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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Tag Archives: America

Absolute is Not Just a Vodka

11 Monday May 2020

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

≈ 127 Comments

Tags

America, Constitution, Democracy, Dictatorship, Election, essay, Rule of Law, truth, USA, voting

Demanding Absolute Power Leads to a Far Worse Hangover.

close up photo of martini in cocktail glass

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If you continue to support Trump out of loyalty to him, please understand that your loyalty to him supersedes every other thing that you care about in life. You may not yet realize that, but it does.

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Everything. 

The Truth. 

Your Possessions.

Your Soul.

Your Neighbors.

Your Friends. 

Your Spouse. 

Your Parents.

Your Siblings. 

Your Kids. 

Your Wealth. 

Your Reputation. 

Your Feet.

Your Arms. 

Your Face. 

Your Mouth. 

Everything. 

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Your life is over. You are now part of the Trump machine. And, as such, you are expected to fulfill your role as subservient and without question. You may think I am exaggerating, but if so, go back and look at what he has done to the careers and lives of those who questioned him when he was dead wrong!  This is the way of dictatorship. Read about Stalin’s Russia or Hitler’s Germany or Mao’s China before it’s too late.

You will believe as you are told to believe.

You will give to the State whatever it requires.

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You will embrace evil. And, you will know in your heart that it is evil even though people will give you all sorts of rationalizations about why it’s for the greater good and it’s only a few people dead and a few more and a few more and ….

You will tell authorities about any neighbors who are people of color or people of a different religion or people who have a funny accent or people who don’t watch Faux News. Of course you will. 

You will betray your friends as well if you overhear them saying something that used to be true such as “The earth is round” but which is now out of favor as being just a sissy-science nerd thing. 

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You will betray your spouse as well if they don’t go along with the new regime. It sounds as though it would be a pretty soul-wrenching thing to do but then it occurs to you that they might do the same to you. Of course it will occur to you. 

And you decide to beat them to the punch. So, you gather evidence so that in a case of he-said, she-said, you will have the upper hand. Of course, it might not even be true at all. You might just be tired of your spouse, but a convincing accusation is all that is needed. Even if your spouse is completely innocent, it will serve the purposes of the state by making their execution public. 

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You will betray your parents if asked. They did it in Russia. They did it in Germany. They did it in many places where absolute tyranny ruled. Not everyone did so, of course, but it’s easy to make rationalizations. 
“Oh, they were old anyway.” “Oh, they were in bad health and they probably would have died anyway.” “Oh, they were never that nice to me anyway. Always preferred my older brother.”

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You will betray your own children as well. Of course you will. You’re currently supporting someone who is in bed with oil companies including Russian oligarchs. And, they aren’t snuggling just to stay warm. No, they are in positions that would even make Caligula blush. 

As a result, Trump has worked tirelessly to roll back as many environmental regulations as he possibly can. This means your children — and their children — will grow up in a world of dirtier air and dirtier water and a more corrupted food supply. It will smell worse. It will taste worse. It will be a world that predisposes people to diseases such as cancer, asthma, and auto-immune disease. In some places, such as Flint, Michigan, it will cause brain damage in children. So, yes, you will betray your children for the sake of your loyalty to Trump. 

It’s not that you don’t care about your kids. Of course you do! But Trump knows that too. He and Putin’s targeted cyber-campaign have used that love to help convince you that the only way you can really protect them is to let him have absolute power.

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And do you know what you will get from Trump in return for giving him absolute power?

Nada.

Nothing.
Zero.
Zilch. 

No protection. No wealth. No opportunity. Nothing.

Maybe that’s not quite true, because you might get, perhaps, a thrill out of being on the winning team even if the team cheats in every possible way. Personally, I find those kind of victories make me feel worse than losing fairly when I’ve done my best. Your mileage may differ. 

Perhaps you get a thrill out of chanting along with the President. 

Perhaps you get a thrill out of thinking about all the pain Trump causes “liberals.” 

I don’t know. 

But I do know this. There are many ways to get thrills that do not require you to give up everything you care about in return. Why not enjoy one of those instead? 

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Other than that thrill? 

