Blog: January 24

Continued 2/3

10th

Created a telegram account.

9th

Shake and stirred Charlie out of bed to load up the 4x4 trailer with a tup and ewe, we are taking them to market today at Longtown, Cumbria. The tup jumped over a 4ft ring feeder filled with hay, then rolled over, landing on his side upon the polytunnel floor with a thud. Charlie had to re-enter the polytunnel and repeat the previous process of getting him out.

Donna the cade ewe lamb, I think she is a 1/4 Zwartble, Teeswater, she always asks for another mineral bucket.

One of the cade ewe lambs entered the trailer admist the confusion, her sister looked bothered, then turned towards the hay, began eating and forgot all about her.

We arrived at the market late, nearing 10pm, most of the unloading appeared to have been completed.

The market cafe was crammed with customers, until the auction bell rang, then the cafe quickly emptied. Unearthing it is, when strangers glare as if you are known to them [there is no apparent reason for me to be known here], but you've never spoken to them before. I don't know whether I preffer the cafe full or empty; at least the breakfast is always plentyful.

Had a wonder around the pens, filmed some Herdwick sheep.

Always feels a relief to return to the 4x4, the 40 mile journey to Hawick doesn't seem so far returning.

Our 4x4, a freelander mk1, was the smallest veichle there, but not the smallest we have seen, Charlie used to off load sheep, towed by a red Citroen picasso!

The 40-mile journey along the A7 passes through Langholm, we often stop at Eweswater for a break, there are toilets and camper vans often bed down there overnight. The market was busy, the first sale of the year; Charlie off loaded the ewe and tup before we enjoyed breakfast at the market cafe. The tup and ewe made £110 and £95 at auction, a fair price.

Shrub in the farmhouse garden has bloomed, warming to see bloom during these colder midwinter months.

Healthy ewes, most in lamb, all eating together is how this flock should behave, sick animals don't eat, and distance themselves from the herd.

8th

Today I'm adding additional information to my exposure pages. I'm typing in the study by an open log fire, as the farmhouse is chilling cold due to absense of heating oil. This isn't that bad when awake and active throughout the day but in the evening, sleepy and in need of relaxing, the chill present in the air lingers painfully on the bones.

The jackdaw's from the old barn (now not part of this farmhouse) have learned from the Great Tits that there is bird food contained with the hanging coconut husk. These are very agressive and greedy birds, and have probably pushed the Great tits out, but they are birds so I'll let them feed. I have not seen the partridge family, but Charlie seen them a few days ago, down to four in number now.

7th

Filming the ewes munching hay from their ring feeder. Donna the cade ewe lamb joins in at 31 seconds.

Charlie calmed my erratic mind by taking me for a drive through the beautiful Craik forest.

Lingering in thoughtful concern about the negative effect my ailing mental health has on him.

7th

I'm awake at 4am accompanied by cruel auditory hallucinations, they are triggered by the surrounding environment; they never tell me to do things, but rather inform me, of unseen, unspoken events beyond my control; for sanity’s sake I contextualise these messages then ignore. I know this disturbance to have been cultured as an infliction by those who have something to gain from rationality being preoccupied with internal struggle; and that this was inflicted through targeted trauma to exploit emotional borderline personality disorder; originating from seven years of being raised by a lone paranoid Schizophrenic mother and fifty-three placements within the care of social service. Yet crueller is my only direct, surviving family member, a sibling brother, refusing contact with me, no knowledge of him being alive or dead have I, null in correspondence for the last ten years.

For years I roamed, on painful feet stretched and torn with planter fasciitis, fourteen hours of dissociating pain, daily, until I collapsed. So traumatised with numbness did I become with generalised anxiety that I forgot to hunger and thirst, and mislaid tiredness until I collapsed from extremity of exhaustion, often when exposed to extremities of severe weather. Slapped inconsolable by false charity, delivered by opened clenched fists, yet in the midst of apprehensive moment, I struggled to comprehend humanity from unreal I became. I could write an entire book of the suffering inflicted on me, bones kick broken in half, spat at, moved on wherever I attempted to rest, detained as a danger to myself or others yet enduring stress position torture, not only withdrawal of food and water, but violence whilst under authority of the mental health act enforced by police detention.

And those ritualised abuses. How esoteric logos, inert to public awareness, were placed strategically within my direction of projection, as anxiety triggers that were perceived as omens, erecting an invisible wall that became dismantled only by the wind of to and throw panic attacks. From perpetually feeling constantly threatened, an awareness of patterned occurrences developed suggesting that prosperity of life was being cycled, presented and dissolved as a disinheritance before me; exploited by those who benefitted from heinous provocations of those who endeavoured to chase down and disturb sense of self-worth into indefinable states of selflessness. Bearing gifts of depravity they arrive to subject me to this evil process again and again, as an opportunity mule, liquidated lifeless, as multicultural fertiliser; contained by ostracising slander, deemed racist by political correctness for gain.

