the overman. But that simple disagreement does not violate the treasures which can be found in every paragraph of the very elusive book, Finnegan’s Wake. For instance, I will provide the passage from the novel which discusses how Nathan Rothschild took over the bank of England and made his family into one of the most powerful in the entire world. The footprint of it is placed within the Wake to disguise it from the book censors and religious fanatics of Europe who had their coffers open to such maniacal influence. Yet boldly, Joyce told the story as follows. (Before continuing the misspellings below are on purpose, they are a type of language written by Joyce for a means even more mysterious and dangerous to those not acquainted.) But I will explain that in greater detail later:

What a warm time we were in there but how keling is here the airabouts! We nowhere she lives but you mussna tell annaone for the lamp of Jig-a-Lantern! It’s a candlelittle houthse of a month and the windies. Downadown, High Downadown. And numbered quaintlymine. And such reasonable weather too! The wagrant wind’s awalt’zaround the piltdowns and on ever blasted knollyrock (if you can spot fifty I spy four more) there’s that gnarlybird ygathering, a runalittle, doalittle, preealittle, pouralittle, wipealittle, kicksalittle, severalittle, eatalittle, whinealittle, kenalittle, helfalittle, pelfalittlegnarlybird. A verytablenad of blaeakbardfields! Under his seven wrothschields lies one, Lumproar. His glave toside him. Skud ontorsed. Our pigeons pair are flewn for northcliffs.

But yet what gives away this historical moment? This passage which preceded it from the previous paragraph on page 10 of the Viking Press edition published in 1939:

Toffeethief, that spy on the Willingdone from his big white harse, the Capeinhope. Stonewall Willingdone is an old maxy montrumeny.

OK, what does all that mean? Well my teacher Joseph Campbell was the first to detect it in the 1944 publication of his Skeleton Key where it was accused that the House of Rothschild actually defeated Napoleon at Waterloo, not the Duke of Wellington. Spying on the great battle which held Europe’s fate in its outcome, Rothschild’s agent upon a hill gathered news of the battle and knew the happenings of the course of the battle before the government in England knew anything of the Belgium conflict. It is entirely possible that given this reach of influence that Rothschild had enough sway to turn the tide of the battle against Napoleon. The giveaway in the passage is not only the spy for Nathan Rothschild at Waterloo but the description of the seven superimposed shields suggesting the seven “sheaths” (physical, astal, mental, buddhic, nirvanic, anupadakic, and adic) which according to occultists, clothe the essence of the soul. The one left would of course be Nathan Rothschild.

Essentially what happened can be best read from the excellent article below with a link to the original story. It is about how Nathan Rothschild played both sides against each other, those of the English forces and those of the French to become the most powerful family in the world at the time. His wealth grew to such an extent that there wasn’t a kingdom on earth that could stand against his power as he had grown to control the money flow of currency in Europe. So he didn’t care to become a king or to rule any nation with a formal title, he simply ruled from controlling the money supply as the King had to bow to Rothschild’s feet if he wanted a strong economy. Keep in mind the following took place in 1815. Imagine the amount of information collected today and for the same purpose by modern families of like mind.

Their [Rothschilds] unique spy system started out when ‘the boys’ began sending messages to each other through a network of couriers. Soon it developed into something much more elaborate, effective and far reaching. It was a spy network par excellence. Its stunning speed and effectiveness gave the Rothschilds a clear edge in all their dealings on an international level.

Rothschild coaches careened down the highways; Rothschild boats set sail across the Channel; Rothschild agents were swift shadows along the streets. They carried cash, securities, letters and news. Above all, news — the latest exclusive news to be vigorously processed at stock market and commodity bourse.

“And there was no news more precious than the outcome at Waterloo…” (The Rothschilds p. 94).

Upon the battle of Waterloo depended the future of the European continent. If the Grande Army of Napoleon emerged victorious France would be undisputed master of all she surveyed on the European front. If Napoleon was crushed into submission England would hold the balance of power in Europe and would be in a position to greatly expand its sphere of influence.