Look around your life. Look at the people you care about. Do they look more peaceful and loving than they did four years ago? Do they look happier? What about you? Are you happier? Are you wealthier? Do you feel safer than you did four years ago? Do you feel healthier than you did four years ago? Does the nation seem better off? More united? More respected throughout the world? 

Well, however your life is different than it was four years ago, that change is what you are trading your life for. You are pledging to give everything to Trump if he wants it.

Everything. 

Everything you love. 

You have no real choice. 

You have given up your life as an autonomous human. 

And, as nothing more than a meat machine, you will inevitably be replaced by a cheaper, faster, metallic and plastic version. It may take a little longer if you are a lawyer, or a banker, or a manager, or a computer programmer or paid companion than if you are a grocery clerk, or meat packer, or bus driver, but it will happen nonetheless. 

What you have forgotten is that your life, like every other human life has value in and of itself. 

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The value of your life, as enshrined in our Constitution, comes from being born. The framers of the Constitution called it a God-given right. 

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness. 

And if you let one person have absolute power, then they can absolutely take away: 

Your Life

Your Liberty 

Your Pursuit of Happiness. 

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Instead, you will be working for their happiness. And, you’ll be giving up your own life and the lives of those you love for the word of someone who doesn’t even know you exist — someone who will throw you under the bus for nothing more than the pleasure of hearing the crunch beneath the tires. 

When one person has absolute power, no-one else has any at all. 

You may comfort yourself by thinking that, while you may not have much control over your work life, at least you’ll have control over the rest of your life. 

No. 

You won’t. 

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There is no invisible boundary around your property or your house or your bedroom or your body. Of course there isn’t. In a democracy there is such an imaginary boundary. 

There are things like courts of law, and search warrants, and fair trials. Those are gone. So, if someone in power wants your property, or your house, or your son or daughter, or your life — who’s to stop them? You’ll haul out your assault weapon? Come on. 

Once the rule of law is gone, a whole truckload of weapons won’t help you keep what’s yours. And neither will a truckload of MAGA hats. But don’t worry! You won’t even need to fight!

Because you’ll want to give it all away. You’ll convince yourself it’s for the best. The power over you is then absolute. People are already putting their lives and the lives of their families at risk for no better reason than that they’re told to do so. And it feels to them as though they are freely choosing to do so. 

You may want to exercise your freedom to choose while you still have any such freedom. Because it is disappearing a whole lot faster than the virus is. 

close up photo of martini with olives

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Absolute is not just a vodka. 


Essays on America: Wednesday

What About the Butter Dish? 

The Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

Essays on America: The Game

You Bet Your Life

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

Comes the Reign

29 Wednesday Apr 2020

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

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

America, coronavirus, COVID19, Democracy, life, pandemic, politics, treachery, treason, truth, USA

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The rain has continued nearly unabated for an unknown interval — perhaps only days, probably weeks, possibly years. Even continuous rain might be more bearable. Pitter patter, pitter patter, but not of little feet. 

No. 

Cruelly, there is the slight hint of cessation, a suggestion of passing clouds and possible sunshine. But none of these promises comes to fruition.

Pitter patter. Pitter patter. But not of little feet.

The cottage is seeped with dampness. The rose petals all have fallen. Nettles and thorns clamor at the windows asking for entry, if not for themselves, then surely for their insect pals. 

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Rugs, clothing, mattresses feel damp to the touch; smell of mold and decay.  In the distance, one hears rumblings and senses the blue flash. Between these punctuated blasts, the ever-present murmuring of pattering raindrops like a multitude of questioning voices.

Pitter patter, pitter patter, but not of little feet.

“How did this come to be?” they seem to say. 

“Once, we were a sunny land, a happy band.” Two tall trees toppled, it’s true, but brave deeds followed. And, still the land prospered. But not all deeds in those dark and dreadful days were brave. Oh, no. A few ignoble kings saw not tragedy but opportunity. Opportunity knocks but several times. One must jump at the chances. Take the bull by the horns and consolidate one’s power!  

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Pitter patter, pitter patter. But not of little feet. Soldiers in the distance, row on row.

If one has power, does not one have the responsibility to make that power everlasting and absolute? 

Pitter patter, pitter patter, all the while the golden glitter glows;

Distracts us from what we know; the arctic blow.

