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Tag Archives: coronavirus

Nasha Marionetka

10 Tuesday Nov 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

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coronavirus, COVID19, fiction, pandemic, story

{NOTE: This is chapter four of a longer work. Here’s a link to Chapter 1 if you want to start there instead.}

Plans for us; some GRUesome.

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com

“Ah, so you are the one they call “The Commissar,” said the one they call “Scarface.” 

“Indeed, I am. And you are?” 

“Oh, no need for formalities. You can just call me ‘Comrade.’ Because, that’s what we all are, right? Comrades. Comrades-in-arms who sometimes need to sacrifice for each other. But — there I am going on about ideals when I should be focusing on the matter at hand. We understand that one of your subordinates named Dmitry Mendeleev was responsible for initiating and perfecting the “Death Cult” initiative known as “Operation Super Spreader”?”

Photo by Luis Quintero on Pexels.com

The Commissar tilted his head and looked off to the side. Then he frowned and slowly began to nod his head. “Dmitry. Dmitry Mendeleev, you say? Yes, I do remember him. The name — you know. Memorable. He came in for an interview but didn’t cut the mustard.” 

“He didn’t work here? He never worked here? Are you sure?”

“Well, yes. I’m sure. I know the names of the janitors and the folks in the mail room. To make sure they are all trustworthy. I have personally looked at and studied the personnel file of everyone who works in this facility.” The Commissar hesitated only for the briefest and most insulting moment. “Comrade.” The Commissar shrugged; added, “Of course, we have records as well. We can’t count on everyone having the same type of memory as do I, can we, Comrade? Needless to say, you and your team are welcome to look through them. But if I may be so bold, can you explain why you needed him in particular? I’m sure we have experts relevant to your current needs. And, superior to Dmitry, I might add.” 

“No, no. Nothing like that. We only wanted to make sure he got the recognition he deserved.” 

Photo by Raquel Tinoco on Pexels.com

“Oh, well, there! You see? Now that I know why you need him, I can indeed help you. You see, it was a team effort, under my leadership of course. But a team effort.” The Commissar gave that short, snorty laugh he always gave. “It wasn’t much of a team, at the beginning. No. I had to drag them kicking and screaming into the room marked, “Subvert to a death cult.” It took some fancy footwork to get everyone on board. If you talk to my team, you’ll hear them all say it was me; that I deserve the credit. But the truth is…no. It was them. Us. All of us working together to make it happen. Imagine! A third of a country chanting for their own failure, their own downfall, their betrayal, their death. Something to see. Something to see. But I suppose — yes, I’m sure — it was exactly the team that ended up working on Super-Spreader that he was applying for. So. There you go.” 

“Yes. Yes. This may all tie up so much more neatly than I would have imagined possible. Indeed. You see, the problem is that we’ve been found out.”

“‘Found out’? What do you mean? Who found what out?” 

“Ah, Commissar, well, that’s the thing of it. Who found what out? What indeed? We need to change the narrative, I’m afraid. You see the Americans. Stupid, stupid, Americans. As you know, they didn’t re-elect Nasha Marionetka so … the Americans didn’t cover their trail at all. Now, the whole world knows. It only took two days! But — you understand — it’s one thing to convince Americans to kill themselves. That’s called ‘clever.’ But being found out to convince Americans to kill themselves. The world calls that ‘evil.” We can’t have that.”



“Of course, not even the Great Mother Russia can be expected not to have the occasional “Bad Apple”. We were going to pin the whole thing on a rogue kid. Someone who wanted to climb too far too fast. It’s disappointing that we have to rewrite all the copy. But, in many ways, your own sacrifice is even better for the Motherland. Spasibo.”

The Commissar frowned. “My sacrifice? What sacrifice?” He could feel sweat running down the front of his shirt. His eyes darted among the four men in his office. Three had not spoken a single word. But he could see, even beneath their suits, that any one of them could kill him with his bare hands. When he had first become an officer, he had stayed in shape. But those days were long past. He’d have to rely on his brains to get out of this one. He couldn’t fight his way out. But perhaps he could think his way out. Yet again.” 

