Ivan Throne: The Train Is Not Fine

THE TRAIN IS NOT FINE

In Emails by Ivan Throne

 

As I write this I am looking out over the harsh, gorgeous sun blazing through the palm trees, sharp green fronds gently tossing in the coastal breeze off the Pacific a mere few miles away down the slope of the hills.

It’s hot, and it’s humid, but there’s also shade here on the broad, dark hardwood veranda that wraps around this oasis mansion in the thick and thunderous jungle below.

What am I doing here, I ask myself?

The immediate answers are obvious.

 

“I don’t need a reason to be in Paradise.”

That is the first answer. And it really is. There’s a dragonfly who has claimed our T-shaped infinity pool as his territory, and he alternates between screaming over it at high speed to chase off competitors – and a perfectly still, blurred-wing hover over the water. He’s very patient as I move closer to check him out and say hello every morning. I call him Fred, because a guy that focused and consistent deserves a name to be honored by.

Eugene the bat lives somewhere in the downstairs cabana, and George the frog comes through the cabana kitchen from time to time, checking things out. Have to be careful not to step on him in the dark.

Respect for life is a good thing.

There are lovely flowers everywhere, and I can see the distant white surf from the deck through the undulating jungle below. Colorful birds flit and flap, and if I want fresh coconut milk or starfruits or papayas I simply reach out and carve away. And, of course, it’s a pleasure to stop writing and play billiards with a staff member, digging deeper into mass, momentum, and trajectory.

The Dog, of course, is miffed at the heat and has learned the hard way that Costa Rican scorpions are not good playmates. But he’s content in the shade, well-fed, and well-loved.

And life goes on. I sit here and write, and reflect, and I’m very grateful.

For a number of things, a few that I’m going to talk about and draw your attention to.

It’s wartime, and your shit’s going to get wrecked, and your country along with it.

Don’t tell me you didn’t see it coming, or that you like being ordered around in a slave mask.

I am Ivan Throne, and I told you this was in the cards.

Didn’t I, my friend, over the last half decade?

Now it’s here, and I watch with my team from well outside the blast zone, and I can only imagine the humiliating disgrace of having to parrot the lies of fools while obeying the dictates of idiots.

Who, by the way, want you dead. And are gradually building up the courage to kill you.

And all the rest of the shuffling, the numb, the stupid, and the damned.

Welcome to the dark world.

 

It’s a lovely place if you know your way around it.

All you have to do is look, apply pattern recognition, and act.

Or listen to Ivan Throne and his team, if you want faster survival.

And ACT on what you learn from us.

That last part kills almost everyone.

Almost everyone is afraid to act.

“The trains are fine,” they say.

Chuff, chuff.

Off to the camp you go.

You won’t enjoy it.

 

Five and a half years ago I began writing and speaking publicly.

I had a lot to say, and by God I was going to say it without remorse.

Without restraint, without pause, without hesitation, without fear.

That makes for an interesting experience, especially when you discover that those men remaining in the world who cannot bear the absolute utter horse feces that passes for dialogue today will seize on your work and consume it hungrily, greedily, desperately, with the savage ferocity of men who suddenly realize they are not condemmned to die in useless waste.

This, my friend, is a good thing.

It is a wondrous thing, to touch the hearts of men.

It is a sublimely beautiful thing, to raise men to war.

It is the most crucial thing that can be done in the Age of Collapse, where all things are overthrown, and what is made new is still raised by the hands of Men with fealty, cruelty, and majesty in the dark.

“Loners die, and armies win.”

This has ever been true, and will always be true.

Hundreds of millions of dead testify to what I say.

If you refuse to find your brothers, to march with them, to fight with them, and to win with them… not even the angels will save you from the fate you’ve chosen.

And never the angels of Men’s better nature.

Not in times like these, my friend.

It doesn’t work that way.

 

There are harsh truths you are not given a choice about.

You will earn your bread through your sweat.

Nature doesn’t do pity.

Neither do Men.

Do you understand?

 

These truths scare people.

Men who speak these truths anger people.

Living successfully despite these truths infuriates people.

“How dare you!” they rage, holding the mask tighter to their face.

“How bigoted!” they accuse, demanding you live a lie.

“Die, die, die!” they howl, believing your obliteration saves them.

They can rage, accuse, and howl,

And they will do these things,

Until the world washes them away in a glut of blood and fire,

Because they were too weak, too stupid, and to afraid to live like men.

That’s just how it is, and this will never change.

Nature designs many to be nothing more than food for others.

That’s just how it is, too.

That your plan, to be eaten?

What a sad and sorrowful thing.

That’s not your nature, as a human being.

Don’t be a bloody churl unworthy of respect.

Be a man, and get up and walk.

Your brothers are waiting.

 

Let’s set a small test for you here.

Take a moment to think about what I’ve said. Move beyond the anger, the resentment, the fear, and the stupidity that’s been wrapped deliberately around you like a cloak of death. Because that’s what it is, this resistance to truth, and it won’t serve you.

It’s not designed to serve you.

It’s designed to serve the predators who cast it over you.

Whose side are you on?

Your own, and that of your loved ones,

Or those who put you on a plate and prepare to eat?

Distance, timing, angling.

Mass, momentum, trajectory.

Learn to see them. Learn to know them. Learn to use them.

Master them, and thereby yourself,

And the mask of the slave will drop away.

You’ll walk free, and with dignity, and you will never look back ever again with longing and fondness on the naivety of the trains that are never fine, and never will be.

Chuff, chuff.

Watch them go.

Away from you.

Forever.

 

Don’t be on the train, my friend.

See the railways being laid for you.

Make your own way to survival, momentum, and triumph.

Understand manhood, war, and salvation.

Fealty, cruelty, and majesty are the Way.

My team is here, and so am I.

Join us in the very best life has to offer,

And never again be a churl who deserves his fate.

Subscribe today, right now.

Roll with us.

 

Much love, honor, and respect,

 

 

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