Leveling the Playing Field by Halloween

27 Sunday Oct 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, Uncategorized

Tags

Election, GOP, Jabba the Hutt, politics, Putin, Republicans, Star Wars

It hardly seems fair. The Democratic candidates for President have already had three debates and still others are scheduled. Meanwhile, there have been zero debates for the Republican nomination. This may have been understandable back in the days when the House of Representatives was taking the attitude: “Don’t hand off that football to me! If I try to run down the field, I’ll get tackled half-way to the goal line by the Senate Republicans!”

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Now that impeachment seems inevitable and likely will involve both Mike Pence and Heelspurs, just imagine! If they were both removed from office, Nancy Pelosi would become President, at least for a short time. It’s time for Republicans to stop hiding their heads in the sand or — or wherever it is they hide their heads to avoid reality. Republicans need at least one other viable candidate. And, while Sanford, Walsh, and Weld are all much more reasonable and would do a much better job than Putin’s PP Puppet, where’s the excitement?

It isn’t just that the Republicans need another candidate in case of impeachment and/or imprisonment. And, of course, when it comes to vastly overweight elderly men, there is also the ever-present possibility of heart attack or a lethal fast-moving cancer. Many confused elderly people fall in their own homes. Suppose Donny Boy falls in the shower? Or, rolls out of bed the wrong way? There would still be Pence, true, but he’s even less exciting and charismatic than Sanford, Walsh or Weld. It’s just too risky. Thanks to Global Climate Change, it’s quite within the realm of possibility that the weather in November of 2020 will be horrible in multiple ways. Who is going to drive through a blizzard to vote for Mike Pence? No-one. The GOP needs an alternative who will excite the base!

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And having an exciting candidate isn’t just about the votes for the Presidential election. A candidate who would excite the base would also help keep the Senate Republican and, if the candidate is really exciting, it might even re-flip the House! Imagine! The Republicans have a real shot at having the majority in both chambers of Congress and retaining the Presidency. All it would take is a candidate to really rile the red-meat base.

Having a viable alternative isn’t only about voter turnout. The debates offer an opportunity to explore the pros and cons of various policy options. In the Democratic debates, for instance, income inequality has been an issue that has come up repeatedly. Various candidates have suggested various ways to deal with this. But regardless of which one comes out ahead in the end, the issue has been raised so that now, thanks to the Democratic debates, people throughout the length and breadth of this great nation have become aware that a high DOW index doesn’t mean that the economy is actually working for everyone! What rot, eh?

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Similarly, while the GOP is doing all it can to challenge the Affordable Care Act in court and take away health care for millions of Americans likely driving them into poverty or death, the Democratic debates are making people realize how destructive this would be. Where’s the counter-argument? A Republican debate would bring these issued into the pubic consciousness in a way that’s favorable to the interests of the GRU, the NRA, and the billionaires of this great land. Right now, thanks to the Democratic debates, many people are only focused on the fact that people would lose their healthcare and watch their kids die because they cannot afford the medicine. But where’s the publicity for the other side? A Republican debate could point out the pain and suffering of billionaires not being able to afford that third yacht (really, an ocean liner) they’ve been dreaming about. Is it fair that billionaires be forced to choose between buying that third yacht or buying Aspen, Colorado?

Furthermore, how is the thirst for blood lust being slaked? True, there has been some sparring and jabbing in the Democratic debates that has distracted the public from the differences between the parties, but for the most part, it’s been a very civil discussion, at least compared to what we could look forward to in a debate with Donny Boy! But only if he is afforded a worthy opponent. That’s when we can expect the Mango Mussolini to really shine!

And who might such a worthy opponent be? I know the answer!

Unfortunately, Republicans will be prone to dismiss this answer out of hand. I beg you — don’t dismiss this out of hand, but consider how it will reframe the narrative and re-energize the party. I’ve thought about this from many different angles and every time, I come up with one name — one opponent who can accomplish two things.

First, he will provide a chance for a debate the GOP will be proud of in the sense that the Peach Leech will not only be able to sling names and lies, but more importantly, that opponent will be able to sling names and lies right back!

Second, this opponent will excite the base! And, if things go south for Fat Hitler and his VP, there will still be a GOP candidate with name recognition to win the ticket for the GRU/NRA/GOP. He will excite the base enough to bring out voters in bad weather and have the kind of long, fluttering coat-tails that will insure down-ticket victories!

Who might this worthy opponent be?

I humbly submit to you that there is one obvious answer:

Jabba the Hutt!

First, and most importantly, it’s a name that lends itself very well to mindless chanting. “JAB-BA! JAB-BA! JAB-BA!”

Second, he is big and he is out of shape. He won’t make the fat, old, white men in the GOP jealous by being too fit.

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Third, he will appeal to both men and women among the base who feel that women should know their place and accept it. What says “inequality forever” better than a woman wearing a metal bikini and a choke collar on a leash?

Fourth, he will bring many women back into the fold of the GOP; those whose fantasy is to reform the beast and turn him into a true gentleman. Many were initially convinced that all the Pussy-Grabber needed was a little warmth and tenderness from a real woman, and he would become a kind of Prince Charming. That illusion is hard to keep up when Mr. Malice Aforethought just keeps right on acting like a spoiled brat on camera and day after day. But Jabba the Hutt would provide another target for women who long to kiss those ample lips and turn Jabba into ?? Who knows? But if a frog turns into a prince, who knows what great beauty might be hidden deep in the soul of Jabba?

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Fifth — and this is almost too good to be true — he’s already head of a Crime Family!

Sixth, he has an existing fan base. He has stage presence! He is a draw! A debate between Donald Drumpf and Jabba the Hutt will have amazing ratings! At last, the Republicans will able to get across their own talking points in front of a HUGE TV audience! While Deranged Donald can explain why it’s important for everyone, not just sane people, to have access to assault rifles to help cull those over-crowded classrooms, Jabba can push the idea that everyone in America should be able to have their own atomic weapons!

Seventh, Jabba knows nothing about American values, institutions, or mores. On that score, he’s on a par with Dodderhead Don. But while the Blathering Bolshevik cannot correctly pronounce “hamburger,” Jabba has never even had one! While Donnie may serve up junk food to honor folks at a Whites Only House dinner, Jabba will serve live, wriggling meat! While the T-Rump insists on building a wall to protect the borders of America without knowing where those borders are, Jabba the Hutt doesn’t even know where the planet is.

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Eighth, some in the fringe of the GOP are actually starting to care about having a habitable planet. And in that fringe, some are beginning to suspect that the Oranga-Trump doesn’t really even have a planet B. But Jabba knows where there are lots of habitable planets!

Ninth, Jabba is a cruel bully.

Tenth, and most important perhaps, Jabba knows how to lie. Of course, it will be hard for him to reach the level of lies of the Prodigious and Profligate Pee-Resident. Hardly anyone in the galaxy can match the 10,000 lies of the Obnoxious Obstructionist. Sorry, 11,000. Sorry, 12,000. Sorry, 13,000. Well, yes, but he is capable of lying and that’s what counts. After all, I’m not saying he needs to beat the T-Rump in the debates. I’m only saying he could be a viable candidate. Since he’s capable of lying, he can pull off one of the best lies ever and pretend to be a Christian! Of course, Jabba has probably never heard of Christianity or Christ or the Golden Rule or the Ten Commandments. So what? I’ve never seen him in church. He has zero history of doing anything Christian or being Christian. So what? All he has to do is claim to be a Christian and that’s enough to make him a viable candidate in the eyes of many evangelicals.

I know that the nay-sayers out there will bring up various bogus counter-arguments, so let’s address some of them, head on.

1. Jabba the Hutt isn’t real. It’s a little hard to take seriously any objections about a candidate based on the fact that they don’t really exist — not from a party whose official position is that Climate Change doesn’t exist and who get a large portion of their bribes — oops, sorry, I meant to say “campaign donations” — from oil oligarchs who have known for decades that their product is destroying the viability of the planet, but let’s play along, and pretend the GOP cares about reality. LOL. Sorry. So, let’s consider: Jabba the Hutt isn’t real (and somehow that matters).

So what if Jabba the Hutt isn’t real? Neither is Donald J. Trump! At least, not the Donald Trump that the base supports; he isn’t real. They think he’s a successful businessman! LOL! They think he’s six foot three! They think he is going to “Make American Great Again!” They think he’s beautiful and courageous. Why? Because he says so! Well? So what’s the problem? Jabba the Hutt simply needs to claim he’s real, over and over in a loud, thundering voice.

man wearing brown suit jacket mocking on white telephone

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2. Jabba the Hutt isn’t a natural-born US citizen. Again, so what? Deranged & Dangerous Donald himself has provided the answer to this one! Jabba can become a “birther” and claim that he has evidence which he will reveal shortly proving that he is a natural born US citizen and that Traitorous Trump was actually born in Trinidad! Jabba can call him Traitorous Trinidad Trump over and over and over. He can claim that he has a clone army of investigators even now substantiating this very thing.

