freeborn | ἐλεύθερος | 8r0gwg's avatar
freeborn | ἐλεύθερος | 8r0gwg
freeborn@rizful.com
npub1ak5k...0gwg
Christian, Husband, Father. Confessionally Reformed catholic/Presbyterian. One of 'Machen's Warrior Children'--joyfully and unapologetically. Austro-Libertarian. Anti-woke. #Bitcoin #Nostrich #Liberty #2K since 778676 | 2023-02-28
GM Tomorrow we cover WLC # 45 Q. 45. How doth Christ execute the office of a king? A. Christ executeth the office of a king, in calling out of the world a people to himself, and giving them officers, laws, and censures, by which he visibly governs them; in bestowing saving grace upon his elect, rewarding their obedience, and correcting them for their sins, preserving and supporting them under all their temptations and sufferings, restraining and overcoming all their enemies, and powerfully ordering all things for his own glory, and their good; and also in taking vengeance on the rest, who know not God, and obey not the gospel.
Still thinking about the new Banksy statue. The symbolism is rich. A nation, once worthy of being on a pedestal, now blinded (by whose flag? it is unclear) and about to--not merely fall, but willfully and blindly step away--from its former place of honor, to its own demise. Brilliant.
If you're on #NixOS here's how to ensure you're not susceptible to the linux-wide Copy Fail (https://copy.fail) exploit: basically, in your configuration.nix: boot.kernelPackages = pkgs.linuxPackages_6_18 - rebuild, then reboot (but DYOR first) YMMV
Carrion Comfort - Gerard Manly Hopkins Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; Not untwist — slack they may be — these last strands of man In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be. But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan, O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee? Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear. Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod, Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer. Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling flung me, fóot tród Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that year Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.