Scarface smiled. Or, at least the half of his face that could smile, smiled. “I think you see how little we must change the narrative. Instead of the young overly ambitious boy who wanted to leap to the head of things, we have instead the disgruntled old man who has started to question whether his commitment to the Homeland has been rewarded commensurate with his sacrifice.” Now, Scarface smiled again. This time, seemingly in great pain, he forced the smile to crack his entire face. “You thought you could prove your worth to your superiors by killing innocents. Which, of course, we would never tolerate. Such a callous attitude toward precious human life must be excised from the body politic.” At this, one of Scarface’s ‘assistants’ broke out in a raucous laugh. This made The Commissar jerk his head to the left and blink repeatedly. His heart was thudding so hard, he couldn’t understand the nature of the joke. 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The Commissar felt his head jerk back to his right. His eyes had seen movement. Now he stared down the barrel of a .22 LR semi-automatic hand gun with a silencer. From somewhere far away, he heard a soft word.

“Spasibo.”

————————————-

Trumpism is a new religion

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

A Profound and Utter Failure

Donnie Boy Steers the Titanic

Stories of a Child Sociopath

The Ailing King of Agitate

Essays on America: The Game

Essays on America: The Update Problem

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

That Fatal Flaw

06 Friday Nov 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

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Tags

betrayal, coronavirus, COVID19, fiction, GRU, KGB, pandemic, Putin, treason

Photo by u041fu0430u0432u0435u043b u0421u043eu0440u043eu043au0438u043d on Pexels.com

Note to readers: Have you been wondering what happened to Dmitry? I have. You remember, Dmitry, don’t you? He was the Russian GRU officer who first came up with the idea of subverting large amounts of the the GOP into becoming a death cult. Needless to say, he initially met with a — what to call it? — a red wave of skepticism. But Dmitry had numbers and math models to back up his bold plan.

After the plan was approved by Vlad himself, the main implementation sticking point appeared to be finding anyone depraved enough to be traitor enough to kill a quarter million of their own people. It turned out, there were such people in America. Soon they began to focus the efforts on someone who was both a profound failure and who had an overblown opinion of themselves. And, when I say, “overblown”, I don’t just mean the garden variety of “overblown” wherein a dandelion insists he’s really a yellow rose. Oh, no. I mean the galactic variety of “overblown” wherein a small asteroid…a teeny asteroid imagines itself … really nothing more than a small stone floating around in space imagines itself to be of U Y Scuti size! That size of over-blown.

As we know, provided that at least occasionally we poke our heads outside the Fox News bubble, the pandemic is having its third wave in America — the biggest one yet. And, it is largely thanks to the efforts of #45 and his enablers. (For real!) And, that means, it is largely thanks to the efforts of Dmitri (fiction). 

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Of course, I’m not too happy about that. In truth, I also wouldn’t be happy if it were a million Russian citizens who needlessly died (or those from any other country on earth). Dmitry may or may not have had second thoughts about killing a million Americans. If he did, he didn’t share it with me. You and I would both understand that he would be greatly rewarded for his patriotic efforts on behalf of Putin’s ambitions to weaken or destroy the United States of America. So, let’s go check in on Dmitri and discover what his reward was for his innovative attack on America. 

—————————

Just as the Commissar arranged, Dmitry was the last one to enter the conference room. A broad grin broke out on Dmitry’s face as he realized what was happening. The Commissar had arranged a celebration, complete with flags and bunting. 

Photo by Artem Saranin on Pexels.com

“Why today?” Muttered Dmitry and immediately realized because America was drowning in new cases — breaking 100,000/day. 

The Commissar himself poured shots for everyone. Dmitry noted the brand and raised his eyebrows. This was the good stuff, he noted to himself. 

Dmitry greatly appreciated the gesture. Ilya, in particular, gave him a very inviting smile. Even Olga raised her glass and mouthed the words acknowledging that he had been right. 

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

After the toast, and the synchronous clapping, Dmitry walked up to the dais and took the mike. He beamed and bowed and gestured for silence.

“This was a team effort. And I say we toast the leader of our team, the man we affectionately call “The Commissar.” Dmitri held his glass aloft. A few other toasts were offered and the din in the room grew correspondingly. Dmitry glanced at the clock. Hours before quitting time, and most folks were already impaired. He enjoyed a shot, but he didn’t really relish being impaired. His current buzz was plenty. Too much in fact. He decided to sneak away and check to see what his web crawlers and sentiment analysis programs had turned up. 

He turned suddenly. The large beefy hand of The Commissar came down heavily on his shoulder. “Hey! Congratulations again, Dmitry. Now. I need to see you in my office.” 