3. Jabba the Hutt could not be trusted; he’d operate for his own ends, or someone his Crime Family owes money to, not for the best interest of America or Americans. Okay, and your point is?

4. Jabba the Hutt knows nothing about our political system. He doesn’t know anything about our intelligence agencies or military. He doesn’t know anything about diplomacy. He doesn’t really know how to do much of anything except lie, cheat, steal, and be cruel and vain. Okay, and your point is?

I am not saying Jabba the Hutt should be or will be our next POTUS. After all, that’s up to Putin. I’m just saying that there should be another viable candidate in the wings and no-one fits the bill as well as Jabba the Hutt.

JAB-BAH! JAB-BAH! JAB-BAH!

Instead of giving out red hats, made in China, that say, “Make Amerikkka Great Again”, Jabba could give out nifty metallic bikinis and choke collars emblazoned with the words, “Massive Asinine Galactic Absolutists!”

Hurry up, GOP! Re-energize the base! Bring your arguments about why pollution is a good thing to the American people. Give these two behemoths a chance to explain why the rich and powerful deserve to be even more rich and powerful while the people who actually do all the work should be kept poor and in a state of constant fear!

Photo by Chris Goodwin on Pexels.com

I have to admit that there are two actual weaknesses with Jabba as a candidate. First, although he’s clearly a cruel bully, I’m not sure he’s actually a racist. But I’m sure he could fake it. Still, it’s better to have a candidate with a lifetime of history to prove his racism rather than someone who now spouts the line. On the other hand, this probably isn’t such a big deal. After all, the Mango Mussolini has no history of being Christian and the base believe he is just because he says so. Why should it be any different with racism? It’s a weakness not to have a lifetime of racist actions but I don’t think it’s a show-stopper.

Second, he’s not currently friends with important world misleaders. Traitorous Trump has Putin, Kim Jong-Un, Recep Erdogan, al-Assad, and MbS. But that’s only on this world. Jabba has dictatorial buddies throughout the galaxy! The real question is whether they care enough about destroying earth to help out their buddy in this endeavor.

Third, and most problematic, I think, is whether JABBA can be convinced to run. It might seem that being head of a Crime Family and having untold and unearned wealth and being able to kill at will any inconvenient witnesses should be enough for any Hutt. But — who knows? If he were approached in the right way and there was plenty of chance to exploit the country for his benefit, he just might give it a go! It’s worth a try! JAB-BA! JAB-BA! JAB-BA!

What Could Be Better: A Horror Story

25 Friday Oct 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, psychology, story, Uncategorized

≈ 22 Comments

Tags

fable, greed, halloween, horror, karma, story

In anticipation of Halloween, here is a kind of horror story. I might not recommend it for kids under 12 although I remember being fascinated by this stuff. I saw the movie THEM! about giant ants when I was about nine. Wow! But anyway, a few stories to tingle the spine.

photo of man walking surrounded with pumpkins

Photo by Connor Danylenko on Pexels.com

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What Could Be Better?! A Horror Story

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Karmic Decisions, Gamma Section, Milky Way Division, Department 78776-G-164c, Species – Human; Sub-species Greedypigs.

“I’m here to do what?” screamed Joe. “This can’t be real.”

“What? What do you mean ‘what?’ You never heard of Karma while you were a —- let me see — oh, yes, here it is — ‘an earthling’, is the expression you use. So, when you were an earthling…excuse me, I don’t mean to laugh, but in our language it’s a commonly used synonym for ‘Greed-Meister.’ And, here you are waiting for an assignment based primarily on your being of the subspecies, Greedypigs. You get it? No, you don’t get it. You’re greedy.”

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“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad to me,” piped up Joe. “No Siree. Many of us on earth, most of us, I suppose, are downright greedy. Nothing wrong with that! That’s what put a man on the moon. And what cured polio and all sorts of good stuff.”

The giant Worblastic Filtermeister tilted one of his heads to the left and one to the right. He regarded the earthling, also known as Joe, with a quizzical dozen eyes. “I’m no expert on earth species and culture and so on. So many galaxies; so many planets. But how many billions do you think Jonas Salk made on the polio vaccine?”

“I don’t know. I’m not much good at trivia. Can we get on to my assignment? Time is money, they say. And, I did make a lot of money on earth. I’m already at the top of the pyramid of earth species so … what’s next?” Joe, the earthling, shrugged his dual shoulders and scanned the eyes before him. It was weird trying to make eye-contact with a twelve-eyed being. “Do I get to be CEO of a major multinational? Or are we going all the way to a God or something?”

“You think earthlings are the top species? Oh, Lord, there are so many misconceptions in that. Oh, my. My oh my,” said the Filtermeister. “I thought we could chat a bit, but you are in a hurry.”

When you watch another earthling roll their eyes, it can be mildly disorientating. But when the eyes rolling in front of you are each as large as a basketball and there are twelve of them going in various directions — ! For Joe, it was nauseating. He could not watch. He just had to look down at his feet. His shoes looked despicably dirty. Where had he been? Wait. It isn’t just the shoes. What the hell is going on here, he thought. He felt as though he were shrinking. He yelled out, “Where am I going? Am I a god now? I’d be good at that! I tell people what to do all the time. Isn’t that the essence of a god? To be the boss?” As Joe spoke, he tried to yell louder and louder, but his voice continued to weaken and whine up to a higher pitch. At last, he couldn’t even recognize his own voice. It sounded teeny and … metallic.

Joe had a sudden urge to dig a hole. He had no idea why, but he did; the urge was powerful. He began to look around for a shovel but saw only a forest of giant grasses all about him. He was surrounded by smells he barely recognized. Grass. Yes, but what was that one? Snail? And ant trail? And, oh, Joe thought that swallowtail caterpillar smells delicious! From far above, there was thunder. Or, no, it was a voice. The Filtermeister! For a moment Joe recalled, he had been an earthling talking with a Filtermeister, a Filtermeister who would decide his next ‘gig’ as he put it. What was he saying?

“Nothing! No billions at all,” thundered the Worblastic Filtermeister. “Do you really think everyone who worked on the Space Program worked as hard and as long as they did just to make money?”

Joe heard these sounds and each of the sounds echoed to a meaning. But these meanings were far away. Far, far away like church bells two towns over which required a cold and favorable wind and even then you weren’t sure you really heard them. And what did they have to do with the business at hand, which was to dig a hole and pronto. And I have no shovel! But wait! What’s a shovel? Joe glanced toward his feet and saw that all of them had built-in shovels. How cool! I am amazing! And, though I may be tiny, I am strong as steel! OMG! In a flash it seemed, a nice cool dark cavity had appeared, carved out by the — by me! My ancestors. They gave me these legs. Cool! Nice work. But, I need a door!

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Soon, Joe lay still at the bottom of his small hidie-hole and waited. Good God, have I ever been this hungry before? For a moment, Joe remembered again the Filtermeister. Oh, yes, he had been given this wonderful life because he had been such a good human. Good karma. I told him I was greedy and so I am. It feels quite natural for me. I will eat that entire caterpillar! I deserve this life of luxury! Wait! Wait! I hear it coming! He tore open the shutters and threw up the sash, as it were. In a split second he had sunk his giant fangs into the side of the caterpillar. Oh, my GOD this is delicious. Somehow, it’s even more fun because of all the squirming! What is that? Some ebony-winged beast is trying to steal my caterpillar. “Leave it alone! It’s mine! I got here first! I don’t need to share my kill with anyone!”

Too late, Joe realized that the beasts goal was not to steal the caterpillar but to hurt him. That’s not much of a sting, he thought. Wait till I get my mandibles on her. Joe slung his body forward like a catapult — except — nothing happened! He tried to wave his frontmost arms. Nothing! What strange magic was this? It seemed like such a minor wound. Joe tried every muscle in his body but couldn’t move a thing.

She took a strong stance, put two legs shamelessly on his side and flipped him over on his back. Now, the bastard was getting ready to sting me again, thought Joe. He steeled himself. OW! That hurt worse than the first one. Another! Oh, god. This went on for some time. At last, that sorry chapter in his life was over. She stopped stinging. She looked quizzically at him, compound eyes to compound eyes. She ran her forelegs over her mandibles and licked them suggestively. She began buzzing her wings. She arose like an angel of death.

