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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Category Archives: family

The Walkabout Diaries: Symphony

08 Thursday Dec 2022

Posted by petersironwood in family, nature

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

community, Cymru, diaries, flower, flowers, photos, walkabout

Below is a picture of a plant popularly known as a black rose. It’s a succulent and not closely related to a regular rose (as are apples, by the way). Shown here, by itself, more or less, it shows beauty in its radial symmetry and shiny leaves.

And then, there’s this:

Fireworks. Rainbows. A light show of beauty. What gives?


What gives? Its neighbors — that’s what gives

And it gives back. The beauty, the variety, the subtlety — they only come to life as part of a community of plants. Each one allows, blocks, filters, reflects, or even possibly refracts and diffracts the light of the setting sun. On evenings like this, with not a cloud in the sky, the light here (very dry) is sharply directional and allows these effects to be enhanced. But the main thing is the interaction with the other plants and trees of the garden.



And, isn’t this true for people as well? Someone can look beautiful but true beauty shines when someone is loving, teaching, learning, dancing with, or playing as part of a team or orchestra. That’s when people reveal their most amazing and unique gifts and charms.

In fact, the only special gift humans have is the ability to communicate with each other in complex ways that allow us to cooperate even across time and space.

Dance of Billions

Fencing

What Line?

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Listen you can hear the echoes

Series on Leadership and Empathy

The Walkabout Diaries: Bee Wise

The Walkabout Diaries: How Beautiful and Green

The Walkabout Diaries: The Party

The Walkabout Diaries: Life Will Find a Way

The Walkabout Diaries: Life of the Party

The Walkabout Diaries: Friends

The Walkabout Diaries: Sunset

The Walkabout Diaries: Lest We Forget

What Line?

02 Friday Dec 2022

Posted by petersironwood in family, poetry

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

life, poem, poetry, story, truth

Where do you draw the line?

Between the group you’re in 

And the group who’s sin?

I really want to know. 

I am curious in that way. 

But some are far less curious than I. 

And that is a good thing I say.

Why?

Because if everyone were equally curious 

We might all die of the same untested plant

Or seek to glide from cliffs like a hawk

It could be awk

Ward 

Don’t you see? Perhaps I rant. 

But I really want to know: 



Where do you draw the line?

Who is in your clan?

And not okay for travel ban?

And who’s so far outside

You think it good they died?

Here’s a thought you might suppose

The larger your circle you care about 

The larger the family you have.

So I am more than a little curious to know:



Where do you draw the line?

Imagine if every living thing on earth 

Drew a circle as large as earth

Herself and we would all be 

Family. 

So I really want to know: 

Where do you draw the line? 

What does it do to the way they look at you

When you draw a line? 

What does it do to you 

When they draw a line?


What if time were not a straight unbending line?

What if, instead, we create the world that is yet to be?

What if, instead, we filled a future world with love

And beauty. 

So again, I am curious:

Why do you draw a line? 

——— 

Dance of Billions

Listen you can hear the echoes

Somehow

The Forest

You must remember this

The jewels of November

Castles Made of Sand

Coelacanth (3/3)

10 Monday Oct 2022

Posted by petersironwood in family, fiction

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

boat, crime, FBI, fiction, fishing, life, murder, story, truth

2019: 

The den’s dark paneling reeked oppressively of cigar smoke. The room seemed decorated for intimidation rather than comfort. Keisha imagined what it must have been like for Lila to grow up surrounded by trophy cases filled with daddy’s accomplishments. Apart from trophies, the only other “personal touches” were the myriad mounted fish. She had agreed to follow Lila’s lead in their conversations with Mr. Jordan.

Lila, however, sipped sherry silently, focusing on putting precisely correct amounts of brie on every cracker. She seemed subdued, even cowed, by JJ. Keisha smiled as she realized that this obese, balding CEO with hairy forearms was now her father-in-law. She chuckled inwardly wondering how he’d take that news. Keisha pointed to one of the many mounted fish. “That’s an interesting one. Looks like something from the Age of Dinosaurs! Where did you snag that guy?” 

JJ’s voice was harsh and raspy. Keisha decided he loved projecting pure virility. “That’s a coelacanth. They appeared about 400 million years ago. Paleontologists thought they died out 65 million years ago. Guess what? Coelacanth are still here, hiding deep below the surface. I caught that one off the coast of South Africa. Takes patience. Bring ‘em up too fast and they explode.” 

Keisha blinked. “Explode?! How do they taste?” 

JJ barked a laugh. “Like crap. No real value. Slimy. Tasteless. I caught it to prove who’s king of the food chain. Same in business. Win. Everything else is bullshit.”

JJ grabbed the remote and clicked on the wall-sized TV. “Watch the Patriots if you like. But set your alarms for five.”


Keisha shook her head. “No thanks. Lila’s going to show me her latest results.” Her father-in-law shook his head sadly. Keisha added. “It’s for work. We’re developing a textual analysis program.” 

JJ’s waved his hand dismissively and muttered, “FBI – glorified cops. Badge and gun. That’s all you need. Not a fit job for girls anyway.” 

Keisha bit her lip so hard, she nearly made it bleed, but kept her silence.

Once the pair were alone, Lila apologized for her father. Keisha shook her head. “It’s okay. You warned me. I thought you exaggerated. But no. Anyway, I’d love to see your results.” 

Keisha scanned them quickly. “Can you get me on the wireless here?”

“Sure. But why?” 

“Lila, I’m not sure. But — I’m sorry to say so, but I have a bad feeling about JJ. Do you mind if I access the records and apply your algorithms to his old police statements?” 

Lila frowned. “What? Why? Do you think…?” 

“I just think if we’re going out in a boat alone with the guy….” 