The Commissar gestured to a chair for Dmitry and he himself walked around his desk and sat in his appropriately more comfortable version. He enjoyed the plushness. The Commissar chuckled as he recalled that line from Animal Farm, “all are equal but some are more equal than others.” He smiled at Dmitry and wordlessly arose and sauntered over to his private reserve where he kept the really good vodka. He swung around with two shot glasses and handed one to Dmitry.

“Dmitry. You should be proud. Here’s to you!” The Commissar tossed his glass back and Dmitry did the same. 

“Oh, my God! That’s good! Thank you, Commissar!” 

Photo by Engin Akyurt on Pexels.com

“Dmitry, It’s nothing. You have come to the attention of Putin himself! He has a special assignment for you — something he says will require a combination of discipline, mathematical brilliance, and out of the box thinking. Well, you’re it. I have no idea what the situation is, but you were asked for specifically and by name! Congratulations! Sorry, I don’t have more details, but I think you’ll like this part. It’s on the Caspian! You’re going to have your own damned dacha there! I’m more than a bit jealous, but you deserve it! Hey! Look at the time! You’ve got to get back to your apartment and pack. I’ll arrange to send on your stuff here. The way things usually work, your contact will come by and have tickets for you. I won’t even find out specifically who you’ll be working for! Your talent has been noticed. Go. And Congratulations!” 

Dmitry stuttered, “Are you… ? Really? This is so … sudden. I mean, I’m not going to say I’m not flattered or protest some false modesty, but … shouldn’t I stay and take Operation SuperSpreader to its logical conclusion.” 

The Commissar shrugged. “It’s not my decision. Sorry. I don’t think we have much choice here. Just go get yourself ready. And sober. Your contact will be there shortly. Sorry, I don’t have more info. It’s obviously top secret. Beyond my clearance level. We’ll be okay here. You’ve done an excellent job — a generous job of sharing your expertise. We’ll be fine. GO! I’ll let your co-workers know what’s happening.” 

Dmitry frowned. He looked at the blank poker face of his boss. He glanced at the party which had not diminished in intensity during his absence. If anything, they were becoming more boisterous. OK. The Caspian! That did sound nice. Moscow was already damned cold but he knew it would become much worse. He spent the Metro ride home trying to decide what to pack. Replaying the Commissar’s comments however, he realized he had no idea even what country he’d be in or whether he’d be on the relatively warm side.

He stumbled up the steps to his third story studio. “Crap,” he muttered and he threw himself on the couch. I just need a nap before that guy — what was his name? He shook his head, trying to sober himself up. Maybe cold water. Or coffee. But where am I going? His head still spinning, Dmitry conked out. 

Photo by Ming SUN on Pexels.com

Meanwhile, the boss they called The Commissar had gone back in to share the happy news with everyone in the section. He glanced around. People were wasted. Oh, well. He tapped the side of a glass with a caviar knife and asked for attention several times. It was times like this that having a mike was helpful. People quieted quickly.

“Hey, I just have a very short announcement to make. I received orders from high up — from very high up, that Dmitry has been transferred on an emergency basis to another location. Meanwhile, the division head says to scuttle all our records on Project SuperSpreader. If anyone asks, tell them it was my idea, and mine alone. None of you should admit to having anything to do with it. And, don’t mention Dmitry. He is such an important asset now that we want there to be no way for foreign agents to trace him or find him. The CIA may be onto us and they will think nothing of killing him or torturing him for information. So…as far as the outside world goes, he was never here.” 

The Commissar prided himself on being able to read faces, even those trained in deception. People with alcohol were happy people. They were used to hearing arbitrary decisions. They were used to obedience. 

“Oh, one more thing, before you get back to partying. Dmitry told me to give everyone his regards and his thanks — and his regret for not having time to say goodbye to everyone personally. I’m sorry I don’t know anything more about his promotion and assignment. Top Secret. Now, Party!” 

Back in his apartment, Dmitry heard a knock or a telephone or possibly a doorbell. What was it? He had had way, way too much to drink. But, he recalled, or thought he recalled, it was only three shots. I should have a buzz, but not — how can I be this drunk. He tried to swing his legs over the edge of the couch but they didn’t move. Suddenly, he jerked his head. There was a man here. $hit! He thought, It’s my contact. I’ve got to get it together.

The man smiled genially, yawned and glanced at his watch. “Ah, you’re still here. Well, not for long. Sorry. I got here a little early. If you’re embarrassed to die in front of me, I could leave and come back.” 