Hopefully, the poison will wear off soon, Joe thought, and I’ll go back to eating those luscious caterpillars. Out of nowhere, this ran through Joe’s mind: “I survived the crash of 2008 and I’ll survive this.” What on earth does that even mean, he thought, but it made him feel better for a few days. He kept telling himself that the paralysis would wear off. Every few minutes, he would find himself thinking that this would be the minute when he recovered. But it wasn’t. And each moment, he forgot that he had had his hopes up the previous moment. For a solid week, he convinced himself that he’d look back to those painful stings as the worst part of a very long and happy life.

Then — they hatched. All of them. Within minutes of each other. They were greedy. Oh, yes, they were greedy.

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Sadly, the stinging definitely wasn’t the worst part of Joe’s life. Not by quite a bit, in fact. The mysterious flying lady with the whirring wings had not meant to hurt him with her stings. She was merely depositing her eggs inside his body. When they hatched, they began to devour him from the inside out, carefully avoiding the truly vital organs that would end his life. For it was fresh, living flesh that they greedily desired. Every pain fiber in his body screamed nonstop. The poison kept his limbs completely still. But the poison did nothing to mute the constant scream of his pain. Joe could only scream the one word: GREED! Endlessly.

Joe looked back on those painful stings as the best part of a very long and excruciating life. He tried to call back the winged terror. “Please, he wanted to say. Sting me again. Anything’s better than this.” But Joe couldn’t talk. He couldn’t move at all. And the wasp wouldn’t have been interested.

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Author Page on Amazon

The link below is to a work of “pure fiction” however — the protagonists and their “back stories” are true. This is a story that takes place in a nearby but parallel universe.

https://petersironwood.wordpress.com/2017/07/28/if-only/

Essays on America: Sexual Fantasies for Political Gain?

23 Wednesday Oct 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Impeachment, politics, psychology

Sex.

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That’s the missing puzzle piece. Oh, sure, you may be saying to yourself, but which puzzle?

In order to explain that, I shall have to back up a bit. Let’s go back to early November, 2016. I have to admit that I was shocked that more than a few hundred people in America would support Trump.

Over time, I’ve come to realize that people support Trump for a number of different reasons including:

They’ve replaced their (difficult to live up to) Christianity with Trumpism which instead actually celebrates the “sins” of Christianity. They don’t support Trump despite the fact that he grabs women by the privates, is unfaithful, swears, ducked the military through fraud, made his money through fraud, or that he lies through his teeth constantly. They support Trump precisely because of these things.
Some may believe they are on a “team” with Trump and it would be disloyal to switch teams no matter what he does. Of course, a look at Trump’s actual behavior makes it obvious that he feels zero loyalty. “Loyalty” never crosses his mind except that he knows it’s a button he can sometimes push to get compliance from some people.
Some substantial number of folks don’t think politicians really ever do much that actually impacts their lives. Red, Green, or Blue — it’s all hot air. Mostly, they just drone on about stuff. But Trump? He’s fun to watch!
Of course, some do support him because they don’t just excuse his racism; they are simpatico with his racism. Or, his misogyny, or his xenophobia, or his homophobia. Or, whatever the hate target du jour is.
Among the extremely wealthy and powerful, there may be a handful who actually calculate that Trump will be good for them personally. They already have all the power and wealth they could possibly need but that makes them rather bored. So, they play a game to keep themselves amused. That game costs millions of lives. But that just makes it more fun. And, in the service of doing well in that game, they see Trump as an ally.

But even with all of that, there’s a missing segment. And, none of these, or even all of them together quite explains the ecstatic and joyful pain that I see on so many faces among his crowds. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have anything against joy. And, many politicians have enthusiastic crowds, but this is of a different character. True enough, some just stare blankly ahead. But some have a kind of fire in their eyes and it is not the fire of patriotism. Hold that image and let’s turn for a moment to a seemingly unrelated question.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Why would so many conservative politicians rail so noisily against gay rights, gay marriage, and — in short — gays? Of course, many of them who scream the loudest actually turn out to be gay, but that’s another story. What if the reason they hate gay behavior is that they want the energy of male attraction — including homoerotic energy — to be funneled in a different direction – toward submission of a social/sexual nature – to the next person up the chain of command?

For some people, this kind of subservience makes human relationships much less baffling. I must kiss up to the person I’m under but I get to screw over all the people below me. That’s what they love about a hierarchy. It’s a sado-masochistic orgy laid atop the work that must actually get done. Not so many years ago, industrialized societies mainly had very gender-segregated job sites. The men had their homosexual hierarchies and the women had theirs.

photo of a person kneeling in front of book

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In fact, this aspect of our society is so pervasive, even to this day, that we regularly refer to acts of aggression and dominance with words that are meant to define sexual behavior. “Oh, yeah?! Well, F*** Y**!” This is really rather perverted when you think about it. Sex evolved to speed up diversity and ensure the survival of the next generation. It’s kind of a sacred. In the best case scenario, it’s a mutual, shared, beautiful thing as well. So, why hurl about sexual words as though sex is hurtful and aggressive?

Because for some people, it’s all about power. That, for them is sex and the proper way to have sex is also for one person to have complete power. Such folks could be impassioned by a vision that includes all sorts of perversions that the dream of being powerful enough to impose on someone else.

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This dynamic is not just with wild-eyed rally attenders. It’s also true of the professional politicians. According to this hypothesis, Mitch and Lindsey don’t just submit to Trump’s craziness because they are afraid he’ll call them names or ruin their re-election chances. They actually get off on being subservient to a tyrant. In much the same way, Trump doesn’t only submit to Putin because Putin’s got dirt on him. Trump enjoys it! It satisfies his Dick-tater envy. Putin, you see, gets to do anything he wants. If he had a friend procure 13 year old girls, nobody would dare cross him about it. If journalist tell the truth about Putin, they might just wind up dead. Trump pines for the day that AmeriKKKa will be completely under his “thumb.” He doesn’t want anyone to “stand up to him.” Everyone should bow down and bend over. Everyone should be on their knees. And, for some people, the thought of this is actually exciting. Many others find it completely disgusting, but that just makes it more exciting for those who are into that sort of thing.

Those who find it disgusting fail to see that Trump’s obesity and lack of character and shallowness and ugliness and cruelty do not detract from his appeal; they add to it. If he were young and handsome, like Trudeau, say, it wouldn’t increase his base or increase the passion they feel. It would diminish it. That’s the “sex” piece of the puzzle.

It’s not actual sex of course. But that doesn’t make it any less powerful. The multi-billion dollar porn industry in the USA is alive and well. Estimates vary wildly about annual revenues, but they vary from 7 to 97 billion dollars. Of course, sexual fantasy and innuendo are rampant throughout much of the larger 1/4 trillion dollars of overall advertising. So, just because the sexual fantasies don’t play out in reality doesn’t mean they can’t be powerful.

advertising architecture attraction attractive

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You wouldn’t be surprised to learn that this plays a part in the passion that some fans have for rock stars such as the Beatles. They were talented! But they were also rich and famous. For the most part, people would fantasize because they found the Beatles (or sometimes one of them) attractive on multiple dimensions. But when people see themselves as a failure, someone unattractive may seem to be someone they are more deserving of. If someone has deep guilt, then, being forced to engage in sex with someone unattractive and mean is more degrading and therefore more satisfying. For some, being humiliated or humiliating someone else is a turn-on.

Incidentally, you’re free to have any fantasies you want, sexual or otherwise. You are free, in our country, to go to Putin’s Puppet’s rallies and fantasize about being his slave. I don’t care. But be aware that on-lookers know what’s behind the chanting and screaming.

On a happier note, here are my hopes.

Some folks will find something deep within themselves — perhaps God — and realize they are fighting on the side of the devil. They will renounce Trumpism and go back to being Christian.
Folks will review all the people that Trump has betrayed. Then, they will say to themselves, “Gee, if he’s betrayed all those people maybe he won’t stand by me even though I went to a rally and bought a red hat.”
Folks will tire of the Trump Show and find something less boring. It’s like living next to the El. At first, you think you’ll never sleep again. But gradually you get used to the noise or the lies or the treason and it’s less entertaining every day.
Some folks will read my wonderful essay on labelism and immediately shafts of golden sunshine will stream down through the cathedral windows and they will see how literally silly it is to judge people totally on their category.
Very rich folks will realize that if they act on the wrong side of saving our ecosystem, they will lose.
I am hopeful that folks in the base will find actual romantic love and won’t feel such a strong need for fantasy. Failing that, perhaps they’ll find other fantasies that are more satisfying; e.g. —- ?