Historian John Reeves, a Rothschild partisan, reveals in his book The Rothschilds, Financial Rulers of the Nations, 1887, page 167, that “one cause of his [Nathan‘s] success was the secrecy with which he shrouded, and the tortuous policy with which he misled those who watched him the keenest.”

There were vast fortunes to be made — and lost — on the outcome of the Battle of Waterloo. The Stock Exchange in London was at fever pitch as traders awaited news of the outcome of this battle of the giants. If Britain lost, English consuls would plummet to unprecedented depths. If Britain was victorious, the value of the consul would leap to dizzying new heights.

As the two huge armies closed in for their battle to the death, Nathan Rothschild had his agents working feverishly on both sides of the line to gather the most accurate possible information as the battle proceeded. Additional Rothschild agents were on hand to carry the intelligence bulletins to a Rothschild command post strategically located nearby.

Late on the afternoon of June 15, 1815, a Rothschild representative jumped on board a specially chartered boat and headed out into the channel in a hurried dash for the English coast. In his possession was a top secret report from Rothschild’s secret service agents on the progress of the crucial battle. This intelligence data would prove indispensable to Nathan in making some vital decisions.

The special agent was met at Folkstone the following morning at dawn by Nathan Rothschild himself. After quickly scanning the highlights of the report Rothschild was on his way again, speeding towards London and the Stock Exchange.

Arriving at the Exchange amid frantic speculation on the outcome of the battle, Nathan took up his usual position beside the famous ‘Rothschild Pillar.’ Without a sign of emotion, without the slightest change of facial expression the stony-faced, flint eyed chief of the House of Rothschild gave a predetermined signal to his agents who were stationed nearby.

Rothschild agents immediately began to dump consuls on the market. As hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of consuls poured onto the market their value started to slide. Then they began to plummet.

Nathan continued to lean against ‘his’ pillar, emotionless, expressionless. He continued to sell, and sell and sell. Consuls kept on falling. Word began to sweep through the Stock Exchange: “Rothschild knows.” “Rothschild knows.” “Wellington has lost at Waterloo.”

The selling turned into a panic as people rushed to unload their ‘worthless’ consuls or paper money for gold and silver in the hope of retaining at least part of their wealth. Consuls continued their nosedive towards oblivion. After several hours of feverish trading the consul lay in ruins. It was selling for about five cents on the dollar.

Nathan Rothschild, emotionless as ever, still leaned against his pillar. He continued to give subtle signals. But these signals were different. They were so different that only the highly trained Rothschild agents could detect the change. On the cue from their boss, dozens of Rothschild agents made their way to the order desks around the Exchange and bought every consul in sight for just a ‘song’!

A short time later the ‘official’ news arrived in the British capital. England was now the master of the European scene.

Since then there have been many financiers who have essentially done the same thing. In our current time George Soros comes to mind. These are men, who crave power and dictatorship over mankind in various forms, yet they tactfully supersede the election process to just take power through the manipulation and open theft of money and once they gain control of such things, they can control the legislation system that might otherwise convict them.

A system of government to stand against such abuses of power rose in the communist and socialist movements—however, little known to everyone’s mind it too was a creation by these global manipulators to limit the power that governments might gain and to keep everyone off balance allowing the financial families to reign as a global aristocracy in control of everything and everyone. And for the most part it has gone unnoticed for many, many years. Only recently with the rise of the Internet has some of this discussion against these money controlling families really taken off. But for those who have read and attempted to unlock the secrets of the classic novel, Finnegan’s Wake speaking out against the Rothschild family was very dangerous business, and could get a book banned in 1939, even from Paris where Joyce lived for quite a long time during his writing years. So he coded the information so that future aspects of civilization might know, and put a stop to the practice.