Dmitry just couldn’t think straight. “What? What? Caspian?” 

The man tilted his head with curiosity as though wondering precisely how this one would die. “There’s no Caspian, my friend.” He chuckled a bit. “Nice idea by the way — the whole death cult thing. I would have never thought of it. Well, maybe. But I never would have thought it could work. Brilliant really. Thing is, it’s so brilliant, people like your Commissar feel it might be more appropriate if someone with a longer career deserves to get the credit. Don’t worry. It won’t be long.” He paused and then added thoughtfully, “If you’re in pain or anything, just give me a sign. I can break your neck. SNAP! Real quick. Just give me a wink.” 

Dmitry cast his mind back. Who was this man? What was he saying the Commissar who gave me his special vodka wants to … an image flashed into Dmitry’s mind. The clear vodka had only been poured into one glass, not both. Only Dmitry had actually drunk the clear liquid. No wonder it tasted so good. Liquid death. 

The man chuckled the deep chuckle of someone who revels in evil. “I see the truth is dawning on you, Dmitry. You’re supposed to be a genius. You should understand — in a system that puts power over truth, the people at the top are not the most able or the smartest or the most educated or the most talented. They are the cruelest and most ruthless. I hope you find that useful info in the next world.” 

Dmitry realized he was going blind. He blinked several times and squinted to look into the face of this man who had come to … take the body, he supposed. The nameless man stared right back as though he were a stamp collector staring at a rare stamp for that flaw, that flaw, that fatal flaw. Dmitry realized that his had been trusting his boss. 


This is part of a longer story line in four chapters. Here are links to other chapters.

Chapter 1: Plans for us; some GRUesome

Chapter 2: Finding the Needleman in the American Haystack

Chapter 4: https://wordpress.com/post/petersironwood.com/5422

Trumpism is a New Religion

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

A Profound and Utter Failure

Index to a Pattern Language for Collaboration & Teamwork

https://www.amazon.com/author/truthtable

T-Rump Swan Song

30 Friday Oct 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

coronavirus, COVID19, Cult, pandemic, politics, treason, Trumpandemic

“Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes!

His floating hair!

Photo by Todd Trapani on Pexels.com

The Ridin’ Biden? 

He plays fair!

How dare he dare! 

So unwise!

He has a socialistic plan

To ban the planets who rotate right!

He’s mean and keen 

And he will break your overbite!

He’ll do whatever 

He damned well pleases! 

Oh, Base, oh Base 

Get down on your kneeses!

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

I despise you all 

And hope you fall 

And die of cold

Or die of heat; 

It never gets old 

To watch you fold.


I let you die of Trumpandemic 

But now I’m out to scare

You to death with the dire predictions

Of imaginary Biden

Whose leads widen 

My lies no longer can be sold!

Original drawing by Pierce Morgan


He’ll square the moon!

Outlaw balloon! 

Eat a loon!

Eliminate June!

He’ll replace the flag 

With an all-black rag!

He’ll make water run uphill! 

He’ll make the sun too chill!

Photo by BROTE studio on Pexels.com


So much solar power

Sucked from the sun each hour!

It will die! I wouldn’t lie! 

You know I never do! 

And I love everyone! 

(Who isn’t Muslim or Jew,

Or dark, or smart, or thinks, 

Or cares, or loves

Or anyone who cannot afford

A yacht and gloves). 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

But people like that? 

They hardly count at all. 

Long as you stick with me, 

You’ll have a ball. 

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com

But lest you forget

Let me now resume. 

I’ve no evidence but you can presume

Biden will cancel Christmas!

And even cancel sex!

Ivanka thinks he uses hypertext! 

He’ll turn off gravity! 

Outlaw depravity!

Make everyone marry a woman of color

Maybe your own daughter. Did I mention Ivanka?

She’s also a brilliant business tycoon billionaire like me.

Oh, but yeah, we were talking about Obama and how 

He tried to make America — you know he’s from Kenya? 

Did I mention that I am a mental giant?

Yep. Went to the Doctors and they were amazed!

They said my brain was hardly grazed! 

They told me: “man, woman, person, camera, TV” 

And I said:

Hey! that’s me! 

A story about me!

I am a man

(Or at least pretend to be one)

I grabbed at women by the score; 

Raped more than a few;

It didn’t count because a woman isn’t really a person.

Photo by Caleb Oquendo on Pexels.com


I confessed it all on camera; it all was taped. 