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Author Page on Amazon

https://petersironwood.wordpress.com/2017/01/09/trumpism-is-a-new-religion/

https://petersironwood.com/2019/09/19/essays-on-america-at-least-hes-our-monster/

https://petersironwood.com/2019/02/17/you-bet-your-life/

https://petersironwood.com/2019/07/11/essays-on-america-labelism/

https://petersironwood.com/2019/09/10/essays-on-america-the-game/

A Profound & Utter Failure

11 Friday Oct 2019

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

≈ 29 Comments

Tags

envy, ethics, evil, good, hate, jealousy, life, love, politics, survival, truth

A Profound and Utter Failure

For years I have puzzled about why someone would get into a state where they actively and wantonly worked toward the destruction of life itself. By “life” here, I don’t just refer to human life. I refer to the entire tree of life including all our fellow humans but also butterflies, trees, dolphins, and wolves. Everyone is actually part of that tree. So why should one part of the tree want to destroy the whole.

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Let’s take a journey back in time to your childhood. If you go back far enough, I think you will find a time when you would be susceptible to hatching the following fairly evil plot.

Let’s say that you and your friends decided on a really cool project — say to build a treehouse. Each of you was responsible for one major item. Your individual responsibility was to get a very long extension cord. You realized you had the easiest job and therefore you put it off the longest. As you returned each good-weather day after school to the site of the treehouse, the progress was obvious. And one day you arrived and it was finished. All your friends were up in the treehouse. They all waved to you and invited you up. One held up a transistor radio with a portable TV and shouted, “Bring the extension cord! We can watch TV! Any channel we want!”

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But you didn’t have the extension cord. Now, of course, you probably just said, “Oh, darn! I forgot! I’m so sorry! I will go try to get one right now.” And, that would be that. You and your friends could have spent a summer or two enjoying that treehouse until you outgrew it and the weather made it unpleasantly moldy and unstable.

Perhaps you can imagine a slightly different way of reacting. Instead of admitting you had forgotten, you instead reacted like this: “Well, why should you get to have fun up there while I have to go get an extension cord? A treehouse is stupid anyway. They’re unsafe! And once I tell your parents about it, they will forbid you to use it!” Can you imagine getting into a headspace, as a kid, where you would rather spoil the party than let anyone enjoy it if your own enjoyment was tarnished for any reason, including guilt?

Or, imagine as a teenager that you and your friend both went to take the written test for a learner’s permit. You finished and failed with a score of 65. You watch your friend still working on the test. Do you want them to pass with a 75? 85? 100? Do you want them to fail? Personally, even as a teen, I would want them to succeed. However — I am very aware of a part of me that would like them to fail. Ironically, that part would have been wishing for my friend to fail more than for a random stranger to fail. Can you feel that too?

So, these are some trivial instances where an immature person might be tempted to act as though, if they can’t have what they want, then no-one should.

Now imagine someone who felt themselves to be a profound and utter failure. Absolute. Utter. A fraud. A person with negative wealth who claimed to be rich. A person completely unable to do their job. A person who fails at relationships, at work, and has no real friends.

A person who nonetheless insists and screams and yells that they are perfect in all things and the best at everything.

Imagine that they felt the only life that really matters is their own.

Now imagine that they are about to die.

Now imagine that they have to power to make others die with them.

Many others. Many, many others. And not just human beings.

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Such a person would have no affection for pets or for wild animals.

Might such a person want to destroy the entire tree of life because they view themselves as a profound and utter failure?

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Myths of the Veritas: When Eagles Return

05 Saturday Oct 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, politics, Uncategorized, Veritas

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

communication, leadership, legends, lying, myths, stories, truth

Though the winged creature was hooded, Many Paths stretched her hand forth slowly and carefully so as not to startle the raptor away. As she did so, she imitated the screes of joy the eagles sang when they rode the air high above. She hoped that would work. It seemed to help to train the wolves. She missed them too! So many of her favorite people gone — and at her suggestion. To the task at hand, she ordered herself.

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It occurred to her at just this moment that perhaps the eagles were not singing for joy at all. Maybe they were exchanging information about the location of prey below! Or, maybe they were arguing about whose turn it was to have first go at devouring the body of the unlucky rabbit or mouse. Here I am, she chuckled, named Many Paths and still jumping to conclusions and taking the first line of thought that arises.

What else might they be? What do people do? People speak of things far beyond their immediate concerns. Do the animals? Do they tell each other stories? Make promises? Do they apologize? Do they try to trick each other? Well, they certainly do that!

Even as her mind raced about the challenges of cooperating with animals of a different species, her hand still slid steadily and smoothly to the target and she deftly undid the small knots. Now, she slowly withdrew her hand and murmured warmly to the raptor on her arm.

“Thank you, mighty eagle, for this word from afar.”

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Many Paths recognized the cloth even before it was fully unrolled: the shred was from Eagle Eyes! The two of them had travelled together to gather the rare indigo gentian which Eagle Eyes had used to dye part of her smock.

Many Paths felt a sudden pull of connection to Eagle Eyes as she felt the cloth. She held it close and drew breath in through her nostrils. Perhaps it was only imagination but she caught the scent of Eagle Eyes. Something else was much stronger though! Soot. Fire. As she looked more closely, she could see that a tiny section of the cloth had been burned!

She of Many Paths felt that she had to share this new information with the tribe … and soon. First, she wanted to think what it might signify. Many Paths frowned. She wished that Eagle Eyes might have somehow drawn a map — possibly even including the positions of all of the companions of Eagle Eyes. She couldn’t tell whether Shadow Walker or Tu-Swift were all right. Why couldn’t she include cloth from them too…or their signs. She recalled with a smile the map that She Who Saves Many Lives had given her for their test for the First Ring of Empathy. But of course, that map was much too large to expect an eagle to carry very far.

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Many Paths strode toward the feast and tried to frame how she would present this. On the one hand, it was good news, but the news was ambiguous and incomplete. The fire part didn’t seem positive, but it was hard to tell. Too bad, she thought, that eagles couldn’t carry a better and more complete map. But the wolves could! Maybe they would bring more complete news. She felt a pang of affection for them as well as loss. She missed the wolves. Immediately, a much stronger feeling of missing flowed over her, for everyone, but especially Tu-Swift and Shadow Walker. She sighed and felt a big hollow inside, but then, the image of Shadow Walker came quite clearly to mind. She felt as though she could almost hear him talking though it seemed likely he was far away. The mind does play funny tricks sometimes, thought Many Paths, but it seems like he is telling me that my idea is right; we could communicate over distances by sending maps and symbols. Sounds a bit crazy, but why not? The wolves can track by a scent from something that is no longer where they are. What if we humans could learn to put a whole host of marks and scents on paper and then send it quickly via the wolves? She arrived at the feast and mentally placed this idea up on a branch of a tree she kept for “Interesting ideas to be thought about later.” For now it was time to reassure the people and tell them what she knew. For a split second, she considered the idea to pretend that she had simply “foreseen” that Eagle Eyes was all right and that there had been a fire. People might begin to believe she was magic and that could help focus the people to a purpose when the need became great. She could even weave a story that involved the “Magic Rings of Empathy.”

Now she smiled at the folly of that course. If she were successful in this lie — because exaggerating one’s own powers is always a lie — it would only make her make more outrageous lies in the future. The people cannot be led on a wise path with lies. That seems obvious.

Why then did she come up with such absurd courses of action? Maybe it was to continue to strengthen her resolve to do what was best for her people. For each time such a plot surfaced, at least so far, she had resisted the temptation. Mainly, she saw it was the wrong thing to do. Imagine that your eyes began lying to your toes about the position of a stone. Imagine that your mouth lied to your stomach and your hand lied to your mouth.

Even from a selfish standpoint, such exaggerations of her powers would be quite dangerous. She could be found out and lose all credibility with the tribe. Suppose someone believed that the Magic of Remote Sight arose from the Rings alone. Someone might contrive to steal those rings, with or without her fingers attached! If she shared the actual evidence she had, a shred of cloth, the whole tribe could apply their wisdom about likely interpretations. But if, instead, she presented her interpretation as fact, people could not think straight nor generate the full set of likely possibilities.

Beyond that, Many Paths knew that she could never fully enjoy and participate in the feast or in talking with her tribe mates if she knew she were telling them a lie. She would be — forever alone — even if they never found out. She would know she was lying. She would know. And that would put up a wall between them. No matter what someone said to her, she would have to “check to see” whether her answer would betray her or might betray her. A moment’s lapse of ethics, thought She of Many Paths, could lead to a lifetime of cover-ups and further lives.

Instead, she took her place among warm greetings and admiration. She let it be known that she had some interesting news to share around the fire after their meal of venison and corn on the cob.

selective focus photography of grilled corns

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————————————————

The Creation Myth of the Veritas

The Orange Man: A Parable of Lying and Greed

The First Ring of Empathy (The Start of Book One)

Fire and Feast (The Start of Book Two)

An Essay on How we sometimes Confuse the Label with the Thing

Author Page on Amazon

Essays on America: At Least he’s Our Monster!