The answer to these kinds of tyrants is in pure capitalism as people like Rothschild, and Soros cannot compete in a world where honor is given to those who make things instead of just to people who have a lot of money. A thief can acquire a lot of money. That doesn’t make them good people. But the creation of wealth in the first place is an honorable endeavor if the value between making money and making wealthy assets is distinguished. That is an important consideration that deserves contemplation because those types of decisions are before us now. And to unlock the correct answer I usually turn toward the recorded history protected through obscurity from censors in Finnegan’s Wake. The information there is protected from the stupid and manipulative because it’s too hard for them to unlock. But for us, those who read here often—the soil is rich for new ideas to grow and the seeds for such an endeavor are located within the complicated paragraphs of Finnegan’s Wake.

It is time to graduate.

Rich Hoffman

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Dreams of a Giant: The Skeleton Key to Finnegan’s Wake

There are plenty of modern things to write about—however, most of them have been covered here and are predictions previously submitted simply manifesting before our eyes. Every day feels like an “I told you so moment” so I no longer feel inclined to provide warnings—because they are before us. Personally, I am about to embark on the most intense, and difficult year so far in my life, and for those who know me—there have been some really difficult years leading up to this one. Also for those who know me, they by now know that I deal with difficulties through intellectual expansion. In much the way that a fighter trains for a big match, so to must the intellectual who will have to move mountains of passive aggressive opposition hell-bent on mediocrity to punch through to the other side. So for that I seek lots of literature to help push my mind to the point where it can deal with anything. In the past, I have found that novels like Finnegan’s Wake does that for me. I have read it before, I have it even on a book to tape that I have listened to many times. It is likely the most difficult book of literature ever created. I love the book and I love the primordial giant at the start of the book named Finnegan who dies and is buried by his wife Annie (Anna Livia Plurabelle) who puts out his body for the mourners to eat. But before they can feast on his body, he vanishes only to rise again by the end of the first chapter bawling for whiskey. His mourners put him back to rest convincing him that death is better and so he dreams through death that he awakens into the modern family man and pub owner H.C.E. H.C.E. stands for “Here Comes Everyone” meaning all of mankind. So in essence the giant Finnegan in Finnegan’s Wake dies and is born again as all of mankind and the content of the book is primarily a dream that takes place in the wake of his life.

There aren’t many sentences in Finnegan’s Wake that sound even remotely like the normal dialogue of a novel. The book is written in reference to over 60 different languages and none of them seem to string together in a coherent way—yet they do. They are meant to transport the reader beyond the conscious mind into the primordial ooze of a dreamlike existence and to actually peer into the possibly of life beyond death as mankind is but a resurrection of thought—exclusively.

For years many have pondered over the meaning of the novel. It is one of the great puzzles of literature.   Personally I came to the work by the lectures of Joseph Campbell and read the novel knowing that Campbell was obsessed with it. My teacher was so obsessed with Finnegan’s Wake that he spent over four years attempting to translate line by line the entire 600 page novel with another novelist by the name of Henry Morton Robinson. The result of that collaboration became A Skeleton Key to Finnegan’s Wake. It was a book that promised to unlock the mysteries of James Joyce’s masterpiece Finnegan’s Wake.

However, since Finnegan’s Wake is such difficult literature to read, there isn’t much of a market for it even among the most serious intellectuals. Some people spend their entire lives contemplating Finnegan’s Wake—so it is intimidating to even start the book, let alone trying to figure out what it all means. As I’ve said before I am a big fan of the Joseph Campbell Foundation and all the great work they do there. I have virtually everything Joseph Campbell ever wrote—except one thing—his Skeleton Key. The infamous book first went to print in 1944 then again in 1961 but died on the vine for many, many years until the JCF picked up the copyright in 2005. The book was finally republished by the Foundation at the New World Library in March of 2013. Well, at the time I was enormously busy with politics and business—which I still am—and couldn’t find the time to jump back into Finnegan’s Wake through the Skeleton Key. But standing here at the end of 2014 looking into a very, very difficult 2015 the time is now to capture Campbell’s classic wonder about the very elusive Wake before it goes out of print once again. So for Christmas this year I gave myself the book and the time to read it so that I could use the expanded intellectual muscle to deal with an ominous set of obstacles lined up to defend complacency with raised swords and curses from another world.

