Do you suppose that Donald J. Trump even realizes how insulted he was in this picture? He was just handed a “Yes you are! Yes you are a big-boy!” envelope for all the world to see. What a colossal jack-ass!
Another hero of the revolution, Kathy Griffin was raked over the coals for holding up a fake Trump head dripping with fake blood (he now has lots of real blood on his hands). Bee called Ivanka Trump a “feckless cunt” for not pushing against her father’s terrible immigration policies. Both of these women are high on my good-graces-list (what ever that is) for fighting back against centuries of male aggression and subversion. The scary part about it is the Barbie-dolls on the network news talking about “beyond the pale”. This is the WASP version of a woman so programmed that they will put on a suicide vest under the burka and self-detonate.
Cunt is a good old Anglo-Saxon word, but the term “feckless cunt” clashes. Feckless is sort of brain-dead and waffling. Cunt is much more aggressive. It, I mean the word cunt, is probably correct in Ivanka Trump’s case given her passive aggressive manipulation behavior, but feckless just does not work. I think a better slam on her nature would be Loki’s diss on the Black Widow in The Avengers movie. He called her a “mewling quim” while she was playing him for information. Shocking for a Marvel movie, it means the same thing as feckless cunt though more on the whiny side, but at least the majority of those “beyond the pale” folks would have had to look up the word quim.
I am starting to gather a few more heroes who are real these days. This is good since I once wrote a poem with the line “my heroes all came from comic books.” I need more real people who are doing things against male ignorance and bad behavior through-out human cultural history. I have Traci Lords because she took a bad hand and made the porn industry tremble. Now I have Stormy Daniels who actually had the courage to fess up to letting a stinking rich pig like Trump touch her and having the good sense to hire an adequate attorney. Kathy Griffin is on the list for hanging in against brutal kick back after offering artistic-hope to the resistance of the same stinking rich pig criminal and his evil cabal, and now Samantha Bee for trying to call a spade a spade in a degenerate death dynasty feeding on hate and exploitation of greed as a cure for despair.
My grand-daughter is a fifth generation “Westerner” which might mean something in a weird sort of way. I am old and worn out now, but I thank God (whom so ever She, He, It, or They are) there are people fighting back against those that will attempt to exploit and use her. I hope I get around to teaching her how to shoot before I die.
As the John Wayne character put it in She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, “Never apologize, it is a sign of weakness”. We are fighting a cultural-war against economic oppression and ignorance on many levels, but in the beginning of the seventeenth month of being stalled out in the trenches, I am starting to see some walking wounded who will need to step back for some R & R before they head back to the front to continue the battle. Heal up, lick the wounds, and get back on that horse again: please!
“Not a puppet! Not a puppet! Not a puppet!” D.J.T.
The strings are invisible, and mostly of the mind, but once one learns to see them, one can find a way to cut them.
Proviso: If you wish.
Restriction: Be careful of the muscles and ligaments, they help one move.
“Hyperbole does not turn lead into gold anymore than gilt brings back a golden age.”
it would be a comedy if it was not so scary . . .
Even in the boonies where the deep state lives (the people are the deep state) they are starting to smell a rat.
Bridge Troll in Seattle
This is an experiment in saying essentially the same thing in two different forms: Prose Poem vs. Exposition. I prefer poetry, but I really need to work on my prose if I want to write those adventure stories about treasure, monsters, and the people caught in between.
Trolls: Prose Poem
I have grown fond of the term “Troll” on the web; I might even be one. I live between Midgard and Asgard under a Rainbow Bridge. I am fairly certain I am not a “bot”, or an android. My body wishes it was an android as the aches and pains grow more pronounced. But if I am a troll under a bridge, my parents never taught me how to take toll. I get nothing from those that cross over.
I mostly just sit by the fire and listen to the traffic, the foot clomps that keep me awake or awaken me from a deep slumber
Just when I was getting use to the idea that my comments on Facebook might make me a troll, I looked up the term in Wikipedia. My view of trolls comes from Tolkien, and they turn to stone when caught in the sun. I have been called a “troll” once at least in the last fourteen months, but not a “bot”.