19 Thursday Sep 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, politics, Uncategorized

≈ 69 Comments

Tags

criminal, environment, Impeachment, life, politics, truth

“He’s a Monster, but at Least He’s Our Monster.” Little Sally pointed her tiny finger toward the writhing orange blob, then turned back to her older brother, Tony. Sally smirked smugly and folder her arms, dipping her head slightly as if that clinched the argument.

“No he isn’t!” insisted Tony. “You’re deluding yourself.”

Perhaps Tony thought of his real name “Marc Anthony” as an invitation — perhaps a demand — to wax upon the topic; I won’t say wax elegant — but some sort of wax — as you might obtain as part of a ten dollar drive-through car wash. Perhaps if he had waxed more elegantly, but alas, that was not the case.

Tony thus proceeded: “The whole point of being a Monster is that you don’t answer to anyone else. That includes a team captain, a superior officer, a teacher or any other “authority” figure. But you may, of course, give in temporarily to a more powerful monster. You are using him for your own purposes — playing on his vanity. Other, less powerful people you bully into doing what is in your own interests — or often just on a whim. You play to the throngs by giving them entertainment. But you have no loyalty to them either.

Liberty – Sold to the Highest Bidder. Hold for pickup.

“Our Monster — as you call it just because that’s the name he likes — has no loyalty. He absolutely thinks loyalty is garbage – a set of words and concepts you can use on some people to get them to do what you want. So, sure, he thinks it’s fine to pretend loyalty in order to manipulate others. But the instant he thinks one of his “loyal followers” is a liability, he’ll destroy that person as best he can. If all he can do is ruin their reputation, he’ll do that. If they own key personnel in courts and law enforcement, he’ll use the courts to ruin his “comrades.” If and when he gains still more power over the police and military, he’ll destroy his enemies physically.

“And, if he runs out of enemies, he’ll start calling old friends, new enemies and destroy them as well. You’re playing with something worse than fire, here Sally.”

Sally sniffed. “You’re just jealous because he likes me better than you!”

A shrill scream shot through the air. Sally & Tony both jerked their heads toward the sound. The sharp teeth of the round-mouthed orange monster opened wide as it bellowed and screeched. “HUNGRY! HUNGRY!”

“Well,” said Sally, “I think he’s cute, so I’m going to feed him.”

As Sally scanned their scant provisions for something that would likely please the monster, Tony continued to try to dissuade her.

“Look, Sally, it’s not safe. It may look somewhat human, but he has no human feelings. He just…”

Sally picked up some lunch meat from the nearly empty fridge and ignored Tony as she walked out into the back deck. She looked down on the writhing form of our poor monster. She muttered to herself, “I don’t see why he needs to be penned up. He should be free to go anywhere he wants and to do anything he wants like everyone else.”

woman taking bottle of drink from refrigerator

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Sally strode over to the edge of the deck, took one backward glance to see whether Tony was coming to stop her and drew her arm back to toss the package of meat. She hesitated for a moment. What if Tony’s right? What if it really is dangerous?

The monster’s plaintive cry bellowed through the air again, “HUNGRY! HUNGRY! FEED ME!”

Well, thought Sally, I’m not going to do — or not do — something just because my smarty pants brother says it’s a bad idea. She cocked her arm again and threw the packaged down to monster — MY monster, she thought.

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Monster immediately tore off the packaging and tossed it aside. He had already made quite a mess of his pen. He gobbled it up in a flash. Then, he began moaning. “Not fresh! Low quality! Need fresh! FRESH! Come closer, little girl. Pretty girl. Oh, you are a pretty girl! No-one ever pets me. Woe is me!”

The monster waddled over to the edge of his pen. From here, Sally judged, she should be able to barely pat the top of his scruffy head. He looked up with dog eyes and she put her hand out to pet her. Suddenly, Monster’s neck shot up and took her whole hand in its mouth. It sucked on her hand and she could feel its sharp teeth against her skin. It began growling in its throat but she could understand what it was saying, “Bring me fresh meat! Or, I will eat you! I need it NOW!”

The monster released her hand and stared up into her eyes with its dull shark eyes. She glanced back into the kitchen but saw no sign of Tony. The skin of her arm was unbroken. But that Monster really sucks!

Where had Tony gone? She opened the kitchen door and padded about. No-one here but old Winston, the sick gray cat. Winston had once been a fun lively pet, but these days — not so much. Maybe he’d be happier dead. She knew in her heart of hearts that was a lie. But somehow, lying for the Monster didn’t seem so bad. She grabbed Winston by the scruff of the neck and put her hands under his aging body. She could feel the old cat’s ribs. She had to use her butt to open the door back to the deck but she managed. Like a zombie, she walked over to the edge and tossed the cat over before she lost her courage.

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The cat was gone in a single gulp! Well, she thought, at least it was painless. “There you go, Monster!”

“I NEED MORE! MORE Fresh Meat!” the monster pleaded. “NOW!”

“We don’t have any more meat. Times are tough. Would you like some fruit?”

“MEAT! NOW! MORE and Fresh! NOW!” wailed the Monster.

“Okay, just a minute, Monster. I’ll look.”

Sally re-entered the kitchen but saw no sign of Tony. She walked into the entry way and there sat Tony putting his fishing boots on.

“Where are you going, Tony?”

“I’m going fishing! You just threw away our last package of lunch meat. Like an idiot!”

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Sally ground her teeth. Why was her brother so mean about the Monster? “Tony,” she said sweetly, “I’m glad you’re going fishing. I’m sorry I gave our last meat to the Monster, but I think you’re right! He’s dangerous! And, I think he’s about to break out of his pen! Can you come take a look before you go?”

Tony nodded. “All right. I’m glad you’re finally seeing some sense!” He finished putting on his boots making the trek out onto the back deck a little awkward but he came to the edge and looked down at the Monster. He scanned the pen. “Sally, I don’t see a problem with the pen.”

Sally came up next to him. “Look over — like here — right below. Doesn’t it look like a hole in the fencing? It might be okay, but it looks wrecked somehow.”

Tony leaned over the rail to look at the fencing directly below. “WHAT?!” he screamed as Sally snuck behind him and lifted his feet making him tumble a dozen feet onto the ground below. Something — perhaps several somethings — snapped as he hit the ground awkwardly. “NO!” he screamed. Those were his last words.

Sally felt a moment of guilt but then thought: Well, he had it coming. Anyway, now the Monster’s fed. And he was really hungry. She felt just a bit nauseous though as she heard the monster’s teeth saw through the bones. She couldn’t tell her parents what really happened of course. When the noise stopped, she crept over to the edge. There were only small pieces of her brother left and these were being lapped up by the Monster who stopped long enough to leer at Sally.

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“Monster happy! Thank you, little girl. Pet Monster, pretty little girl. Please pet Monster.”

Having a pet Monster like this was a lot better than having a pesky brother she decided.

She put her hand down to pet the Monster’s scruffy head again. She stared uncomprehending at the place where her right arm had been just moments before. A pulsing geyser of someone’s blood spurted through the air. She shook her head and said, “What?” That’s my blood, she realized and she fell forward. She was losing consciousness. She found the strength to move her head and the last thing she saw was the Monster’s impossibly long neck stretching that roundish hole of teeth toward her face. The Monster laughed and said, “Pretty little stupid girl.”

After digesting the lunch meat, the cat, Tony and Sally, the Monster felt quite satisfied.

For an hour.

Then, he began using his new found bulk and strength to dismantle his pen. Now he would be free.

Free at last.

Free to kill and eat all the children he could.

Life was good, thought “Our” Monster.

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An earlier parable about a monster.

The beginning of the Myths of the Veritas.

Author Page on Amazon.

Essays on America: The Game

10 Tuesday Sep 2019

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

≈ 133 Comments

Tags

criminal, Democracy, evil, games, life, society, sociopathy

The Game

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The Game has no rules. Not really. I suppose you could say that the one rule is that there are no rules.

Not everyone can play The Game. So, that might count as a rule about entering and leaving The Game.

To Enter the Game, you need to be a Player.

And, to Leave the Game, you need to die. (You can’t “quit.”)

dog and house toy on monopoly board game

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Those are the two rules about whether you can play, but there are no rules within The Game.

But how does one become a Player?

Fame is not enough. Wealth is not enough. Good looks, or sharp wits, or intelligence, or encyclopedic knowledge, or special talents? No, that is not enough.

What is important is that you have Power and that you will execute your Power without regard to any human ethics or sense of fair play or human sensibility.

But what exactly is this Game?

To answer that, we must look at its origins.

Original Art by Pierce Morgan

Have you ever been bored?