It is one thing to struggle through Finnegan’s Wake it’s another to seek out its meanings line by line—which is what Campbell was the first to do not long after the first printing in 1939. James Joyce spent nearly twenty years writing the Wake—exclusively. It was a work of obsession to say the least and is a revolutionary masterpiece that more or less killed the author with exhaustion. But thank God he did the work, and even more so, thankfully Joseph Campbell was the first to attempt to unlock its secrets.

My personal obsession with the Wake is that it taps into the ancient mythology of the Hill of Tara in Meath Ireland—the ancient high seat of the Ardri, the High Kings of Erin. The Hill itself is an item of archaeological concern as it is said to have ties to the Lost Tribes of Israel and the ancient Ark of the Covenant. The thoughts of some are that the Tribe then took the Ark to America and settled into the Midwest to establish the mound building cultures found there. It is also thought that among these lost tribes were the Biblical Nephillim whose gigantic stature has been found in the mounds of Ohio, Indiana, and the entire Mississippi Valley. This certainly lends credence to the possibility of how the mound building cultures in Ohio had such advanced mathematics and science. The Hill of Tara is a massive mound structure along the lines of those in Newark, Ohio so there is a connection to the two styles—and intentions.

Joyce essentially wrote Finnegan’s Wake to recreate the illegal Dark Tongue for the Teamhur Feis which took place on the Hill of Tara which had been made illegal after the victory and Christian conquest there by Saint Patrick. So obviously, there is much, much more to the Finnegan’s Wake than just an unintelligible book meant to frustrate readers. It is a coded connection to the illegal language of Dark Tongue. Finnegan’s Wake holds a key literally to understanding the long, deep past of humanity which was deliberately erased by Christian crusaders during 433 AD directly leading into the Dark Ages of Europe.

As if all that wasn’t enough, the main character in my novel The Symposium of Justice and all the subsequent stories coming out starting in 2015 involving the trails and tribulations of Fletcher Finnegan is a direct tip of the hat—literally—to the giant leader from the Teamhur Feis rituals which took place at the Hill of Tara. Fletcher Finnegan for me is the resurrection of that giant who steps into the world of mankind and carries it beyond the limits of the tavern owner H.C.E.

Understandably, many books have been written after Joseph Campbell’s Skeleton Key. But for me, his work is the best because he was the first and many after him were able to take his work and extrapolate further—and deeper than he was able to do with just a few years of puzzling through Joyce’s bizarre work just prior to World War II. When the topic is the resurrection of an ancient language connected to the Druids—made illegal by Christian orthodoxy that wanted Ireland to unite behind English rule—under careful regulation by the church—Joyce wrote in code to preserve an aspect of human life that has long since descended into the recesses of morality. And to truly understand who we are, and where we really come from—the truth is locked up in works of art like those of Joyce. Campbell was the first to offer a key. So for Christmas this year—I finally put my hands on the book so that I can use what I find there to solve the many riddles coming quick and under ominous intent. Like an encroaching army it takes more than muscle to defeat the swarms’ amassing to keep history erased and protect their grip on revision. It takes great intellect and the best way to give intellect a boost is with the mysterious work of Finnegan’s Wake. For me, my Finnegan—Fletcher Finnegan is what begins again after the sentence “A way a lone a last a loved a long the riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s, from swerve of shore to bend of bay brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and the Environs.”

In Finnegan’s Wake it begins with the end of the last sentence of the book, the one described in the previous paragraph. All the events that occur between the beginning and end of that sentence which folds over on itself by the end is reflective of all humanity which is always beginning again after perpetual death. It is in this immortality that the eye must focus—and the keys to most everything reside. And it is in that realm that Fletcher Finnegan lives. And to all those who I’m about to piss off in a grand and epic way—you have it coming for being content to sit in the pub of H.C.E. and sip at the contents of mortality when in all reality you are but the dreams of a giant.

Rich Hoffman

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