Article I, Section 3

 

When I reread the last paragraph of this article of the US Constitution this morning (I have read it before, but it is still not in my memory banks. Hell! It has taken almost two years to almost get the preamble down.) something perked my interest.

This paragraph reads:

“Judgment in cases of Impeachment shall not extend further than to removal from Office, and disqualification to hold and enjoy any Office of honor, Trust or Profit under the United States: but the Party convicted shall nevertheless be liable and subject to Indictment, Trial, Judgment and Punishment, according to Law.”

The first time I read it the word “Party” leaped out at me enthusiastically.

‘Party, you mean the whole Republican party can be liable!   No wonder the Senate is so afraid to impeach and remove a President.’

Let us face it, no single person made Donald J. Trump, even Donald J. Trump is only mostly responsible for this miserable excuse for a human being.  “I blame society.”

After almost two years of this horror bringing out the darkest side of America’s nature, I want a shot at all of them, which I never will get.  I know that.

Then I reread it and went, ‘Ah shucks!’ Party just means the individual Trump, or any sitting President.

The parts about “Indictment, Trial, Judgement and Punishment” and “disqualification to hold and enjoy any Office of honor, Trust or Profit under the United States” made me realize just how much Nixon, Ford, and the US government got away with when Ford pardoned him.

Gods!  I was so much younger once.

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Transitional Phase

 

Fire burns both true and false,

indiscriminate of tree or man.

Death burns neither,

for nothing ever dies.

Things pass away, far away

to realms unknown, undreamed,

perhaps dreamed,

perhaps not.

But death burns neither

only seems.

Horses water at the stream,

only seems.

Then they only pass away,

far away,

or perhaps nowhere at all.

so small, so small.

Do we go anywhere,

anywhere at all?

Theory and Practice

 

The only magic I know is perhaps the greatest in the universe.  It does not belong to a select few but resides in us all to some degree or another.  This power, this witchery is called imagination, a form of poetic faith that disavows all rules and simply believes, if only for a few short moments.

Rainy Spring Night in Moscow, Late

 

Black water running with circles,

gutters under street lamps,

pale flesh, florescent light.

The wet I feel is

the same one as in the woods.

But at night, without

campfire, I would not see.

Out there under clouds,

no moon, I would have

no eyes, only ears.

My senses would not be

confused.

Mitt Romney

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One thing you must remember about Mitt Romney is that for all his protests about the moral failures of Donald J. Trump that he recognizes, he is willing to support “The Wall”.  That means that inside Mitt Romney, there is a bit of Donald J. Trump.  If I had to venture a literary analogy, it would be Dorian Gray.  It would be interesting to see the painting that Romney has hidden away.

Ronnie Revisited, Berlin 1987

 

Mr. Gorbachev, build that wall, and we are going to pay for it.  We need a big beautiful wall.  We cannot have border security without a wall.  The Soviets are not sending their best.  They’re sending spies.  They’re sending agent provocateurs.  They’re sending criminals.  They’re sending socialists.  They are digging tunnels, climbing over the wire.  They are coming to take away the safety of our loved ones.  Mars needs women!  Our brave soldiers are detaining and turning back thousands of American haters every day, but they cannot do their job with just the wall they have now, a fence really.  The Democrats are responsible; they want the socialists taking our women and land.  They are not like the Saudis; I love the Saudis.  They are buying up land around my ranch in California, giving me millions of dollars for it.  Not like that dirty human trafficking money coming under the current wall, going into German banks which I have not gotten a piece of yet.  It will help us pay for the wall because once that big beautiful wall is up, the tunnels under it will get bigger and better and more illegal moneys will flow through them into America’s pockets to offset the new tax breaks for the wealthy and they can build up offshore bases to hide their tax-free moneys.  Just wait for the Clinton years and banking deregulation.  Selling off failing loans to buy more failing loans until the house of cards falls and oligarchs everywhere walk away scot-free.  The oligarchs will have the best people, the best lawyers to stall the legal process until they only wind up with a minimal fine that won’t even put a dent in their profits.  The IRS won’t even prosecute people who litigate because they can’t afford it on a government budget.  Yes Mr. Gorbachev, build that wall!

 

Dendrites

I was thinking about dendrites one day, and the area in which I live.  For some reason I had charcoal in hand and access to paper.

 

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Petroglyphs

One day, when I was puzzling over old photos from Buffalo Eddy, trying to read them; I broke out the charcoal and started breaking them down into their components.

I am still trying to learn how to read them.

 

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The Sketch Pad

 

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I am not an artist, and I do not play one on TV, but I have had a sketch board and pad around the house since my daughter was a child.  It has moved out of the corner now that there is a grandchild and the cheap newsprint for sketches is almost out.  I am going to have to get another one.  As the grandchild gets bigger, we will see how her talents lean.  I hope that my daughter can get back to her own drawing when the crazy first years of child rearing get behind her.

When I pulled off the old layers to clear off the pad, I found a few interesting things.  Those lost nights from long ago when you wind up three sheets to the wind on one thing or another and the pair of you just doodle to fight off the darkness.

This one is a caricature of me is an accurate one I think of the time.   I really cannot think of who drew it, yet I have my suspicions.  Perhaps it will come to me in a dream.

Cloud (the early years: before 1972)

The cloud is a minor thing;

it floats lightly through the sky,

but when they’re grouped together

the open is not place to hide.