Riders rode through the range: “dissent is disastrous treason!”  Many mechanical minions made waves, intimidated, fooled, lied, and finally brought Mordor itself to the American shores, the American way of life, the fabric of our once-bright country that yet could be again, melted in the rain.  

two soldiers standing on road

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The twisted cross of hate

Raised like a toast to celebrate

Our own lobotomy

Courtesy of the false dichotomy.

Pitter patter, pitter patter, but not of innocent feet.
Trample clatter, trample clatter.

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This is the way Democracy dies.
This is the way Democracy dies. 

This is the way Democracy dies.
Not with a bang but a wimp-out.  

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 Citizen Soldiers, Part One

Citizen Soldiers, Part Two

Citizen Soldiers, Part Three

Claude, the Radioman

Trumpism is a new Religion

You Bet Your Life

Essays on America: The Game

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-academic 

Author Page on Amazon

Life is a Dance

13 Monday Apr 2020

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

≈ 67 Comments

Tags

America, cheating, courage, cowardice, Democracy, fascism, globalism, poem, poetry, science, truth, USA

woman raising her hands

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All life is a dance

On a thin razor’s edge

‘Tween rigid and chance.

silhouette people on beach at sunset

Photo by Dana Tentis on Pexels.com

There are two ways to die

To fall off that ledge:

Honor the Truth — or Live out the Lie.

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You might fight for the right

And still end up dead. 

You could turn from the luminous light

You can slink and surrender instead. 

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You can wrap a leash around your neck

And hand the lead to a feckless wreck.

Say, “Here you go; I’m your slave now.

Train me how to bow and kowtow.” 

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He’ll wink and nod and blink, the old sod. 

“I want you to do me a favor though.

You see those people; they look so odd.

I want you to shoot them row by row.”

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Having leashed your soul to the Worst of the Worst, 

You’ll kill more lives in an endless shift-show.

You’ll lie to yourself; be an elf on the shelf. 

Bow to the will of the First of the Cursed. 

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You’ll force a false-faced smarmy smile, 

As you shout out your shoddy sickening “Heil!” 

Millions may die but you care not a jot.

You’re already dead so you let the lot rot.  

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Life is a dance

On a thin razor’s edge

Of rigid and chance.

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There are two ways to die

To fall off the ledge: 

Honor the Truth — or, Live out the Lie.

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You may fashion a last and desperate try

To derail the Failure that many see wrapped

In the “Finest of Finery” — armored with Lie,

Unable to move — in his own web trapped. 

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Think and link in a world-wide win.

Throw off the shackles of such shadowy sin.

Refuse to play for the Clown at the Helm 

Or his shadowy puppets all over the realm.

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They’ll stumble and fall and all turn to ash.

Their only bonds are their hatred and cash. 

You’ll join with others across this vast land;

You’ll sing together your fairness demand. 

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Those who shrugged and laughed at need?

Protections fall from those slaves of greed.

Even the cruelest of the cruel can bleed.

Fertile fields will fill with thorn and weed.

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If no-one will drive, none will survive. 

If no-one will pick — none left alive.

If no-one will cure, bake or douse fire?

Those cruelest are building their own Karma pyre. 

orange flame

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Life is a dance

On that thin razor’s edge

‘Tween rigid and chance.

pile of stones

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There are two ways to die

To fall off that ledge: 

Honor the Truth or Live out the Lie.

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The dealers of death want to close all the blinds

Shutter out light; squelch questioning minds. 

So, poke a small hole — let the light shine through!

The future of freedom? It’s all up to you. 

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And me. 

And you.

And you. 

And you.


Author Page on Amazon

Ripples: How Actions Today Determine Our Future

You Know: Do you Feed the Good Wolf or the Bad Wolf?

Rejecting Adulthood. It’s Easy to Pass on Responsibility 

The Truth Train: What went so Wrong? 

Citizen Soldiers (1)

Citizen Soldiers (2)

Citizen Soldiers (3)

SHRUGS: Super-Hyper Really Ultra Greedy Swindlers 

Impossible

A Tale of Karma

Winning by Cheating is Losing 

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing

  

 

 

Imagine all the People…

05 Sunday Apr 2020

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

≈ 69 Comments

Tags

America, collaboration, cooperation, COVID-19, leadership, life, pandemic, plague, poem, poetry, survival, teamwork

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Beyond the cloud, 

The sun still shines, 

It isn’t loud. 