Yet still they persist with these years of persecution against my ethnicity, which they murder, defacing psyche whilst fleecing opportunities into constructs of depthless disparity. An unresolvable grievance beckoning suicide, sickness and death; for not being able to believe them, as the unrepentant anti-white racists they are, in retrospective of their incomprehensible inhumanity, to be quantifiable, in any shape or form, a human being. Those that created this vile interloping evil as if I should not exist with my people, are anti-white Jews who believe our white ethnicity should be disembodied from God into a lifeless abyss of broken dreams. I believe them to be from the linages that originally crucified Jesus Christ; resurrected as our saviour from the bloodshed of two world wars. The unspoken contempt concludes that white people have no right of sanctity with each other, alienated from their homogeneity.

This is a deprivation cult of spite, where scapegoats are weighted against racial disadvantage, and flayed from a future with their people; their sanctities presented to interlopers. This perhaps the cruellest form of egalitarianism what I call involves cycling, and is noticeable by the recognisable presentations of strangers; notably when sporting esoteric "logos" such as Tap Out, Raiders etc. Together these directives, as an act of psychological state terrorism are named the "Alpha Course"; the objective is to race mix bloodlines within the United Kingdom [there were many European monarchies that became United], dissolving royalty whilst spearheading a migrant replacement of Europa bearing stolen love from a race of soulless people disembodied as admixture; harvested from delaying and fleecing the second coming life of Jesus Christ. Significantly, this is a regicide sneak attack on Norman bloodlines, where vanguards are zombified [especially those who become aware of the agenda] and cycled as opportunity mules.

6th

After a drive from my flat, arriving at the farmhouse Charlie hooked the trailer onto the back of the 4x4, then drove me to Denholm, loading a bail of straw for our sheep inside the polytunnel. There are so many coos at this farm in Denholm, seeming contented and restful undisturbed, they are very well looked after. Throughout forty-eight years of my life, I rarely if ever, experienced farming.

Returning to the farmhouse I took of picture of a view I have taken numerous occasions before; rippling light reflected from the curve of the Borthwick water is bonnie to the sight, underneath clearer skies.

I feel blessed to have healed here at the farm, a restful and nurturing place, enabled by Charlie's tolerance to host this disturbed and troubled mind that from erratic occurrences of emotional dysregulation, I wrestle to calm day to day, knowing that darkness of those demanding exclusion to posess from inclusion, as "sharing" these sancities, as if displaced validity, rewarded placement relevence.

Tonight I played bingo with the people of Borthwick valley, sat beside a neighbour and the wardens of the hall; I came close to winning with just one number (15) to be called, but Charlie had terrible luck, aghast and struggling to comprehend seven numbers still not yet marked on his bingo card. We enjoyed light refreshment, a bottle of white wine, and salted crisps, bought by ourselves.

There were problems understanding the called numbers, despite attached phrases such as "number nine doctors orders" and "legs eleven". To counter, the bingo caller met halfway between English and Scottish players by attempting to call with an Irish accent, but became a meddly of accents, furthering confusion. He then called numbers using hand gestures, but the endeavour took too long.

5th

In the afternoon, I baked a chocolate cake, then in the evening, after Charlie purchased more chocolate, I made butter icing to top the cake. Smaller cake tins are required to make two layers; so that the butter cream to be sandwiched rather than spread on top of the cake. It mystifies me that a really simple process such as is a work at hand, rather than being able to simply think out the process.

4th

I woke first at 7:30am, the first night I have slept through from 11pm that I can remember; the riverside walk along the Teviot yesterday must have done me some good. Today I am baking a lemon, chocolate cake, Charlie came from the supermarket with the ingredients last night; then fell asleep on my awkward, body contorting settee. The settee is covered in black vinyl, reminds me of the material of execution beds in American prisons. The ewe lambs have figured how to get in and out of the bars of the ring feeder; our Charolais / Herdwick lamb was the first to figure this out, but she is much smaller than those crossing through the bars of the ring feeder now. This evening I overslept for four hours; supposed to be baking lemon cake this evening, uncanny that Charlie's mother is today baking lemon cake, although I expect the ingredients are different. Midday I relaxed by wood burn; this area, now a hamlet, is listed on very old maps.

Returning from Woodburn into Hawick is often cringeworthy; in the one year since I came here, this town has been flooded with African and Asian migrants. The tolerant people here do not know what is going to happen to this area; should more migrants arrive here; already on the Hawick Facebook page there are Muslim men, with "I love Mohammed" encircled around their profile pictures requesting accommodation within this town; I suspect Islamic colonisation because Hawick has no mosque. White people are a worldwide ethnic minority, a mere 6% of global population and have the lowest birth rate, yet our European homeland, 2% of Earth's surface is being overwhelmed and overrun with non-white migrants from Africa (second largest land mass in the world, about 125 times bigger than United Kingdom) and Asia (largest land mass in the world, about 183 times bigger than United Kingdom).