Lila snorted. “JJ’s my dad, for God’s sake. I know he’s a boor but … surely, you don’t think —“

Keisha shook her head. “Lila, I know he’s your dad. You always refer to him as JJ. Anyway, it won’t take long to run some tests. Think of it as practice. Maybe nothing will show up. Probably, nothing.”

Lila frowned again, “No, I’m telling you.” Here Lila broke off as a disturbing image loomed into her head.

Keisha spoke softly, “Lila? Are you okay? You literally like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Lila’s voice became flat. “Let’s run the tests.”

Being a CEO, JJ had excellent bandwidth wherever he went: home, limo, yacht. The algorithms spun their magic and trolled the text. By morning, they were exhausted but convinced. They also agreed that proving it in a court of law would be an entirely different matter. Textual analysis didn’t have decades of precedent like DNA testing. Convincing a DA to open up such an old case? Impossible without more direct evidence. 

Keisha said, “We need a plan.” Lila agreed.

———

The morning fog lifted. They were soon underway. The women leaned out into the salt spray which made rainbows in the rising sun. Meanwhile, JJ hunched in his dark, dank electronic cockpit below, searching his screens for signs of fish.

From below decks, over the slapping waves they heard JJ growling, “Where the hell are you, stupid fish?!” 


Keisha stared down into the cabin at the hulking back of her father-in-law. Once, he had been athletic. She wondered how athletic he might still be. 

Dark clouds loomed on the horizon. Lila reported, “Father! A storm’s coming!” 

She could see him shake his head. “No rain in the forecast. Just clouds. Doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Father. I have to talk with you.” 

JJ growled, “Nothing to say. We’re fishing!” 

Keisha had never heard Lila’s voice sound so cold as she said, “I remember what really happened to Trevor and mother. I saw you.” 

JJ laughed. “You were a girl! You don’t know what you saw. Anyway, nobody’ll believe you — especially after ten years of silence!”

Keisha said, “We have other evidence. We accessed your original statements to the police and ran them through our analysis programs. They are strongly indicative of fabrication and misdirection. We have your own words. It’s now admissible in court as textual evidence.” 

JJ screamed, “Bullshit! You don’t have any sexual evidence. I made sure of that. You don’t have anything that would stand up in court. I’m the biggest fish out here. Face it. I’m wealthy enough, powerful enough, and smart enough to get away with murder. So I did! It’s the way of the world, Lila! Time to grow up! No-one will believe you or your so-called colleague.” 

Keisha held up her cell phone. “Even with your confession streamed to our FBI colleagues?”  

JJ stammered, “But I’m … “

For the first time in her life, Lila interrupted and finished his sentence for him: “A coelacanth, dad, a coelacanth.” 

As Gold as it Gets

True Believer

I can’t be bothered

Tit for tat

It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy

Donnie’s last gift

A horror story

If only.

Naughty knots

It was in his nature

Dance of Billions

Coelacanth (2/3)

09 Sunday Oct 2022

Posted by petersironwood in family, fiction, psychology

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

fiction, life, story, truth

2018: 

Room 22A. Lila inhaled deeply; glanced at her program guide and Rolex. Three pm. Her slot. No use putting it off.

Go on, Lila. It’s just a practice run, for God’s sake. 

The voice in her head was her father’s. Her cheeks reddened. His “encouraging” words always belittled. She heard another voice from inside the practice room— a warm voice. 

Lila turned the cool brass knob and pushed. At the podium stood a tall, athletic, young black woman with large penetrating eyes and shiny dreadlocks. She immediately smiled a large radiant grin at Lila.

“Hi! Come on in. I just finished. I’m Keisha. It’s my first professional talk as well. Don’t worry. I’ve warmed up the audience.” 

Lila glanced around at the empty chairs. “Audience? Ah.” She laughed. “Joke. I get it. I’m Lila. Nice to meet you. How did you…?” 

Keisha laughed warmly. “Hey, we’re both forensics experts for the FBI, right? You’re young. And, frankly, you look a little — terrified.” 

Lila strode up to the podium, unslung her backpack and retrieved her laptop. Her eyes swept the baseboard for the nearest outlet. 

Keisha spoke again, now imitating a Carnival Barker. “Come on up, young Lady! This podium’s got all the power cables, internet connections, and Karma you’ll ever need.” 

Lila laughed and held up her hand like a surgeon, “Power Cord!” 

Keisha immediately cottoned on to the game and held it out for her, repeating “Power Cord!”  Lila felt Keisha’s fingers lingering. So what?! This time, it was her own voice, strong & defiant.

Once Lila’s computer was connected; she relaxed and asked, “What’s your talk about, Keisha?” 

Keisha said, “I thought you’d never ask. The title is Syntactic and Rhetorical Cues to Guilt.

Keisha smiled and laughed her maddeningly warm laugh. “You come to my talk tomorrow and learn more. What’s yours about?” 

“I’ve been using statistical analysis of texts — rhetorical, syntactic, and lexicographical —  to predict criminal patterns. It’s just a start — but — it’s really promising. I’m building on the work of Hart at UT Austin and Foster at Vassar. So far as I know, this is the first application to criminology.” 

Lila studied Keisha’s face. What she read there was genuine admiration. 

Keisha smiled. “Oh! You’re Lila Jordan! We’re in the same session tomorrow! You know, maybe we could work together. If we could combine our two approaches, that would be awesome!”

Lila blurted out: “I’d love to work with you!”

“Great! I’ll let you practice! See you tomorrow. Maybe we can grab a bite before the afternoon session. Here’s a tip. When you start your talk, look out at the audience and imagine them all buck naked! I’ll be in the front row and I’m already hooked. I’m hungry to learn more about you and your work.” 

Keisha smiled again and strode down the aisle. Lila’s eyes lingered on Keisha.

