This is the night David Betz warned about the post national elite’s demographic project meeting the reality that the historic population will not be protected by the state it funded. In Ireland the same pattern is already visible accelerated migration, housing collapse, elite indifference to majority consent. When parallel factions treat stairwells as contested ground and the police are overstretched, the family behind the door has no option left but to wait to become prey. That is the deliberate result of disarming the law abiding while the state proves unable to keep the peace. A right to keep and bear arms for defence of home and family is the only practical answer once ordinary security has collapsed. Without it, the civil conflict Betz maps as structurally probable simply arrives as a one sided slaughter. That is how our societies end.

The government deliberately watered down the Be Emergency Ready booklet and dropped the EU recommended advice to stock 72 hours of supplies, purely because it might make people “anxious.” This is a cowardly refusal to tell the truth. Ireland has no meaningful food security. We export the vast majority of what we produce (especially beef and dairy) while importing around 83% of our fruit and vegetables, most of the grain that goes into our bread, and large volumes of other everyday foods. Even our farms cannot function without imports we depend on overseas diesel to run machinery and fertiliser to grow anything at all without them, we produce nothing. Our shelves and our agriculture rely on fragile overseas supply chains that can be disrupted by weather, conflict, or logistics failures. Softening the message doesn’t change that reality it just leaves households less prepared while politicians infantilise the public.

Anyone know what time the burning of the Eiffel Tower is going live? Missed the Limoges town hall last night and I’d hate to miss the encore.

"You scummy cunts don't get to platform "concerns" about women and children getting raped and then act like free speech martyrs when the state finally locks one of you up. Fuck Graham Carey. I hope he rots in the Joy for every second of that two year sentence. Calling refugees "rape-ugees" and talking about throwing corpses in the sea isn't speech it's violence. It's the exact same as driving a van into a crowd." The pattern is clear working class Irish lads open their mouths and get the full weight of the Incitement to Hatred Act, meanwhile every single foreign national who commits actual rape, assault or knife crime is a "vulnerable person" who needs cultural sensitivity, suspended sentences and English language courses. That's not justice... If we don't jail people for livestreams that name the pattern, next thing you know some truck driver will be allowed to say that most of the recent high profile sexual offences in Dublin aren't being committed by native born Irishmen, and then the whole multicultural project collapses. Better to treat noticing the pattern itself as the crime. Words that accurately describe over representation in crime statistics are the real threat. Free Graham Carey

New suit. Big energy. She’s convinced the bees were thrilled to meet her. First day went great no stings and she made some new friends 🐝 🍯 Order our native Irish chemical-free honey link in bio or dm me.

Beat the drop! Harvested three large bags of apples off the tree today so nothing goes to waste. Perfect for eating, stewing, or juice 🍎

Out again today lifting beautiful LillyPut raw, chemical-free honey and closing the hives down for winter. This colony had a wasp invader they dealt with him and are now kicking him out. Nature’s own security system. 🐝🍯 #Beekeeping #RawHoney

Update: the Asian hornet nest near Ringaskiddy, Co. Cork, has been removed. NPWS teams took it down from a tree over the weekend, days after it was located on 2 October by tagging a worker with a miniature transmitter and tracking it home. The nest went to the National Museum of Ireland today for analysis. Monitoring is still running around the site. Current evidence suggests no other nests nearby. That is not an all-clear. Everyone in Ireland needs to stay vigilant, not just Cork. One nest left in place can produce up to 300 queens. Those queens leave, overwinter, and start new colonies next spring. That is how the Asian hornet (Vespa velutina, yellow legged hornet) stops being a one off and becomes established. >2025 two nests removed in Cork (Douglas / Cork city area, and Cobh), plus one near Belfast >2026 first verified sighting of the year in Cork, then the Ringaskiddy nest the third Cork nest in two seasons, all around Cork Harbour >Co. Cork Beekeepers have already started rebaiting traps in case another colony is already active Cork Harbour keeps coming up because of ferry and container traffic with Britain and the Continent. Queens hitchhike. They do not fly the Irish Sea. They can turn up anywhere goods, vehicles, or luggage arrive. What to look for.. >About 25–30 mm, bigger than a common wasp. >Dark body, mostly black or dark brown >One yellow/orange band on the abdomen. >Yellow legs the key feature >Yellow-orange face, dark wings. >Do not confuse with native wasps, hoverflies, or the much yellower European hornet. If you see one, anywhere in Ireland: Photograph it safely. Note the location. Do not try to catch or kill it. Do not approach a nest. Report it (Republic of Ireland) survey123.arcgis.com/share/4… Northern Ireland: Asian Hornet Watch app, or NIEA / CEDaR. Early reports are what let rangers bait, tag, and cut the nest out before the queens disperse. If you travel from Britain or Europe, check vehicles, luggage, and equipment before you come home.