I certainly was — as a kid. But not for long. Because when I was bored — no TV, no friends, and long before video games or the Internet, I would read or I would make up a game and play that game. As an adult, however, I’ve been very busy as most of us have. I have plenty to challenge me, entertain me, make me laugh, and make me cry, both real and artificial.

Likewise, I imagine that most of you have been more tired or worried or overjoyed or experiencing any one of a hundred emotions much more often than you’ve been bored.

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But let’s imagine that you had been born into different circumstances. Let’s say that you were born into so much power and wealth that you could afford literally anything provided only your parents approved. And, once you could carry cash around on your own, you could even circumvent that restriction fairly easily. You may not have been able to buy true love, but you could certainly buy enough sexual favors to keep you satisfied. You could access any drug you felt like without any fear of consequence so long as you didn’t do anything boringly inconvenient like OD.

Because, you see, if you did overdose, it would call attention to the fact that you and your mates could use drugs without a meaningful fine and without any jail time, provided only that you ditched your parents’ mansion for a month or two and instead lived in another mansion that would set you straight. Similarly, many of life’s challenges that most people have to face are not really challenges for such folk. They don’t have to worry about getting into college, or getting a job, or being popular, or finding a mate, or getting drafted into the army, or getting sick and not having to be able to afford the drugs, or getting arrested for such trivialities as shoplifting, doing illicit drugs, speeding, sexual assault, or vandalism.

Human nature being what it is, even this kind of upbringing will not produce only sociopaths. Some people from such circumstances do turn out to be wonderful, productive, generous human beings. After all, they will get access to a marvelous education and if they are thoughtful, they may see that the world would actually be a better place if more people could live better lives. That happens a lot.

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But not always. Many people born into such circumstances will not feel true love toward another human being. They will not take advantage of the educational opportunities by learning how to be a better human being. Some might learn particular skills like finance or law that they feel will help keep them in power. But education for them, like everything else, is only a means to an end.

Imagine how you would feel if you had everything you could possibly want? Ecstatic? For a while perhaps. Happy? Maybe. But again, the way most of us are wired, with zero challenge there is zero sense of true accomplishment. You would be bored. Since real life offers no challenges, you’d like to play a game.

The Game.

The Game with no rules that is only open to the very bored and very powerful.

To be a Player, you must have enough power to make it interesting to the other Players. And, you must be willing to play unethically. Otherwise, you’d be boring because you’d be so easy to beat.

Just because you can’t be a Player doesn’t mean you don’t have a part in The Game. You do have a part. You are the dice. You are the cards. You are the little tokens that more around the board. There are 7 billion of you. It’s a complicated game! And because it’s so complicated and so open-ended, it never really gets boring for The Players.

Although the game is open ended, there are certain patterns of moves that recur quite regularly. A common move, for instance, is to start a war. Another is to steal a great deal of wealth. Another is to “take over” another player — to “own” them so that they have to do what you say.

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These “moves” in The Game, of course, can cause great pain and suffering to millions of people in the real world. So what? Many of them are also trophy hunters. It’s kind of a signal to other potential players: “No, I don’t care about life. But I care about winning. And I won over this lion (or elephant). So there!”

Similarly, The Players really don’t care about how the people feel who die in a war or what it means to their kin; not any more than you would care if you’re playing monopoly. You might care about what token you use. I think the train and the dog are quite popular; the iron not so much.

monopoly board game on brown wooden tabletop

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Similarly, The Players often have some sort of persona that they prefer; gangster, thug, bon vivant, playboy, philanthropist, celebrity, politician, professor, entrepreneur, etc. Somewhat inconveniently, their persona shares a body with their real character so if the persona is mobbed, the real person beneath gets rushed, and touched, and man-handled. A great deal of time and effort goes into protecting The Player from the consequences of their actions in “the real world.”

I cannot see the whole board, but it’s clear that The Players moves right now are, among other things, destroying the ecosystems that we rely on. By the very nature of The Game and The Players, they couldn’t care less provided the “real world” consequences will occur after their death. It’s no accident, of course, that most of The Players who are on-board with ecological suicide are old, white men who are not going to live much longer anyway. It’s of absolutely zero interest to them whether people die in hurricanes, or lose their crops, or their houses are flooded —- BOR-ing! What really matters — to them — is winning the game and “taking over” other players along the way.

If that’s all that matters to us — the dice, the cards, the board, the checkers — if all that we care about is whose team is winning The Game and nothing about the consequences for billions of human beings and for other living beings on this earth — then that’s what will be.

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But if we do care, then it’s time to end The Game.

Before it’s too late.

In other words, now.

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Series on SHRUGS (Super Hyper Really Ultra Greedy Swindlers).

Post on how interconnected all life on earth is.

An antidote to boredom: gratitude.

Author Page on Amazon

Essays on America: Ice

04 Wednesday Sep 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, psychology, science, Uncategorized

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

arctic, carbon dioxide, Climate change, environment, ice, life, methane, politics, science, truth

“Have a nice day.”

In the San Diego area, where I live, people really do often say, “Have a nice day.” And, generally, that happens, at least weather-wise. It is typically between 55 and 75 degrees Fahrenheit (13 to 24 degrees Celsius) year round. Right now, we are having a slight heat wave. When I went to play tennis this morning, I filled a cup 2/3 ice and 1/3 water to help me stay cool and hydrated on the court. Although we played at 8:30 am, the temperature on the tennis court was already high. As I filled my cup (to almost running over), I was once again struck by the odd properties of ice.

One of those properties is that ice is less dense than water. Ice floats. That turns out to be a good thing. But it’s also an unusual thing. Many substances contract as they get colder and expand as they get warmer.

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There’s another weird thing about ice. It takes as much heat energy* to change a cup of ice at 32 degrees Fahrenheit (0 degrees Celsius) to a cup of water at 32 degrees Fahrenheit as it does to warm that water from 32 degrees F to 176 degrees F!! That is hot water! Exposure to water for two seconds that is only 150 degrees F will give you third degree burns. You do not want to touch water that is 176 degrees Fahrenheit (80 degrees Celsius)!

Just contemplate that astounding fact. It takes as much heat energy to change a cup (or any other amount) of ice to water at that same temperature as it does to heat that ice cold water up to way beyond scalding.

brown surface beside body of water in a distant of mountains under white clouds during daytime

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“Well, okay,” you might say. “But who really cares?”

You do! Or at least you should. Because all that ice that is melting at the Arctic and in Iceland and in Greenland — that is a big frigging deal!

And I think you would immediately know it’s a big frigging deal if Global Warming heated the ice cold water in the Arctic Ocean to scalding water that was so hot it killed all the fish, dolphins, whales, crabs, and seaweed in the ocean. It would kill you almost instantly if you tried to swim in it.

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Actually, what is happening is worse than that.

Why? Because although water is reflective, it is not nearly so reflective as ice covered with snow. Chances are, you may have heard the expression “snow blind” which is a temporary blindness caused by the sunlight bouncing off snow and hurting your retina. But you have not heard the expression “water blind.” Although there can be glare off the water, it is not nearly so severe. So, when the ice melts, it not only represents a huge change in heat energy; it also speeds up the further heating of the planet. The sunlight once reflected off of ice covered with snow and that helped keep the planet cooler. In those areas where the ice and snow have melted, much less of the sun’s energy is now reflected off into space.

Actually, what is happening is worse than that.

Why? Because the arctic heat is also thawing permafrost in arctic lands. This means that methane which is trapped beneath the permafrost is being released into the atmosphere. Alas, methane, like Carbon Dioxide, is a greenhouse gas. So, the increased level of Carbon Dioxide in the atmosphere is not only itself causing the planet to heat up; it is also releasing huge quantities of another greenhouse gas: methane.

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Unfortunately, in the first two decades after being released into the atmosphere, methane is 84 times as “effective” as Carbon Dioxide at trapping the heat energy in the earth’s atmosphere. Agro-business and manufacturing also produce methane. This means more warming and less ice.

As it turns out, there are many possible variations of ice. The exact number of different types varies depending on what “counts” as another type. You know that “solid ice” is different from frost and snowflakes and candle ice. Under extreme pressures, many kinds can be produced in the laboratory. But none of them is Ice Nine.

Ice Nine is a science fiction substance created by the mind of Kurt Vonnegut in his wonderful book, Cat’s Cradle, which is well worth the read.

In Cat’s Cradle, a scientist discovers another form of ice which “freezes” at room temperature. Not only that; if even a tiny “seed” of this Ice Nine touches a larger body of water, that entire body of water will turn into Ice Nine. So, an over-arching suspense arc of the book is whether or not humanity will be able to “contain” Ice Nine or whether it will basically destroy life on earth.

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Ice Nine is fiction. But global climate change is not fiction.