According to Wikipedia:
“a troll is a person who sows discord on the Internet by starting quarrels or upsetting people, by posting inflammatory, extraneous, or off-topic messages in an online community (such as a newsgroup, forum, chat room, or blog) with the intent of provoking readers into an emotional response or of otherwise disrupting normal, on-topic discussion, often for the troll’s amusement.”
I am not that. I am just a poet with an opinion, and as the old saying goes, “opinions are like assholes, everybody has one.” When I originally set up my blog it was to explore the webs potential to introduce my writing to people outside of the traditional methods of hard copy publication going through magazine and journal editors, or even publishing houses for longer materials. I tried that route for years starting in the early nineteen-seventies. I have a whole list of rejection slips with wonderful lag times of weeks if not months before those works went out again. What I did finally manage to get published never built an audience and without an audience publishers do not go out of their way to print your work or go out of their way to promote you.
The web seems like a nice way to build an audience before turning back to the print world again.
I have set up two blogs, one is just a vestigial organ now, and the other at WordPress is still active. I set up a web persona just to add some mystery to my work. The persona became more active when I set up a Facebook page to help promote the blog. I have yet to post a Tweet to see if that can drive traffic. I am still trying to figure out how Twitter works. I have an old brain and nobody has offered an upgrade yet.
When the Trump administration was installed with the help of FSB money, trolls, and bots, Facebook became my way of at least stating a quick opinion in the comments section. It made me feel I was rallying those of like opinion and voicing some hope and wallowing in my despair until my works in my blog at least caused a ripple in an audience. What is an old poet to do while we wait to exercise our right to a peaceful transition of power in government via the two-thousand eighteen November election and the American people can at least try and vote out the supporting structure of Congress in this horror story of corruption and exploitation.
It has been a very long time since I have been around an active war zone or a coup. I have actively avoided those for forty years now. My intelligence gathering goes back to what would be called the diplomatic community, but I worked for a very long time as an information specialist until I found a real job dealing with the solid waste flow, fighting the war on garbage professionally. It develops an odd perspective of society and leaves the mind free to wander. I will have much more time as I approach retirement to put all that information into written form. I like to think of it as writing my memoirs, but most of it will be fiction. That is the stuff that I want to be trolled and boted (is that even a word, to be boted?) by forces that I piss off. Maybe I can develop readers. Facebook and Twitter are just tools for me. I guess I am exploring new mediums.
In the movie Blazing Saddles, Gene Wilder is leaning over Cleavon Little’s shoulder consoling him after being bad mouthed for being the black sheriff of Red Rock:
“You’ve got to remember that these are just simple farmers. These are people of the land. The common clay of the new West. You know . . . morons.”
At which point, Little cracks up.
That is how I like to see people who are not trolls or bots but do not like my comments. But I do not write them to provoke or create discord. That is useless, and any amusement I can get from discord can be found in the news, and it is not amusing. As far as changing opinions, beliefs, only time can do that or growing as a person. Some people just have to learn the hard way.
The web is a powerful tool and like all tools, they can wind up in the hands of people who abuse them, you know, morons. But in clever hands, trolls, bots, propagandists, governments, religions, intelligence services, advertising agencies, salesmen, conmen, etc. it can be deadly unless everybody pays attention to how to use it as an information source. This may be a totally new event in the evolution in humanity. We were all just lucky enough to be born in interesting times. I thought movies were a powerful medium. I thought newspapers, magazines, television, and radio were powerful. I thought just talking to people if you have the gift of gab was powerful. The web transfers data without a beginning or end, without much chance of stripping the data apart and putting it back together to see how and why it works. You have to do that with the written word, you have to do that with film, and eventually you have to learn to do that with everything, the web included.