The next morning, Lila decided to take Keisha’s advice. Although Lila’s eyes moved about the audience, she really focused her talk on her new friend. She enjoyed picturing her naked. 

Keisha suggested they order room service since her room had a view of the harbor. She ordered entrees and desserts for them to share in celebration of their successful presentations. Lila objected that she needed to lose weight. Keisha smiled and said, “You are perfect as you are. But if you want to lose weight, I have just the ticket. A blindfold picnic.” 

Lila’s breathing quickened. “What’s that?” 

“Close your eyes, Lila. Just leave everything to me. No talking. You just let me feed you. Just follow my orders.”



They missed the afternoon session and the next morning’s as well. Infatuation grew to passion and eventually, passion grew to love. Over the next few months, their relationship deepened. It seemed, for a time, to be perfect. 

Until the issue of marriage came up. 

Which led to the issue of “coming out.” 

Which led to the issue of “honesty.” 

The very strength of their love made their disagreement that much more difficult to bear. 

They said the same things repeatedly, with increasing heat but no more llight. Keisha found it impossible to understand Lila’s resistance to complete openness, explaining that it was the twenty-first century for God’s sake. Finally, even the Supreme Court recognized gay marriage. Keisha had known she was gay since she was twelve. Her parents had known and accepted her for who she was. 

Lila came from a different world. “You don’t understand, Keisha! My big shot CEO father JJ won’taccept my being gay! He’s the only family I have left. If I lose him too.…” 

The fifth time they argued, Keisha decided to take a different tack. “You’re right. I’m luckier than you. But just because my parents accepted me doesn’t mean everyone did. There’ll always be cruel people. We both know that. But the one who matters most to you is your dad. How about this? We get married. I go and meet JJ. I get to know him. We don’t start by telling him everything. Instead, we make it clear that we’re colleagues and friends. He’ll like me!” 

Lila considered. “Okay. It’s worth a try. Say! Have you ever been fishing?” 

“Fishing? Yeah, a few times. Uncle Stan showed me how to fly fish.” 

Lila laughed. “No, not like that. I’m talking about Deep Sea Fishing. Every year, my father takes time off for an extended fishing trip.”

Keisha blinked. “Really? I thought you said you never wanted to go boating again. Does he…?” 

Lila ground her teeth, “Father went back on the boat the next day! He even tried to get me to join him! Imagine! I’d just lost my mother and my brother. He said get aboard right away or I’d be afraid forever.” She sighed. “Maybe he’s right. Boats don’t bother him. Every year, he bugs me to join him and bring a colleague along — by which he means a potential husband so that I can leave the “Glorified Police Department” — his name for the FBI. Okay. Once we’re married, I’ll wait a few weeks and call father and tell him I’m bringing a colleague along on his next excursion. I will watch for the best moment to break the news. I’m still not convinced it will work, but maybe nothing will. He’s very set in his ways. Like with the boat. Even a tragic accident…”

Keisha tilted her head. “What’s wrong? You’re thinking back to that awful day?”

Lila nodded slowly. “Yeah. Kind of. I just — sometimes this horrible image flashes into my mind. I know it’s just my imagination. But still…”

Keisha took Lila’s hand. “Come here, love. I’m so sorry. Let’s just sit here side by side.” They sat and Keisha held her close in loving silence.


Dance of Billions

Life is a Dance

Take a Glance; Join the Dance

Family Matters 1

Family Matters 2

Family Matters 3

Is a dream

Walkabout Diaries: Friends

Walkabout Diaries: Sunsets

Walkabout Diaries: Life Will Find a Way

Coelacanth: Chapter 1/3

08 Saturday Oct 2022

Posted by petersironwood in family, psychology

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

fiction, narcissist, narrative, politics, story

2008: 

JJ loved the ocean. Out here, there was never any question about who was in charge. He glanced over at his son Trevor, fourteen, trolling astern. Port side, Trevor’s friend Billy seemed to have snagged something. JJ grinned. Opportunity knocks, he thought to himself. He scrambled down to help Billy. 

“Whoa! You’ve got a big one! Better let me brace you.” For JJ, this part was well-rehearsed. He wrapped his strong right arm around Billy’s waist and gradually moved his body closer to the youngster’s backside. His left hand snaked around to guide the reel. “You have to play this guy! I’ll teach you. Follow my lead.” 

JJ shouted, “Look at that! A hammerhead! Nice job!” The trick was to keep the boy’s attention on the difficult and demanding task of bringing in a dangerous fish. Meanwhile, JJ sidled up more closely to Billy’s backside and slowly slid his right hand toward the boy’s crotch. There was always a chance one of these kids would tattle, but that only added to JJ’s excitement. If he played this gig right, the boy would also be aroused before he even knew what has happening. 

Photo by Ben Phillips on Pexels.com

“Hey! What are you doing mister Jordan?!” 

“Keep hold of the line, damn it!” JJ commanded. “Pay attention or you’ll lose him!”

“Bring him in yourself! Keep your hands off me! Pervert!” 

The boy tried to squirm away, but JJ still had enough of his collegiate strength to hold him fast. Billy twisted and slipped just as the shark dove deep pulling the boy overboard. 

JJ stared into the ocean and saw two other sharks, aroused by the chum and struggle, attack the boy. Trevor suddenly screamed in his ear. “What the hell did you do, father? Throw him a line for God’s sake!” 

JJ pulled Trevor away. “Look away, son! It’s too late. He’s gone! I told you boys shark fishing was no picnic. You’ve got to do as I say!” 

“Bullshit! I saw you! You were trying to put your hand down his pants! Is that why my friends never come back for a second fishing trip?” 

“You’re crazy! I tried to save him!” JJ screamed. 

Photo by Ben Phillips on Pexels.com

Trevor’s vision narrowed and he charged his father meaning him to deck him. 