But then on TV, I simply japed.

All was forgiven by my faceless base.

They all need me, but I don’t need any one of them. 

Photo by Alin Luna on Pexels.com

They are what I call the “Minutes”. 

There are people you need for a few minutes — and when those minutes are over, 

The photo-op done? 

You’ve no more need of them. 

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com


But there are others I think of as the “Hours” —

These are people you need to be your tool

For an hour or two; long enough to win a suit.

Long enough to sell a lie. 

Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

And, a few are the “Days” —

They are not a momentary craze. 

I might wait a month or two 

Before I chop them up and throw them in the stew.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

And that rhymes with slew 

I guess you knew!

I’m over two hundred thousand and twenty-two!

Way ahead of Putin who

Has not passed thirty two! 

But Oh, yes, I was talking about how terrible Obama was!

Photo by Life Matters on Pexels.com

Or, wait, I seem to be in a bit of a fuzz.

Clinton, Hilary that’s the one we’ll lock her up!

Because why should a black or a woman be POTUS 

And not me?! ME!?! Born rich and lost it all.

Pity me, pity me, oh, poor me! 

Let me dis you and kiss you

And spread my sick death

I’ll unmask you 

And you and task

You to suck in my breath. 

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

Kim Jung Un really opened my eyes!

To be a leader, you needn’t be wise!

Just grab for the cruel-stick don’t ever let go!

Demand to be king in the absolute know!

Photo by Jose Lorenzo on Pexels.com



Watch me steer America

Down into flame. 

With all of my fingers

I’ll spread out the blame.”

Photo by Ming SUN on Pexels.com

America wake.

And give a good shake. 

Another Trump term 

Would be a mistake.

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

One day soon, we’ll all recall 

We work best when we work as one. 

Working together will add to the fun.

Work together for the good of all.

Photo by Dana Tentis on Pexels.com

—————————————————

Trumpism is a new religion

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

The Ailing King of Agitate

Life is a Dance

Author Page on Amazon

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

01 Saturday Aug 2020

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

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

authoritarians, autocracy, coronavirus, COVID19, Democracy, pandemic, politics, Putin, treason, Trumpandemic, truth

Everyone I met as a child had a vivid, or at least a willing, imagination. 

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Let’s see how yours is doing. Imagine that you are in a role-playing game. The goal of the game is to acquire as much money as possible. You are cast into two very unusual roles. On the one hand, you are a player competing against a large number of other players.

On the other hand, you are also the banker/moderator of the game. You handle all the money and no-one else can see or double check on the amounts. If any disputes arise among the players (including you) you and you alone are in charge of deciding the outcome.

woman with face paint with pumpkin

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Now, let’s say the game begins. 

Do you see how you are guaranteed a win unless you restrain your power with ethical principles such as a sense of fair play?

Exactly. 

IMG_1442

Remember that the goal of the game is to acquire as much money as possible. Given that, when will enough be enough? At what level will you stop? When you have 50% of the wealth? 75%? 90%? 95%? Read the goal again.

The only thing that would prevent you would be your ethical principles.

If you have any.

Exactly. 

usa flag waving on white metal pole

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

 


 

Trumpism is a New Religion

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Unmasked

You Bet Your Life

Plans for us — some GRUesome

What about the Butter Dish?

Essays on America: Wednesday

The Update Problem

Trump Truth Treason

27 Monday Jul 2020

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

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

coronavirus, COVID19, lies, pandemic, poem, poetry, Putin, treason, truth, verse

E808CBB1-00E5-4E7A-B871-4DD07E410F51“Try the truth! Try the truth!
Forsooth, forsooth
I clearly say and loudly state:
All those lies — just let them abate.
Try the truth and you might find,
The truth is good for heart and mind!”

DCA8FC9A-F229-4538-9EA2-D9E13D4796EB_1_105_c

“Go away you pesky fools,
Your real news hurts my orange head!
You count each death as really dead!
I like to fudge a bit instead!
Lies and cruelty are my tools!
I mix them up with bogus rules.” 

0542E9DA-3F34-462E-BA0D-5EA4FAD2AEF0

“Would you try the truth today?
Would you taste the truth this day?
Tell the truth — just this once.
Try it Trump and you may see
Lies are for the cowardly.
Lies are for the little runts.
Heroes take the truthful way.”

male bugs illness disease

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“I do not like the truth at all!
I would not tell it at a ball!
I would not tell it on a call!
I would not tell it to a doll!
I do not like the truth at all!
It makes my teeny hands go itchy.
It makes my suck-lips go all twitchy.
I do not like the truth at all!”