It never whines. 

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Beyond the cold, 

The summer comes. 

When spring is old, 

The drummer drums.

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The rhythm’s wrong. 

The tune is halt –

Ing, he says: “I’m strong. 

It’s not my fault!”

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When virus kills,

Says: “No-one knew.

All our illness; all our ills:

The blame belongs on all of you.”

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Putin’s plan for planet earth: 

“Kill it dead ‘cause I must die.

I don’t like a spring rebirth. 

It’s hard on lethal spies

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Like me — who don’t really care. 

Once I’m dead; no longer me,

It’s not really fair!

No-one should be allowed to be!”

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Trump is fully on board, 

He thinks you should be too! 

“A suicide pact’s the proper chord. 

If I have to die — so should you!”

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Putin has plans for you and me. 

He still thinks like KGB.

But we don’t have to play his heartless game.

He doesn’t even know your own true name.

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Live and right your country’s wrong.

You can sing a different song.

Dance away to a different tune. 

Eschew the hate & picayune.

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Dance instead to the stars above!

Dance instead in honor of love!

Handless holding each to each, 

A nation strong’s within our reach. 

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Let nation’s rainbow colors show!

We will win and we will grow! 

A smile beneath a mask will show!

Vlad and ilk won’t ever know —

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That reaching down to raise another 

Makes us taller, Sister, Brother. 

This is how a forest stands! 

This, the key to freedom’s lands. 

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Our globe is round and for a reason, 

It’s love, it’s love that conquers treason. 

Take my touchless hand! Stand tall!

All for one. And one for all! 

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The wind is strong but we are stronger, 

COVID lives long, but we live longer. 

Take my touchless hand! And stand as one!

One for all. And all is won! 

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———————————————-

 Author Page on Amazon  

 

Donnie Plays Bull-dazzle Man!

01 Wednesday Apr 2020

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

≈ 25 Comments

Tags

allegory, America, childhood, criminal, Democracy, fiction, games, satire, sociopath, story, USA

orange excavator on brown hill

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Donnie looked outside and saw a bulldozer moving a large pile of dirt. 

“Mommy! Mommy! I want one! Get me one!” 

Donnie’s mommy sighed. The noon radio programs weren’t even on yet and this was the fourth impossible request Donnie had already made today. 

“I told you yesterday, Donnie, you can’t play in the dirt. You’ll get your hands dirty.” 

“But I want a big orange thingy! What is that thingy?” He pointed his teeny fingers at the bulldozer.

“That’s called a bulldozer, Donnie. And only big people can have one.”

“Daddy said I could have one! He said I could have a bull-dazzle! He said I could have two bull-dazzles!” 

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“I’ve no time for your nonsense, Donnie. You can’t have a — they’re called “bulldozers” — and you can’t have one till you’re a lot older. Look at that man. See? He’s much older than you. And, I still have laundry to fold.” 

Donnie said, “Yes, mommy.” But secretly, he was thinking about various ways to get revenge on stupid mommy. 

It was a sunny spring day, but not really warm. Snow still sprinkled the yard, so Donnie grabbed one of his sister’s jackets. That will annoy her, he thought and smiled. Outside, he couldn’t see much to do. Junior and Maryanne were up in the treehouse playing cards. They had tried teaching him a couple times, but they kept making up rules that didn’t make him win every time which was stupid. So, he threw all the cards on the ground. They hadn’t invited him a third time. 

brown wooden tree house on snow covered ground

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He walked over to where the clothes were hanging. A gentle breeze billowed the shirts and sheets. Junior and Maryanne didn’t even notice him. It seemed they never did. 

He tugged at one of the sheets. Nothing happened. He grabbed with both hands and yanked down on one corner. He threw his legs out just like he did when he had a temper tantrum. His teeny hands slipped off and he fell on his butt. 

He ground his teeth, and walked over to a nightshirt he could reach. This time, when he pulled one of the clothespins snapped off. He got the other one off too! Success! He looked up at the treehouse, but his siblings were still ignoring him. Good, he thought. He tried several more items of laundry and managed to get another nightshirt and even one of the sheets off. Time to tattle. 