Whether we humans can get our act together in time to prevent turning Global Climate Change into Global Climate Disaster is not clear. Many people are working very hard to prevent that. But many other people apparently think it will happen after their individual life is over so they don’t really give a damn about how many of their descendants will suffer or how many other life forms they destroy. And a few people, those I call SHRUGS (Super Hyper Really Ultra-Greedy Swindlers), are actively trying to hasten the Global Climate Disaster by rolling back environmental regulations, setting forests afire, and denying that Climate Change is real.

Why?

That’s the subject of the next post.

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In actual practice, the amount of heat will vary depending on the insulation and ambient temperature. If you heat ice water up on your stove, for example, at first, in addition to the heat you provide from the gas flame or electric coil, your house temperature (perhaps around 72 degrees F) will also be heating up that water. But once the temperature of the water reaches a higher temperature than 72 degrees F, some of the heat you apply from the stove will “leak out” into the rest of your house. And the higher the temperature of the water, the more will leak out into the rest of your house.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cat%27s_Cradle

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A Little is Not a Lot.

03 Tuesday Sep 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 26 Comments

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cheating, communication, cooperation, Design, lies, politics, POTUS, Putin, quantity, science, truth

“A little’s not a lot.

A swing may be a miss.

You must remember this:

A kiss is not a kiss

Without the bliss.

A single sword does not

Make Camelot.

Offers don’t make bought.

A day does not make old.

All that glitters is not gold.

Ads do not make sold

Without the goods,

A tree is not a woods.

A giant sea of coulds

Does not imply a single spoon of shoulds.”

@truthtable, 2019.

———————————

I just reheated a lukewarm half cup of French Roast coffee. I zapped it in the microwave for 18 seconds. That seemed about right, and it turned out very close to perfect. If I’d put it in for 17 seconds or 19 seconds, I would have been equally satisfied.

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Do you think 1 second would have worked equally well? My “microwave,” despite the name, does not let me control the time to a microsecond, or even a millisecond. Do you think a millisecond would have been sufficient heating time? What do you think would happen if I put it in for 18 minutes or 18 hours instead of 18 seconds?

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I’ve been watching the US Open on TV. There have been some amazing matches! Like the folks on TV, I can hit a serve. I can volley. I can hit topspin or slice. I can hit backhand, forehand, swinging volley, and overhead. I can aim the ball toward the empty court, or hit behind a player racing to cover the empty court. Yet, I don’t think any of my readers, however much or however little you know about tennis, would ever confuse my play with any of the contestants in the US Open! Why? I mean, is there really much difference between my forehand and Rafa Nadal’s forehand? Sure, he puts more topspin on and hits it with more speed. Why should that make a difference?

On a completely different topic, let’s consider nutrition for a moment. Do you think water is good for you? Yes or no? Without any access to fresh water, people die. How long it takes to die of dehydration will depend on health, activity, ambient temperature and other factors. As a general rule, three days without water will kill you, but it could be much shorter or slightly longer. But you won’t die in a millisecond. And you won’t survive for a year. It’s obvious; right? So water is good for you!

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But wait. You can also kill yourself by drinking too much water. It takes about 6 liters of water to kill a 165 pound person. Of course, it depends slightly on the person and the situation. But you will not die from 6 teaspoons and you will certainly not survive drinking 60 liters in an hour.

You can certainly drown in water. People do it ever year. In 2015, it is estimated that over 300,000 people died from drowning! It seems to me that water must be bad for you! Yet, you cannot live without it.

What about exercise? Good or bad? If you never exercise, that is certainly bad for you (which is why I wrote Fit in Bits). If you run as fast as you can for as long as you can, you will injure or kill yourself (as did the very first marathoner). Again, it depends on your health and the situation. Some people can survive a 50 mile race. Others will have a fatal heart attack sprinting 100 yards.

How can life be so contradictory?

Life is not contradictory.

But neither is it composed of a set of perfect dichotomies.

We like to impose dichotomies because it makes thinking and decision making quicker and less painful. In some limited circumstances, this strategy is appropriate. It’s fine to try to avoid cutting yourself. Under most circumstances, you don’t really have to say to yourself, “Hmm. It’s Tuesday, September 3rd. I wonder how much I should cut myself today?” No, any cut means a chance of infection and will take some of your biological resources to heal and recover from the blood loss.

greyscale photo of person taking blood pressure

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Nonetheless, there is a difference between nicking yourself while shaving and being beheaded. There is a difference between stubbing your toe and being stoned to death by an angry crowd.

I must confess to feeling a bit foolish pointing these things out, because I imagine everyone reading this is well aware that “some” does not equal “all” and that in many circumstances, how much and under what circumstances make a huge difference. If you want to give a pint of blood some day so that others may live, good for you! You’ll be doing it lying down and in the presence of medical personnel who will minimize the chances of infection to near zero. But you can’t give six pints of blood in one day. And, it is not advisable to “do it yourself” by slashing your wrist, collecting a pint of blood and then putting on a bandaid before transporting the blood to a blood bank.

Again — isn’t this all obvious? Well, I would have thought so.

Yet, over and over, when I talk to supporters of the current US President and mention that he has told over 12,000 lies since taking office, people almost always say, “So what? Everyone lies.”

???

I am a dinner guest for the first time at the house of an acquaintance and they serve overdone salmon with way too much salt for my taste. I might say it’s “good” or that I “like it.” Depending on the situation, and how much they press me, I might also mention that I also eat sushi so I’m okay with having it less done. I might or might not mention that I’m never add table salt to my food.

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If they say, “I like it…but I think I might have put too much salt in. What do you think?” At that point, since they are asking for honest feedback, I am going to tell them that I agree with them and that it tastes very salty.” Generally, I like to give people feedback that is honest, unambiguous, and offers a positive suggestion for how to improve. In the case of cooking, it makes a lot more sense to mention my preferences before the meal whether I’m at a restaurant or at someone’s home. Now, if I am nonetheless served over-salted, over-cooked food, I have a basis for being more frank than if I hit them with new requirements after it’s too late (at least this time) to do much about it.

Giving feedback that is honest, direct, and offers an actionable suggestion is a good heuristic to use in the design of user interfaces as well. An error message that says, “Illegal syntax!” is fairly useless in and of itself as is “Stack overflow!” Error messages such as these are written from the developer’s viewpoint. They may serve as useful error messages during debugging. They are useless for the typical user.

All humans are created equal. But not all lies are equally evil. And many many lies are not the same as a few lies. If you still think that publicly telling 12,000 lies that are told by a person who is supposed to be leading the country — lies that are told for the liar’s own short term benefit — if that ocean of lies is the same as a teaspoon of a lie told to encourage a child, or spare someone else’s feelings, then, please re-read this post from the beginning.

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Human language enables us to communicate over time and space. It is a wonderful thing. Without language, we would basically be living lives not very different from those of primates in a zoo. Human language allows us to work together harmoniously; to specialize in particular skills; to build roads and buildings; to discover things about nature and ourselves; to invent and to improve. Human language can be used for no other purpose than to attempt to con people.

There are even cases, where being “conned” is understood and acceptable. If you see a play or a movie or read fiction, you suspend your disbelief. At one level, you imagine that what you are seeing is actually happening. That makes the story and the experience more compelling. But you know that it’s a move, play, or novel. The same fiction, if it is touted as a documentary, is a lie.

It is fun to see a competent magician perform. Their patter is meant to distract you, to misdirect your attention. It is part of the illusion. It is not “evil” because you know it is all part of the show. As an adult, at least, you don’t think that the woman was really sawn in half and then magically healed. It’s a perceptual challenge. It’s meant to be fun. It would be quite different if the magician murdered his assistant by actually sawing them in half!

woman reading a book sitting on mattress near the blue string light inside the room

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Twelve thousand lies. Twelve thousand lies. Not twelve. Not twelve hundred. Twelve thousand. Each one is a cut to American democracy. Each lie reduces the credibility of America on the international stage. Each lie makes people feel less confidence in government.

Yes, there are cases where it makes sense for POTUS to lie. Say that a reporter says, “A source tells me that we are going to try to capture Bin Laden on May 2nd (2011) at his compound in Abbottabad around 1 pm local time.” And then, imagine the reporter asks the POTUS at a Press Conference, “Is that accurate?”

Let’s further suppose that POTUS knows that this is accurate. Should he say, “Oh, yes, in fact, your source is precisely correct.” No, of course not.

That is not at all the same quality of lie as it is to lie in a self-aggrandizing way about your abilities, your height, your vote total, whether or not you have Russian help in getting elected. It is not the same as lying that the Mueller report “exonerated” you.

All lies are not created equal. And one lie or even a dozen lies does not equal 12,000 lies. One cut does not equal 12,000 cuts. One liter of water does not equal 12,000 liters of water. Heating my French Roast in the microwave for 12 seconds does not give the same result as heating it up for 12,000 seconds. No-one would carelessly equate any of these things.