Mister Jordan’s experience as a linebacker kicked in. He side-stepped and planted both hands on his son’s back, propelling him into the roiling ocean. The sharks starting tearing him to pieces as well. 

JJ’s wife Pollyann had now come up on deck. She uttered a primitive, unearthly growl. 

JJ pulled her back from the railing. “Don’t look! It’s too late. The boys are gone. They’re with God now. I tried to save them.”  

Mrs. Jordan struggling to speak. “I saw you push Trevor overboard! What the hell! You monster! I will make you rot in hell!” 

“Don’t speak to me like that!” JJ tried to think back. How much could she have seen? Where was Lila? Still below decks. If Pollyann dies, the whole company goes to me. 

Pollyann screamed, “Don’t speak to you like that?! You just killed our son! What the hell?” 

“Listen, Polly. He tried to jump overboard to save his friend. It was pointless. They’re sharks everywhere! Trevor’s a hero. I was trying to save him, but he wrenched away from me. I’m devastated too. Naturally. Come here, love. Come here.” 

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

Pollyann narrowed her eyes. Had she misunderstood? She saw them struggle. It seemed like Trevor had charged him and JJ pushed him. She wanted to give her husband the benefit of the doubt. She shuffled back to him, trying to read his face. At last he held her tightly to him, comforting her. His hug tightened to a diaphragm-paralyzing bear hug. JJ didn’t relish the hassle of getting a new wife, but he saw no alternative. He chucked her over into the writhing sea. He watched the insatiable sharks destroy the last bit of damning evidence. He sighed. Damn. That was a close one, he thought. He turned back to see Lila staring at him. 

JJ acted the part of a devastated victim quite well; well enough to brainwash Lila and well enough to hoodwink the local cops who were predisposed toward JJ in any case. Many still remembered his stellar college career as a middle linebacker at State. Of course, that wouldn’t put them in a frame of mind to let go a killer. But it did put them in a frame of mind to give him the benefit of the doubt. Being white and apparently well-to-do enhanced his credibility. Lila knew none of this at the time. For her, the fact that the police believed her father made it seem more likely that she had hallucinated. After all, as JJ constantly reminded her, she was understandably perturbed and caught off guard, dazzled by coming into the bright light suddenly from below deck. “Besides,” JJ asked Lila, “why would I kill my own wife and son or even a young friend? What possible motive could I have?” 

Their Dead Shark Eyes

Dick-Taters

Gambit Disinclined

Poker Chip

Absolute is not just a vodka

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

The Orange Man

Where does your loyalty lie?

My Cousin Bobby

Essays on America: Wednesday

Identity Theft

Labelism

Dance of Billions

To Addison Mitchell the III

11 Saturday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, family, poetry, politics

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Democracy, gun, life, poem, poetry, politics, safety, shootings, truth, USA

Photo by samer daboul on Pexels.com

Do not 

Do not pretend to care

Don’t you dare

Pretend to care

Photo by Markus Spiske on Pexels.com

Bloated blaggart 

Yacht-boated braggart

Coward to the nth degree

Weasel words and wobble words

All about the free 

A well-rehearséd fantasy

Photo by Rebecca Zaal on Pexels.com

Your suit and tie and fancy shoe 

They show in fact, what’s really you

Campaign cash ill-promised gold 

Yours a story centuries old 

Photo by Naomi Shi on Pexels.com

Do not pretend to care 

Don’t you dare

Don’t you dare pretend to care

Photo by Archie Binamira on Pexels.com

 

You’re owned lock, stock, and barrel 

By a foreign funded PAC

By a putrid agent gone quite feral. 

And all you do is yack yack yack

Your tongue is forked 

Your belly porked

Your heart is corked

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

Do not pretend you really care

Do not presume

Do not resume 

Your play of tears

Across the years

Your promises of thought

Your promises of prayer

When all you do is nought

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Do not pretend you really care

The powder burns upon your sleeves

Your blood-stained lips and pasty face

Your utter lack of human grace

You care much more for bills in sheaves

Than children dying day by day

You sit & munch on curds and whey

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Do not pretend to care

Don’t you dare 

Don’t you dare pretend to care

A coward’s coward’s coward

There’s nothing more untoward

Than a mealy-mouldy turtle 

You contemplate an inch high hurdle 

You remain too yellow to leap

You remain too sick and cheap 

You nibble your crumpet

You cheat and lie to grease your palm 

Dead shark eyes your jowls are calm

Photo by Max Fischer on Pexels.com

Do not pretend you care 

Do not pretend you care

Everyone’s bones grow eventually bare 

Long after life so long as there are eyes to see

Your name will live in infamy

So long as there is one last shred

Of humanity 

Or memory

Uncountable deaths of kids are clearly on your head

You soullessly stand in halls of power

Do nothing but whine at the ultimate hour

Watching children ripped apart

While you play-act your well-learned part 

A thousand horses and then the cart

Your well-practiced lines of lies 

Mumbo jumbo mumbled and tumbled

While another innocent dies

Another opportunity bumbled

Another step stumbled 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Do not pretend to care

Don’t you dare

Pretend to care

Photo by Max Fischer on Pexels.com

Just as a cancerous cell

Pretends to be well

So too do you

Pretending all the while

Wearing your dead-eyed smile

Pointing fingers everywhere

Fingers pointed everywhere

Unarmed teachers

Dearth of preachers

Photo by judit agusti aranda on Pexels.com

 

“Let’s re-make schools be just like prisons

Let’s give every teacher a heavy gun!