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He walked back into the living room where mommy was already relaxing and listening to Abbot and Costello with her eyes closed. He wondered whether she had noticed him go out. He went to the dining room window and stared out. From there, he could see the treehouse, but his siblings were hidden by the plywood paneling. Perfect, he thought. When a commercial came on, Donnie said casually, “Mommy. Is Junior supposed to be showing his thingy to Maryanne?” 

“WHAT!?” She sprang up from her chair and came to the window. She could see the treehouse but no children. “Where are they?”

“They’re right up in the treehouse, mommy. I think they are hiding so Freddy can show his thingie.” 

Mommy went to the back door and flung it open hard enough to loosen one of the screws that held the hinge. The door flapped against the siding and sprang back violently, scratching her hand. She screamed, “JUNIOR! MARYANNE! Get in here this instant!” 

She walked out onto the back stoop and began skipping down the stairs. That’s when she noticed some of her laundry dragging on the dirty ground. 

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“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU KIDS DO TO MY LAUNDRY! GET DOWN HERE!! NOW!!” 

The puzzled faces of two kids peeked out of the shadowed treehouse. 

Maryanne spoke first, “How come, mom? We’re playing…”

“I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU’RE PLAYING! Get down here! Now” 

She went over and snatched up one of the nightshirts and tried to brush the dirt from it. Her brushing only ground the dirt in more deeply. Crap, she thought, I’ll have to wash this again. 

“What the hell is wrong with you two!? I worked all morning on this laundry!” 

In the corner of his eye, Fred Junior could see the smiling grinning face of his younger brother staring out at the scene from the dining room window. 

“LOOK AT ME when I’m talking to you! Why did you pull my laundry down! Never mind! Get inside! Both of you. I need to talk with you privately, Mister. No. Go to your rooms. I’ll have Fred talk to you when he gets home. That new belt of his will talk to you!” 

When she had redone the laundry and stopped cursing under her breath, Donnie thought she had cooled down enough. His enemies were still confined to their rooms, Donny said, “You know what, Mommy. You’re right. I’m too young to have a real bull-dazzler. But maybe Santa will bring me a pretend one for Christmas?” 

“What? Oh, sure. Sure. Maybe.” Her mind was swirling. Should she tell her husband about the … well, she hadn’t actually seen it. But the laundry was for sure. Junior would get a beating for that. Would he really have shown … surely, he’s too young for that. Fred would go crazy though. Maybe best not to say anything. She’d just watch Junior a lot more carefully from now on, watching for signs. 

Donny stared out the window. He felt pretty proud of himself. Someday, he thought to himself, I will have a whole bunch of bull-dazzlers working for me. What fun! I like bull-dazzlers!

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———————————————

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

Keys that Open; Keys that Close

31 Tuesday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, politics

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

America, COVID19, crisis, Democracy, USA

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His whispers seemed so warm and seductive, breathing into her ear: “Come on, it will be nice.  I can protect you.  Give me the keys.”

Lady Liberty, scared, but determined, shook her mighty head, “No.”

The warm breath of the seducer blew on the ear of Lady Justice.  “I need more power.  Then we’ll all be safe.”

architecture art clouds landmark

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Lady Justice might be blind, but she knew this voice well.  She had heard similar voices in ancient Egypt, in Imperial Rome, in all ages and places.  The languages changed but the message was the same.  “Hand me your freedom.  Just a little.  And I can make you safe.”  Inevitably, of course, there were invasions, plagues, earthquakes and hurricanes and people were not safe.  The voice said, “Yes, that was too bad.  But, you see, you didn’t give me quite enough of your freedom.  Give me just a little more and I can keep you safe.” Lady Justice and Lady Liberty had learned to see these lies for what they were.

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Photo by JJ Jordan on Pexels.com

The Bill of Rights, the Separation of Powers — these are some of the master keys to America (though many citizens think the master keys are baseball and fireworks and grilled hamburgers so that giving up freedom wouldn’t mean all that much).  The Ladies though; they have been around the block a few times.  Thank God. 

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Listen to the Ladies. Listen to them well.