🐝 We climbed three storeys into the loft of an old big house to cut out a colony of Irish native bees. About 35kg of comb and honey came out with them. Brood, stores and capped honey are all there, and we’re hoping the queen made the move too. They’re in a new box now. Conserving native black bees are worth the ladder work, local, tough, and better kept on the land than lost in a loft. Next check will tell us if she came with them. #NativeBees #IrishBlackBee #Rawhoney

Delighted you love the LillyPut Pure Irish Honey. Feedback like this keeps us going. Raw, chemical-free honey from native Irish black bees, jarred on the land. Thanks for the support and for recommending it to family and friends. 🍯🇮🇪 Who else wants some? DM to order. #IrishHoney #RawHoney #SupportLocal #NativeBees

🍯🐝 They asked when a child should start beekeeping. Answer’s the same as always, right away. Suit. Goatskin gloves. Real hives. Real bees. Order LillyPut Pure Raw Irish Honey from chemical-free native black bee colonies. ⬇️

🐝 Medieval Ireland had laws for bees, who owns a swarm of bees? And what happens when they stray onto a neighbour’s land? There is a sound you only notice once the year has turned and the hedges have gone quiet. It is the absence of bees. Stand in an Irish lane in late October, when the fuchsia has blackened and the last of the ivy flower is spent, and the silence is not empty so much as unfinished. Something that ought to be there has stepped out of the frame. Fourteen centuries ago the lawyers of this island refused to let that something go unaccounted. They wrote a tract called Bechbretha, the bee judgements, and set it down among the great body of early Irish law as if a swarm were as serious a matter as a boundary ditch or a stolen cow. In a way it was. Honey was sweetness and medicine and the raw material of mead. Wax was light. A hive was wealth you could carry to a king as tribute. The bee was a neighbour with wings. The men who composed Bechbretha, sometime around the middle of the seventh century, had the lawyer’s habit of fitting the awkward into the familiar. A bee that worked another man’s blossom was, to their mind, grazing stock. You could not fence it, so you timed the debt instead. Three years the beekeeper might take the honey. In the fourth, the first swarm went to the neighbours whose flowers had fed the colony. A man who found a swarm on the green around a house took a quarter of that year’s produce. Find them in a tree on that same green and the split was half. Stumble on them in woodland or on land no one quite owned, and the swarm was yours, save a share for the church and a share for the head of your kin. Even privilege had its limit. Track your bees to the tree of a king or a poet and the colony passed to him, but the tracker who could prove the trail still kept a third of the honey for a time. Ownership followed the flight path. Nothing was simply lost. They were particular about stings, too, in that exacting way of a society that preferred restoration to spectacle. Rush a hive while robbing it, shifting it, or peering over it in the hour of swarming, and the bees’ anger was immune you had asked for it. Suffer an unprovoked sting and you were owed your fill of honey, provided you swore you had not killed the creature that wounded you. Kill it, and the debt was paid. The bee’s death settled the offence, as in every other case. One judgement in the tract concerns a historical man, which early Irish law almost never does. A bee blinded Congal Cáech, king of Ulster, in his remaining eye and put him from the kingship of Tara. The award against the keeper was a single hive. A kingdom lost, and the law answered with a box of bees. It is tempting to smile at the neatness of it. A meal of honey for a sting. A swarm for three years of trespass. A ninth for the chief when the finder struck lucky on common land. But the neatness is the point. These people looked at an animal that could not be herded and refused to call it wild in the sense of beyond obligation. The bee belonged to someone, or to a place, or to a kin, and the honey was a reckoning. We are less sure of our reckonings. Ireland still holds what much of Europe has mislaid a living population of the dark honey bee, Apis mellifera mellifera, the black bee of the north-west.

How has “Liberté, égalité, fraternité” worked out?

There’s an old emblem that sits quiet on the tracing boards of Masonry. A woven skep. Bees coming and going. They’ll tell you it’s industry. Hard work. The Lodge as hive. That’s the surface of it. Look longer. The hive is older than the Craft. In Egypt the bee was royal. “He of the Sedge and the Bee.” An obedient people, they said, because the bee alone had a king. They did not yet know she was a queen. In the mysteries the hive was the ark. Regenerated souls were called bees. Honey for the dead. Honey in the rites. The priestesses of Demeter and Artemis were Melissae the bees. Souls coming and going from the dark. The queen sits in the black heart of the skep. A lunar creature. Twenty-eight days from egg to sovereign. Earth mother. Cave. Underworld. Heaven. The honeycomb is hexagon upon hexagon. Sacred geometry. The first pattern. Order drawn out of the wild. Alchemists saw the laboratory. Nectar gathered from a thousand flowers. Transmuted in the dark into gold. The Stone. The elixir. Sweet light made flesh. Napoleon stitched golden bees onto his robes. Merovingian graves held them in gold. Weishaupt almost named his order after them. The hive remembers what men forget. That we are not solitary. That the work is shared. That something sweet can be made from what the world throws away. And that the centre is never empty. There is always a queen in the dark. Watching. Waiting. Working.