Let’s make school shootings loads more fun”

Photo by u5468 u5eb7 on Pexels.com

Do not

Do not

Do not pretend

Do not dare

Do not dare to pretend you care

Do not dare to pretend you care

Photo by Jonathan Borba on Pexels.com

The NRA has bought a beach- 

Head, impossible to reach

The beaches sing each to each

Putin thinks that we will all sit calmly by

And eat our peach

Sand and all 

While children die and checks get cashed

Our future trashed

Bigger yachts are shipped and shined

Bigger mansions bought and sold 

Bigger wads of cash are rolled

Bigger steaks are grilled and dined

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com


Do not pretend

Do not pretend you care

Do not dare

Do not dare

Do not send thought

You’re already bought

Do not send prayer

And do not dare

To pretend to care

Dick-Taters

Plans for US; some GRUesome

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing

Blood Red Blood

Thrumperdome

The Crows and Me

Ripples

Family Matters: Part One

The US Extreme Court

Clarence, but not Darrow

American Dream

A Tight Flock Unified by Division

18 Tuesday Aug 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

#Cult, America, cognitive dissonance, conformism, cowardice, cruelty, Democracy, division, fascism, Feedback, GOP, life, MAGA, politics, Trumpism, truth, unity, USA

herd of sheep

Photo by Jose Lorenzo on Pexels.com

Does it seem odd to anyone else that — no wait. Hold on. I was about to say: “Does it seem odd to anyone else that the Trump death cult is only united by their devotion to Trump and the only common value in their “platform” is that they value hate and dividing people, not uniting people — and yet, they are completely unified. They are unified about division.”

abstract barbed wire black white black and white

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 
But then, I realized, in a twisted sort of way, this is actually logical. *Because* they are united in hatred and dismissing anyone different, they are terrified to stray from the pack. But what if they do it by accident? What if they see something that looks interesting or useful and head toward it? NO NO NO! They might be culled from the herd! (A fate that could literally be worse than death if they & Trump continue to destroy the rule of law). No-one in America will be safe. Neither red hats nor assault weapons will keep you safe from Trump’s predations which will include the same horrors that other cruel dictators have employed because they think it helps keep them in power and because they simply enjoy making others feel pain. 

woman in black tank top blindfolded

Photo by Thuanny Gantuss on Pexels.com

 
How can such a tight pack keep from disintegrating? By listening to Trump. To them, he is the ultimate authority on every single topic. In precisely this way, the entire flock knows exactly what to say (at least today; yes, it could change tomorrow, but they’ll be watching for his tweets again tomorrow or listening to Fox News to tell them what is real). They listen to the Oraclown and his reflection. 
IMG_9198————————-
For some reason, the real-world evil and treachery of Putin’s puppet always makes me think of these *purely fictional* stories about a child sociopath.
(Not suitable for children or people without a well-developed sense of values. To reiterate, these are pure fiction meant to illustrate how a sociopath “thinks.” For details about Donnie’s actual life, try his niece’s book:
https://www.amazon.com/Too-Much-Never-Enough-Dangerous/dp/1982141468
Donnie Plays Bull-Dazzle Man
Donnie Boy Plays Captain Man
Donnie Boy Plays Soldier Man
Donnie Lets His Brother Take the Fall
Donnie Visits Granny
Donnie Takes a Blue Ribbon in Spelling
Donnie Gets his Name on a Tennis Trophy
Donnie Gets a Hamster
Donnie Learns Golf!

Push Forward (or Sideways or Backwards)

10 Monday Aug 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, family, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

authoritarianism, Democracy, fascism, kakistocracy, KGB, NRA, pandemic, polltics, Resistance, Totalitarianism, Trumpism, truth

photo a man and woman doing martial arts

Photo by Craig Adderley on Pexels.com

Sometimes, you do literally have to push forward against evil that pushes you. 

But think. Not always. 
What is your opponent’s real target? What do you really have to defend against? Sometimes, if someone charges you, head bent in anger, it’s better to step aside, place your hands on their back and gently help them on their way. Sadly, this sometimes results in their falling on their face, ungratefully as well as ungracefully. But that cannot be blamed on you. You were just trying to help, after all.

I recall a similar trick from cowboy shows and such. Someone comes at you and instead of coming at them, you back away, grab their hands and roll backwards, putting both your feet on their torso. As they rock over you, you push your feet out flinging them behind you. I did actually successfully accomplish this a few times as a kid. 

photo of male gymnast practicing on gymnastic rings

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Direct confrontation is also useful because it continues to send a signal that there are others out there equally committed to resisting tyranny. But pick battles carefully. You don’t want to pick battles that will splinter your cause or ones that you will lose both tactically and in such a way that you have lost strategic advantage as well. 

Remember not to underestimate your adversary. It is not being orchestrated by the Liar-in-Chief. It is likely being orchestrated by ex-KGB/Russian oligarchs and/or American oligarchs who have already compromised a portion of government. They know what they’re doing. They’ve studied our weaknesses for decades. And now they are exploiting them more than ever. 

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Racism. Misogyny. Homophobia. Xenophobia. Lack of self-discipline. Greed. Shallow Thinking. Impulsivity. Anti-intellectualism. Etc. The litany could go on. America’s always been a work in progress and we’re no-where near perfect. All these weaknesses have their own inevitable costs to our society, with or without help from Moscow. But they can push on those cracks to make them wider. And, they have been, for decades, trying to sabotage our efforts to have our society become more open, freer, fairer, more just, and productive along with a higher quality of life. Now, the sabotage has moved into the all-out push. With Trump, they have a wrecking ball. They will have him wield the power of the Presidency to destroy as much of America as possible before early January. 

In the middle of a pandemic, we must work especially hard at keeping the fabric of society from fraying completely. However much you think you are showing your appreciation for others, especially across all boundaries, double it; triple it. We need to see ourselves as having one objective — not being enslaved by a tyrant. 