So, why do the apologists for the POTUS respond to 12,000 public, provable, and important lies by saying, “Well, everyone lies sometimes.”

A little is not a lot.

——————————————————-

Books on Amazon by Author:

The Winning Weekend Warrior focuses on strategy, tactics, & the mental game for all sports, for business, and for life.

Turing’s Nightmares uses fictional scenarios to explore ethical issues around robotics and AI.

Fit in Bits suggests numerous ways to fit more fun and exercise into daily activities.

Tales from an American Childhood recounts early experiences and relates them to contemporary issues and events.

Is there Honor in Killing Sticks?

29 Thursday Aug 2019

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, politics, Uncategorized, Veritas

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

ethics, legend, myth, story, war, weapons

Eagle Eyes and Lion Slayer moved swiftly away from the walled city, at first walking rapidly and later running quickly. They had both been shaken badly by seeing the killing stick. When they were sufficiently far from the city, and into a copse of white birches, they stopped to catch their breath and talk about what they had witnessed.

Eagle Eyes began by simply looking at Lion Slayer, grimacing and wordlessly shrugging her shoulders.

Lion Slayer responded simply by slowly shaking his head from side to side.

They simply stared at each other for some time. At last, Eagle Eyes put into words what they both felt. “What was that? What did we just see?”

Lion Slayer answered, “I have no idea for what it even could be. I have never seen or heard of such a thing.”

“Nor I!” said Eagle Eyes. “But I am fairly certain it was real and not play acting or ritual. The screams of pain were too real. If that was Nut-Pi, that is very bad news indeed.”

“Indeed it is!”

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Eagle Eyes looked for a moment at Lion Slayer. “I’m glad you eventually came to fight on our side instead of working with Nut-Pi.”

“Yes,” said Lion Slayer. “So am I. In fact, all of Nomads of the South as you call us — we feel that way. Nut-Pi is cruel and treacherous. He is quite possibly the one who began this stealing of children. My brother was one of the people who first spoke to the Cupiditas. Nut-Pi was not a nice person. Not at all. But he had a way of talking…it would make you think he was on your side and doing you a favor, but — no, no, don’t shake your head. I am not making excuses. It’s just…I’m agreeing with you. Nut-Pi has a giant city. He may have horses. He is very cruel, but he’s also a very persuasive liar to some. My brother never fell for it, but some of the Elders did. Frankly, I think the Cupiditas envied the Veritas.”

Eagle Eyes, “Why? Never mind. But now there is the killing stick! We don’t know what it is or why they steal children or how many killing sticks they have or how they work. We must get back and warn the Veritas.”

“But we could stay and find out more. Perhaps we could even steal some such killing sticks!” suggested Lion Slayer.

“What?! What honor would be in such a kill? Nut-Pi showed no strength or skill. And it certainly was not a fair fight. Who would want to kill in such a way? Perhaps only Nut-Pi. Although…”

“Although what, Eagle Eyes?” asked Lion Slayer.

“I wonder,” began Eagle Eyes, “if using such killing sticks makes a person into someone like Nut-Pi. But, no we must get this much information back there as swiftly as possible. We might learn more and we might not, and meanwhile, we might get captured and they would torture us for information about how best to destroy both our tribes! We can speculate further as we run. Come on!”

They began to jog. Lion Slayer ran alongside through some sparse woods and then onto a burned field. “Do you know the way back to the Veritas from where we are?”

“I know the direction but am not familiar with the terrain. Though as you see, we are lucky enough to have a sunny day with many small clouds.” Eagle Eyes glanced over at Lion Slayer.

He said, “You mean because the clouds will keep it from being too hot or because it’s easier to know your direction when the sun’s out?”

She said, “No. Both of those are true. But I speak of a third thing. The clouds help reveal the terrain beneath them.”

Lion Slayer frowned. He took some even deeper breaths to ‘save up’ for more dialogue. “What mean you? Clouds reveal terrain? Clouds are clouds.”

Eagle Eyes said, “Clouds do have their own nature. But it not just water that reflects. Everything reflects everything. Of course, the clouds are not like a still lake. But have you noticed that the water appears different when the sky is dark and cloudy from how it appears when the sky is clear and blue?”

Lion Slayer answered, “Yes, but that’s because water reflects everything.”

Eagle Eyes smiled and said, “Indeed. Because everything reflects everything.”

Lion Slayer kept jogging but paused in his speech. At last, he said, “All right. Everything reflects everything, but not so you can see anything!”

Eagle Eyes laughed a bit, which slowed her pace. So, she controlled herself and continued, “You mean to say that you cannot see anything. I can. A cloud such as these changes slightly. Such a cloud over a desert shines a little more yellow; such a cloud over a snowy mountain appears whiter; such a cloud over a pine forest is greener; such a cloud over a large lake is slightly bluer. You can see fire reflected in it too though not a picture of the flames. Perhaps I can teach you by the time we get back to the Veritas center place.”

Eagle Eyes continued, “First, and perhaps most importantly, do you see any flickers of red up there?”

Lion Slayer considered, “No, but I never do except at sunup and sundown.”

Eagle Eyes shook her head, “If you ever know of a fire and there are such clouds as these, look and you will see. It can be pretty obvious. The others are a little more subtle. Look north and then look south and tell me what you see in the colors.”

Lion Slayer at last said, “They are different colors and shades and shadows both places. They aren’t one color or another!”

Eagle Eyes allowed herself a small chuckle. “Of course not. I don’t mean the cloud will be colored blue like a blueberry or white like a sun-bleached skull. Subtle. Subtle.”

They came to a well worn path but had to run single file. Eagle Eyes jogged on in the lead with Lion Slayer a few strides behind. They ran on in silence for a time enjoying the motion, and enjoying the slow descent. They also enjoyed not being on constant guard against discovery by the Z-LOTZ.

At last, Lion Slayer broke the silence. “I’m not sure. But it seems like north is whiter and south is slightly more yellow. But it’s crazy. There’s no such thing or people would have told me.”

Eagle Eyes said, “I wasn’t taught either. And that seems strange. Maybe the elders want kids to figure it out for themselves. But it might be that I noticed it because…well, I notice things.”

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Lion Slayer tried to pay a compliment, “You do. Have. Good eyes!”

Eagle Eyes said, “Thank you, but it isn’t just things I see. I hear things too. For instance, I hear from your breathing that you need a short break.”

Lion Slayer replied, “No. I. Don’t. I.”

Eagle Eyes stopped. “Fine. I need a short break. We’ll make better time if we don’t wear ourselves out. Plus there is water up ahead.”

Lion Slayer said, “You see that in the clouds?”

Eagle Eyes answered, “No, I see it in the plants and the trees. You don’t have this kind of lushness in your country. For you, the signs of water are quite obvious. There is desert and there is oasis. Right?”

Lion Slayer nodded, “Yes, that’s true. Although, in the deep desert, one may sometimes see an oasis that is not really there. We call them a mirage. An oasis that lies.”

Eagle Eyes nodded. “I hate lies. But I don’t think the oasis is lying really. I think what you are seeing is a reflection. But not off clouds and not off water. So…what could such a thing be reflecting from?”

Lion Slayer could now feel his legs becoming heavy. Eagle Eyes had been right. He did need to get a drink and stretch & take a short break.

Reluctant to start a fire whose smoke might still be visible to Z-LOTZ scouts, Eagle Eyes shared the remainder of her pemmican provision. They ate silently for a time and sipped the cool fresh water that had indeed been where Eagle Eyes had predicted it to be. They agreed that they would walk for awhile and then jog again in the afternoon. As they walked, the conversation again turned toward the killing sticks.

Eagle Eyes wondered aloud, “How would you feel if you killed an enemy with such a killing stick — especially if they had no killing stick of their own? Would you feel any sense of victory? Any pride? Or, would you become something like Nut-Pi? I don’t know. I used eagles against someone with no eagles. I used a change in the river’s course against those who had no idea that such was possible. But there was always some risk on both sides. What if you could kill someone from the other side of a mountain? Never having to see their face? Killing is not the first answer ever, but how does this strike you?”

Lion Slayer sighed. “If it were up to me, we would not use weapons at all. We would wrestle — something I am quite skilled at. But I can see why someone who is not so good a wrestler might prefer to use a club or knife. For honor though, the combatants must be equally matched. If they use killing sticks, we need to get some as well.”

—————————————————

Author’s Page on Amazon.

Beginning of the Myths of the Veritas

Beginning of Book Two of the Myths of the Veritas

An Essay on Labelism

petersironwood

~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

Category Archives: Uncategorized

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A Little is Not a Lot.

Is there Honor in Killing Sticks?