 

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

Sunless Sunday of Faith

15 Sunday Mar 2020

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

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

America, animism, faith, life, pandemic, poem, poetry, Sunday, USA

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Sunless, damp, and drizzly day —

Today;

Grimy slush pockets in a lifeless woods;

Yesterday’s clear path

Overgrown with treacherous bramble bushes.

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Where is my faith? Where is my faith?

A whistling wraith. Where can I find my faith,

Today, on this sunless Sunday?

 

The Supremes are singing novel tunes today;

A completely different style with a sanctimonious smile.

Today’s Chevy at the levy is a thousand pounds too heavy,

Dripping blood and oil from the bubbling boil of its cranky crankcase.

E056DBCD-67B8-415B-9ECF-A7DE15F7164F_1_105_c

A hole in the ground, today: A Holy hole;

And, all around I hear the desperate screams;

See the people scrambling; feel the flames;

Taste the broken dreams awash in a salty sea.

orange flame

Photo by Francesco Paggiaro on Pexels.com

And, so off we go again, half-cocked 

On yet another Crusade and once again

The children bear the brunt; 

The children feel the flame;

The leaders claim the fame.

IMG_3122

“The shot heard ‘round the world” has transmogrified:

“The shots heard all around the world.”

The New Centurions run roughshod

All around the world just because we can.

flight sky sunset men

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

All my eggs were not in one basket.

But, today, even the baskets are unravelled —

Shredded reeds scattered all about the floor

Eggs splattered against the open door. 

Where is my faith? Where is my faith?

A whistling wraith. Where can I find my faith

On a sunless Sunday, a damp, and drizzly winter day — 

Today?

86A389C7-4CD7-42E3-ABFA-A555A5BB24CB

Cardinals, singing, robins, crows;

Scampering squirrels. 

Onion grass, the red florets on maple twigs —

These are my counselors; these are my coaches –

Ministers to my soul, healers of my heart.

Not the famous, complicit in the illicit;

Distracting the base and baseless base

That has become our sad and hollow home.

1501AD95-B215-428B-B1A6-FE8D037FDB65

Life grows; life knows.

Summers always melt the snows.

And endless greed is yet a sterile seed

That sows its own demise,

While wisdom, ah, sweet wisdom

Will find and mind the wise.

I imagine, John. I imagine still.

I imagine, John. And I always will.

IMG_3071

———————————————-

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration 

Camelot is in your Heart

09 Monday Mar 2020

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

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

America, Camelot, Democracy, legends, myths, peace, poem, poetry, revolution, story, USA, war

 

70E5F8B3-018B-46C2-A765-B75FF60D41C5

The Knights are mostly scattered now;
And Arthur Pendragon long since dead;
A Kingdom ruled by shadows instead. 

The castle lies in broken rubble.
The fields, fallow, untended and bare.
Our Flag doesn’t ripple in cold blue air. 

The maimed, the stunned, stumble, grumble
Of what was once so full of grace,
And now is gone without a trace. 

A grain of wheat is blown by wind,
I seize and touch, and then I see,
Those fields and fields wave goldenly. 

Upon the ground, a hunk of brick —
Its one of hundreds, standing tall
And thickly building castle wall. 

Beside the fallen orchard trunks —
A rotten apple laced with bees;
Inside that core are apple trees! 

Not in warfare, not in plans,
Not in science, not in art,
Not in numbers, not in chart, 

Camelot, 

My friends, 

Is in your heart. 

IMG_9802
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Wonder, Wonder, Who Kept the Wonder?

08 Sunday Mar 2020

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

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

America, fiction, life, love, parable, romance, story, truth, USA

woman in black jumper riding on purple component

Photo by Danielly Palmeira on Pexels.com

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you a wonder from the farthest corner of the world: a being that is half frog, half man!” shouted Carnival Barker.

“Whoa! Now, that’s weird, isn’t it, Denise?” said Boy.
“Weird, all right. But, kinda … wonderful in way too,” said Girl.

B83B6DF8-B004-4F46-9DF1-A39968A923E2_1_105_c

“Thanks for a wonderful evening,” said Girl.
“So? Maybe we can go out again some time?” asked Boy, leaning in for a gentle kiss.