Once absolute rule were to be instantiated, it would be bloody difficult to revert to democracy. 

industry metal vintage technology

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Let’s imagine what this might be like. One of the first moves, of course, will be to claim criminal charges against all of Trumputin’s political opponents. They will all be show trials, of course, using made up evidence. But how will the jury be sure of that? Run their own forensics tests? No, of course not. You see that once the Justice Department becomes the Injustice Department, absolutely no-one is safe.

Imagine. The local police chief takes a shine to your little girl or boy — away they go. What are you going to do about it? Complain? To whom? Going to tell a reporter? What reporter? Oh, you mean the one put in place by the Misadministration? The one who will be quickly replaced and possibly knee-capped if he writes anything critical of the Misadministration? The one who’s boss, the editor, is also on the take and has to approve everything before it’s printed. That one? I don’t think that reporter will have much to say about the kidnapping. Probably left wing terrorists, doncha know?

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Or, let’s say you own a local, home-made donut shop. You really do make damned good donuts and everyone in town, and even the surrounding towns knows it too. Especially the cinnamon sugar! For awhile, it looked as though covid might just destroy your business and the nest egg you’d set up. But, in fact, you made a few changes and reassured all your customers and by god if business hasn’t been better than ever! People don’t feel comfortable dining inside a restaurant, but they can call in their order to you, drive by, and pick up nice tasty fresh donuts. Almost like eating out with far less expense and risk of getting sick.

donuts hanging on wooden surface

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Well, now under the Trumputin dictatorship, it turns out that a friend of a pretty wealthy Russian oligarch has always wanted to retire and run a donut shop. Yours has great reviews so now it’s his. No, you don’t get money for it. Or maybe you did get half a fair price, but you didn’t really want to give it up for any price. One way or another, you are not happy. This isn’t “free enterprise” or “capitalism” or “competition” — no, it isn’t. What did you expect? Trump is the most cowardly person I can think of — he doesn’t want to compete in a fair contest of any kind. It’s not his thing. Even if he could have won 2020 fairly, he wouldn’t do it. Cheating is what gives him pleasure. If won without cheating, half the fun of destroying America would be gone. That’s the nature of his character and eventually that kind of cheating attitude permeates everything like the smell of a skunk. And, by the way, it turns out the that friend of a pretty wealthy Russian oligarch is both a horrible cook and a horrible manager! The donuts are for $hit and none of the employees are happy. But they are not allowed to quit. And the patrons? If anyone asks their opinion, they had damned well better say these donuts make them get down on their knees and thank GOD that the donut shop changed hands. Want to keep complaining? Fine, the gracious government has secured another spot for you to ply your cooking skills up in some Siberian prison camps. Goodbye.

The cancerous corruption that starts at the top, of course, eventually filters down to state governments, local governments, societies, book clubs, bowling leagues. As in Stalin’s Russia, no-one trusts anyone. Kids betray their parents. Parents betray each other. Step out of line, you die. Maybe you die at once. Maybe we sent you to Siberia to die slowly as with ex-cooks who complain. Either way, you die. Either way, by stealing you out of the fabric of your neighborhood, your family, and your network of friends & colleagues, the Trumputin Misadministration has damaged all of those fabrics as well. They have reinforced the message that the only thing you can really count on is a government who will always be there for you. Until you don’t behave exactly and precisely as you’re told to. If you fight, then the entire force of that gigantic faceless stone will be crushed down your face.

And, you will not be able to go to reporter. And you will not be looking for a good lawyer because everyone knows the conclusion of your trial is already pre-determined. And you will not get on social media and complain because nearly all of social media is bot-$hit crazy propaganda supporting the Misadministration.

flight sky sunset men

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Oh, and guns? That will, of course, be one of the most ironic parts of this whole debacle. “Guns Rights” advocates, who for millennia (it feels like) have complained that liberals want to take their guns away — will, in fact, have their guns taken away. This will not be done by the left — who didn’t want to do it anyway, but by the dictatorship. Dictatorships really do take guns away. Yeah! That you were right about all along. The part where it all went sideways though was that although the NRA kept spewing the line that a well-armed citizenry kept us from tyranny, in actual practice, the guys in camo who donned their assault rifles did not stand up to actual terrorists or unmarked private militias. It was more fun, apparently, to stand up to unarmed nurses protesting to get needed equipment in order to save lives or to storm the capital building and protest legislators doing their jobs to save lives. Anyway, you won’t have any more right to own a gun than do Russian citizens. Maybe a few special hunting licenses for “special friends” of the Grand Supreme Leader. That’s it.

Everything is so horrible and absolute power is so absolute you probably think — good god, this will never change. Why did I bring children into this world? But things do change. The first major change of the Trumputin Misadministration is very minor wording change. It will be known henceforth in the shorter version — Putin Misadministration. Trump unfortunately had to be temporarily removed from duty to deal with a strange illness. Doctors think it is not COVID19 where the US death toll is now the best in the world. In a recent press conference Trump was able to inform the AmeriKKKan public that “supplemental autopsies” confirmed that the US only had three total COVID19 deaths while the rest (1.5 million) were all part of a liberal hoax. And those three would have been saved if only they had let the Stable Genius Savior puteth his hands upon them and administereth bleach unto them.

After Trump and his co-traitors all die of similar strange diseases within days of each other, Grand Supreme Leader Putin graciously names replacements for various Senators, Judges, and Cabinet Heads. Everyone in Congress is asked to swear a loyalty pledge to Putin. Those who refuse are never heard from again. 

brown and white snake

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Nothing in this grim scenario is inevitable. If enough people wake up soon enough to see what is afoot, the overthrow of America can be avoided. I hope for everyone’s sake that will happen. Even if not, eventually life, creativity, freedom, fairness — these forces will prevail. The philosophy of hate, like cancer in the human body, can only have temporary victory. In the end, fascism is incompatible with life. Like cancer, it will not create anything useful to the whole, and once it kills its host, it too will die.