I am getting pretty old, it is probably time to grow up, learn how to deal with the new world we are living in. Sure I have some experience, but I cannot move as fast as I use to. The web presents a totally new mechanism for my creeping senility, an off loaded memory machine. Mine as well as everybody else’s. Like in studying literature as I was taught in school, a person using this off loaded memory machine has to watch out for trolls, bots, and liars. Just like we are supposed to have learned about life in general growing up. I guess I should have suspected, growing up never stops.
As an experiment, my preliminary observation is that poetry is shorter.
Even though it is on TV, I prefer my evening news filled with thought rather than read with passion. The news read with passion rather than thought is empty. An old Dragnet line comes to mind, “Just the facts Ma’am.”
My love stories I prefer delivered with passion rather than thought. There is a fine madness in the biochemical reaction that people call love. Thought rarely has anything to do with it.
Documentaries should have both, thought and passion. As in school, you know that somebody is trying to teach you something. With TV you can change the channel if you have made the wrong choice.
When I am not watching the news, love stories, or documentaries, I am writing my own stories. For those I have to do my own research. The voices narrating are tested every step of the way, and sometimes they lie.
I am not an expert, and I do not play one on TV, but an old word popped into my head today: sedition.
Since there is no legal charge for collusion in Trump’s instillation in our government by a foreign power, though in all probability he conspired with foreign moneys to do so, though he still has not been “proved” to have conspired with them. He does not seem to care where his money comes from, so criminal and foreign funds would be fine with him. He fell down that slippery slope to criminal behavior a long time ago. In his mind it would be just business. He might even pass a polygraph test on that because he probably does not think of it as conspiracy against US laws. He believes business is above the law, hence his desire to deregulate. Conspiracy is however a valid charge.
Treason does not work as a charge in Trump’s case as we are not at war. A person can only be treasonous in a war.
So I looked up the word sedition today. There is actually a Sedition Act of 1918.
Wikipedia says that sedition is:
“disloyal, profane, scurrilous, or abusive language” about the United States government, its flag, or its armed forces or that caused others to view the American government or its institutions with contempt”.
Groping the flag on stage, being “smarter than the generals”, and “draining the swamp” sure looks and sounds like contempt to me.
His tweets alone would convict him on the “profane and scurrilous, or abusive language”. Add his probable money laundering and probable tax fraud, I would call that a case of causing “others to view the American government or its institutions with contempt”.
Somebody out there with some legal chops should really look into this charge, and tag it on the every growing list. Hopefully somebody in the resistance will explore the issue, run the word through the media gristmill a bit. I am getting tired of the seditious Donald J. Trump folding his arms in a defensive posture and driveling about “No collusion”. He needs a new word. I would take “No conspiracy”, but I would love him spout off about “No sedition.”
The world does not need Evil;
it just needs People. We do
not need to find Monsters in Space;
we just need People. We do
not need Mad-scientists or Mad-doctors;
we just have People.
We do not need Ugly-people to be
pretty; we have Pretty-people
who are ugly. We do not
need Bad-people to be good;
we have Good-people who are bad.
We do not need Truth becoming
a lie; we have Lies that
have become truth.
We need not fear Peace will
become War; we have War that
has become Peace. We do not have
to fear that Weapons will become Tools;
we have Tools that have become Weapons.
We should not fear Freedom becoming law;
we have Law that has become freedom.
In the trough before the next wave,
I do not practice the primal howl;
I practice the primal whimper.
The dichotomy of doing and not doing
when all the doing seems to be
reflection of moon in the water
pointing out to the edge of the world.
It is not the sun that rises;
it is I that rotates to the sun.
The dunes travel to night.
In the swirl of sand and water’s
squalls, the wail of Beast in storm
lures blinded hunters
into the gyre of illusion and desire.
… shard of glass wedged between two concrete slabs of the walkway.
Or is it some pale fragment of emerald, or clear jade freak of nature?
Possibly peridot or the illusive uvarovite. Sapphire, apatite, or tourmaline?
Another broken bottle remnant, but anything is possible in the vernal-light.