BD6C0EA7-7E33-4870-9F85-B7176AACC337_1_201_a

“You look just wonderful in that dress!” exclaimed Boy.
“Thanks!” blushed Girl, as they spun through other the dancers.”

people dancing on dance floor

Photo by Prime Cinematics on Pexels.com

“I wonder how I ever got lucky enough to meet you,” said Lover.
“Oh, that ring! Wonderful! Of course, I’ll marry you, silly,” said Beloved.

photo of engagement ring

Photo by TranStudios Photography & Video on Pexels.com

“Listen, darling, they’re playing our song!” laughed Woman.
“Wunderbar, Wunderbar, It’s a bright and shining star,
Like our love, it’s Wunderbar!” sang the record.

photo of mountain under starry night sky

Photo by Marco Milanesi on Pexels.com

“You’ll wonder where the yellow went…
When you brush your teeth with Pepsodent,” promised Announcer.
“Turn off the TV. I’m trying to sleep!” mumbled Wife.

woman wearing crop top standing near wire fence

Photo by Lê Minh on Pexels.com

“Sometimes, I wonder where you ever learned to drive,” muttered Wife.
“Just shut up and let me drive,” said Husband.
“You’re going too fast,” complained Wife.

action asphalt automobile automotive

Photo by Taras Makarenko on Pexels.com

“Hey, Charley! Ain’t these great burgers? Hmm. Wonder what that siren’s all about.
Comin’ right by the place. I just wonder,” said Steve, sipping his Bud.

Photo by Flickr on Pexels.com
Photo by Flickr on Pexels.com
Photo by Tembela Bohle on Pexels.com
Photo by Tembela Bohle on Pexels.com
Photo by Tembela Bohle on Pexels.com
Photo by Tembela Bohle on Pexels.com
Photo by Flickr on Pexels.com
Photo by Flickr on Pexels.com

“Jeez!” The sheriff shook his head. “They must’ve been doin’ eighty when they hit that guardrail. Wonder what the heck happened. There were plenty of signs posted about the danger ahead.”

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“Someone must have fallen asleep at the wheel, I guess,” offered Deputy,
“Happens all the time. Don’t it?”

“Indeed it does,” answered sheriff. “Indeed it does.”

Photo by Jose Lorenzo on Pexels.com
Photo by Jose Lorenzo on Pexels.com
IMG_9802

 

Author Page on Amazon

Index to Essays on America 

Trumpism is a New Religion

America

03 Tuesday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, politics, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

America, Constitution, Democracy, equality, life, poem, poetry, USA, Vote

flag of america

Photo by Sharefaith on Pexels.com

America —
The country I love.
The dream that was my dream.

My father wounded

(Shrapnel black gash, ankle to knee)

In the war against the
Tyranny of Hitler,
That Great Liar,
That Ultimate Cynic,
Playing on the Fears of the Masses.

IMG_8483

Who knew?
Who knew how easily a great Nation
Could be Lost?
We cannot see the forest.
We cannot see the trees.
We can only see the bushes
And the rushes, all around the slime.

Lost, as a leaf that waffles in the wind,
Lost, as a steep plunge into a swimming pool
Waterless, despite the golden promises.

IMG_1442

Plummeting from World Leader
To World Bleeder.
Leech and Destroyer of God’s Green Earth.

Or….

Maybe,
Just maybe,
All is not quite lost.
Maybe,
Just maybe,
We can rekindle the real dream.
Maybe,
We can live up to
Jefferson and Franklin
Maybe,
We can live up to
Abraham Lincoln
And the patriots who died
To set us free,
To build a nation:
Of the people
(Not the special interests)
By the people
(Not by the dollar-soaked lies)
For the people
(Not the oil barons).

IMG_9802

We might just make it,
You and I.
We might just make it
America
Once again.

Posterity,
Posterity will remember
Long after mere prosperity
Has faded into nothing.

It’s worth a try,
After a long cry,
To stitch together the broken pieces
Of the lost dream.

architecture art clouds landmark

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Oh, America, wake up!
Oh, Americans.
After all, it is ours.
It is our country.
Let’s reclaim it.
Let’s name it
Once again:
America.

daylight forest glossy lake

Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on Pexels.com


Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

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