“Be steadfast in purpose and flexible in tactics.” 

usa flag waving on white metal pole

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Trumpism is a New Religion

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Cancer Always Loses in the End

Unmasked

What about the Butter Dish?

A Profound and Utter Failure

At Least he’s Our Monster

Plans for us; some GRUesome

Absolute is not just a vodka

The Stopping Rule

The Update Problem

Author Page on Amazon

The only “Them” that Counts is all of “US”

25 Saturday Jul 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, health, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 34 Comments

Tags

America, Constitution, coronavirus, COVID19, Democracy, fascism, pandemic, Putin, treason, USA

usa flag waving on white metal pole

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Read history, folks.

Totalitarian regimes do this: they divide the citizens agains each other. Trump starts by trying to prevent Muslims from coming to America (unless, of course, they are Muslims from countries where he has financial interests).

grayscale photography of woman

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Then, he ignores the needs of Puerto Rico and kills 3000 American citizens with his ineptness and attempts to throw the business for rebuilding the infrastructure to a small inexperienced shell company.

Then, he cages kids and tears babies from their mothers because — after all — they are “illegals.” It is NOT illegal to come to the US border and ask for asylum! No-one IS an illegal. A person is a person. If you sped once and got a speeding ticket that doesn’t make you an “illegal” does it?

two girls doing school works

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The above are only a few examples. He has been working to divide Americans against each other ever since he got Putin office. Why? What “leader” does that? Who benefits?

Democrats don’t benefit. Republicans don’t benefit. Independents don’t benefit. POC don’t benefit. White people don’t benefit. Putin benefits!

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Trumputin has been trying to divide Americans against each other from day one of the Misadministration. If you let him break the law and ignore the courts when it comes to POC or immigrants or Muslims, you can be 100% sure that they will do the same for you no matter what your color or origin.

Once the rule of law no longer exists, what will prevent them from coming to your house and taking every damned thing they want?

flight sky sunset men

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Nothing is the answer. And at that point, if you think you will be safe because you voted for Trump or wear a magic red MAGA hat or have an assault weapon — think again.

Remember: Hitler promised to restore Germany and do wonderful things. What actually happened? Tens of millions of people died — including many Germans. Hitler himself ended up committing suicide. Mussolini was beaten to death by an angry mob as was Caligula two millennia earlier.

Wake up, America!

Putin is having Trump use chemical and biological weapons against America’s own people.

air air pollution climate change dawn

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Trump is putting zero energy into getting re-elected. He’s too chicken to ever play by the rules or have a fair fight. Heel Spurs is such a coward that he won’t even fire people face to face. He’s such a coward he can’t even admit to making a mistake. He’s such a coward that he won’t ask women to have sex. He just grabs them. And, if they are 13 and he can beat them up, so much the better.

You will not benefit from a Trump dictatorship. He may give you the illusion that he will. But that’s all it is. An illusion. He’s a con man. There is no substance to him. There is nothing but a desperate, cowardly baby screaming that he must have all the pudding because he wants all the pudding. His GOP enablers have let him get away with bribery, theft, and now murder.

Murder? Surely, that’s an exaggeration, right?

Is it?

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What if you knew a bridge was out and you encouraged someone to drive that bridge and they plunged to their death?

That’s what months of lies and bad modeling has done — needlessly killed tens of thousands of Americans with more on the way.

Wake up.

Wake up.

Before it’s too late.

actor adult business cards

Photo by Nikolay Ivanov on Pexels.com

—————————–
The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Absolute is not Just a Vodka

Where does your loyalty lie?

Trumpism is a New Religion

A Profound and Utter Failure

You Bet Your Life

What about the Butter Dish?

The Declaration of Interdependence

Author Page on Amazon

 

 

She Who Saves Many Lives

23 Thursday Jul 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, health, politics, psychology, Uncategorized, Veritas

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

death, fiction, legends, life, myths, parable, stories, tales, tree, Veritas

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She Who Saves Many Lives heard a familiar voice, as though from far away. I am dreaming, she realized. It is Tu-Swift. I wonder what he wants. Oh, of course. He wants me to bring Suze back to life. But I cannot do that. He knows that. Such a lovely dream. I must return. Such peace. So many flowers. There is a field of flowers. Wild roses, pink and white form hedges around the perimeter. And such lovely blue lupins. The happy white daisies. The bright sunflowers. You must see how beautiful it all is, Tu-Swift. But of course, he sees no such thing. His friend just died. I must rise from the dream now and give him my love. It seems so … difficult … to awaken. It’s the fever. The red plague. Now Many Paths is talking too. What is she saying though? I must return to the dream. There, everything was easy…and beautiful. Understanding words is hard. Too hard. And understanding the meaning is harder still. And listening to the heart behind the meaning — the hope, the love, the fears — that is harder still. It is nearly time. Nearly time. But I must tell Many Paths something. And I must tell Tu-Swift something as well. Lids are such heavy things to lift. I never noticed that before. 

“Hello, Many Paths. Hello, Tu-Swift.” The old shaman sighed and thought: My voice sounds so weak. Just a few hours ago, or possibly a few days ago, I sounded strong. And, look at my old lady’s skin. A covering of tiny red mountains. That is not so pretty. 

Tu-Swift bent over her and said, “You’re awake! Good! Suze needs you! Many Paths cannot wake her! She needs a tonic from you or some magic or — I don’t know what! You must save her! Please!” 

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She Who Saves Many Lives looked at the face of Many Paths. The eyes of Many Paths held the answer that she already knew. She looked back to Tu-Swift. He knew as well. “I am so sorry, Tu-Swift. This red plague is not a good thing for us. Please back away from me. Don’t look at me like that. Of course, I still love you. While I was asleep, I recalled a story my mother told me long ago when I was a child much younger than you. Another plague came and people had to leave our village and go camp by themselves for a full moon. Those who stayed in the village almost all died, like Suze. Those who camped by themselves mostly lived. We must do the same. Stay back from the sick people. Even well people! Or you will get sick too. If two or three of us must talk, we must talk with a fire between us. Now, please, Tu-Swift, do not come close to me again, but you can go and make more of the healing tea for me. Leave it at the threshold and I’ll get it…or Many Paths may bring it to me. She’s just recovered. She won’t get sick again.” 

Many Paths looked down at She Who Saves Many Lives and gently murmured, “Rest, Mother. Save your energy.” 

The old Shaman smiled and spoke, “Yes, I will, but I may — I may soon join back with the soil from which the Great Tree of Life draws nourishment. There is something you must know. I need to … I had a dream. Perhaps I dreamt of the Forgotten Field of Flowers. Perhaps Not. But it was very beautiful and varied. And, it occurred to me that just as we who are among the Veritas all have something unique to contribute to the tribe, so too the various tribes have learned to adapt to various circumstances and therefore become expert in various things. This is the teaching of The Forgotten Field of Flowers, of course. That teaching is about people who may argue among the Veritas. But why limit it? Why not have all the Tribes come together and learn from each other?” 

photography of maple trees

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“Yes, as shown in The Battle of the Three Paths. In small. But are you saying include other tribes, even The ROI and the Z-Lotz? The Z-Lotz are treacherous! They steal children! That’s not even — that’s against life itself. And, they came — they may have brought the disease of red sores intentionally!”

“Yes. You cannot trust them. Not yet. But perhaps they will learn the value of truth from us and they could change. And, perhaps we can learn something from them. It doesn’t mean we have to steal children, or spread disease as they do.”

A silence grew between them. Many Paths held the old shaman’s hand. She could see that the Old One was drifting off to sleep so she held her hand and lay down beside her. Many Paths took deep calming breaths. She herself was not back to her full energy level so she let herself be lulled by the warm day into drowsiness. She listened to the sounds of her people at work outside. So many sick and unnecessarily so. It was hard to feel anything but contempt for the Z-Lotz who had brought them this disease. She wondered about Shadow Walker and Eagle Eyes. What if they never returned? Perhaps they had been killed or taken captive. Maybe it was a mistake to even go there. As she usually did when she worried about Shadow Walker, she began to fiddle with the Sixth Ring of Empathy — the one that she alone shared with Shadow Walker. She turned it this way and that. She put it on her finger and her eyelids grew heavy with sleep. 

person beside bare tree at night

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She glanced over at She Who Saves Many Lives. She could see the many lines in her wrinkled visage. There was history there, Many Paths realized. And in her form was written, not just her personal history, but the history of the people. And in her form was written, not just the history of the Veritas, but the history of all people, for surely they all did form one small branch of the great Tree of Life. Many Paths contemplated this branch. Most of her friends were on this small branch — She Who Saves Many Lives, Shadow Walker, Tu-Swift, Eagle Eyes, Fleet of Foot. But every daisy, every oak, every butterfly, they were all on and constituted that great Tree of Life. 

Many Paths listened to the beautiful haunting cooing of a mourning dove from somewhere outside. She wondered whether the dove also realized that they were from the same tree. If we are all of and make up the same tree, was it then possible, as She Who Saves Many Lives had hinted, for different tribes to get along? Many Paths closed her eyes and pictured Shadow Walker. Having him away — that was hard — especially when there was no guarantee that he would return. She touched the Sixth Ring of Empathy and traced the circle of metal around her finger. It calmed her and made her realize that the Tree itself was safe. So long as people of character like Shadow Walker did what they could, not only for themselves, but also for the Great Tree of Life itself, all would be well. Many Paths smiled. She knew in her heart that her friends would do what they could. Everyone’s path ended in this life. And yet, every path also led to other paths. A stream might dry up — even a lake — but water — water itself was plentiful. The path of paths went on forever. The water circled itself back into life. And the tree of life will be here long outlasting our individual lives, Many Paths realized. But this Tree of Life is not something separate from me, or from Shadow Walker or from Tu-Swift. We are all part of that Tree. In a way, dying was only an illusion. A tree doesn’t die, even in winter. It may lose all its leaves and look dead, but it is only dormant and waiting for another spring. None of us really dies. Still, I prefer him here, warm, in the pleasurable press of our warm bodies together. I will always have the memory, and there is that vast tree, The Tree of Life. That lasts forever. He is one of my favorite parts though. Yet, I feel as though he is alive. It could be illusion.

Many Paths jerked as her head began to fall with sleep and then she chuckled as an image flickered for a moment behind her eyes — an image of Shadow Walker and Eagle Eyes sitting together on the throne of the Z-Lotz. She shook her head at that silliness then returned her mind back to the challenge that She Who Saves Many Lives had set for her: to bring all the tribes together. Was that possible? Or even desirable? A tree branches ever outwards. The branches don’t try to impale each other with thorns! Yet, Tu-Swift now feels as though he has been impaled. She Who Saves Many Lives sleeps. I will go and I will find Tu-Swift and comfort him. Can the Z-Lotz really have brought this plague here intentionally? And can I meet with them; dialogue with them if they have? But if I cannot meet with them, are we doomed yet again to war and killing and hatred? Then, her thoughts returned to Tu-Swift. Tu-Swift is alive and hurting. I must go see him. I just need to rest my eyes for a moment, then, I will find him. 

Having concluded that, Many Paths fell into a deep sleep. 

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———————————————-

The Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

The Myths of the Veritas: The Forgotten Field

The Myths of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy

Author Page on Amazon.

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