4770779D-0898-482C-B861-83F8498070A4_1_105_c

“But try it once and you’ll discover
The truth means there’s no Cover-
Up and Down and Left and Right,
Let it all come out in shining Light!
You’ll be part of something great!
No need more to exaggerate.”

680174EA-5910-4F9B-8C75-C15B3136FB06_1_105_c

“I do so hate the truth at dawn.
I do so hate the truth at dusk.
I hoard the corn and tout the husk.
I flash my flab as though it’s brawn.
I tell them all I’m as smart as a whip.
And fly on a magic crystal sailing ship.”

snow capped mountain

Photo by Life of Wu on Pexels.com



“Yet, if you’d try the truth you might well see
That truth, my friend, would set you free!
Sharing truth allows humanity
To cure disease and mount the moon!
Without the truth, no-one learns.
Without the truth, everything burns.”

toddler with red adidas sweat shirt

Photo by mohamed Abdelgaffar on Pexels.com



“I hate the truth since I was born!
Give others husk; I’ll gorge on corn!
Give others poo while I watch porn!
Steal their wealth and kids with lies!
Rape the kids! A sweet surprise!
I believe Putin; not our own spies.”

6ED86DEA-F6EC-4482-827F-8275A931F7F0

“Try the truth! For just for one hour.
You’ll find it’ll cure your cowardly cower.
You’ll find that you can learn from errors;
Improve; get better; leave more for your heirs.”

462C8C26-5000-4E05-8687-CF39C8A0D3CA_1_201_a

“More? You’re nuts! That wouldn’t be wise!
My wealth is based entirely on lies!
I’ve never worked! No a day in my life.
Just ask my wife or my wife or my wife.”

IMG_3071

“Well Mr. Trump, if you won’t try the true,
You’ll be out of a job; even Pu-
Tin can’t rig the entire election.
Lies will spoil your climb to power!
Lies will ruin not only the garish Trump Tower,
But even the teeniest shroom of erection.”

2E9EBFDF-8366-41E3-B9D1-47136A7D029B

 ———————————

The Truth Train

Trumpism is a New Religion

The Pandemic Anti-Academic 

Happy Talk Lies

A Lot is Not a Little

It’s Just Tommy Being Tommy

Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

A Profound and Utter Failure

Essays on America: The Game

How did I get Here? 


 

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

25 Saturday Jul 2020

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

≈ 19 Comments

Tags

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

usa flag waving on white metal pole

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Read history, folks.

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

grayscale photography of woman

Photo by Lucxama Sylvain on Pexels.com

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

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

two girls doing school works

Photo by Pragyan Bezbaruah on Pexels.com

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

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

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

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

flight sky sunset men

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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

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

Wake up, America!

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

air air pollution climate change dawn

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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

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

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

Is it?

2E9EBFDF-8366-41E3-B9D1-47136A7D029B

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

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

Wake up.

Wake up.

Before it’s too late.

actor adult business cards

Photo by Nikolay Ivanov on Pexels.com

—————————–
The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Absolute is not Just a Vodka

Where does your loyalty lie?

Trumpism is a New Religion

A Profound and Utter Failure

You Bet Your Life

What about the Butter Dish?

The Declaration of Interdependence

Author Page on Amazon

 

 

Who are the Speakers for the Dead?

13 Monday Jul 2020

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

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

communication, coronavirus, COVID19, death, Impeachment, pandemic, plauge, Putin, Trumpandemic, truth, wisdom

adult affection baby child

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

With space-Alien violence, people all across the world are ri

pped from their worlds and taken to those special beds.

The COVID beds. 

And just as in the movie an alien presence is 

forced down their throat and in their 

head

Perhaps they wonder whether they

Will get a final say 

Departing to those left behind 

The wisdom of an old, yet un-befuddled mind.

4F969AEC-A579-4A8B-9B35-F773A44B3E8B 

Of, if befuddled, who’s to say

Whether older wisdom may filter through 

To light a little (just a little), our path to a brighter day.

3FC757BE-A645-4C45-B75F-BD101D6225AC_1_105_c

Who are the Speakers for the Dead? 

What do they say? 

 

Perhaps they whisper one and all with the self-same silence of the lambs

The lambs led to slaughter from the King-Con Man of the Cowards. 

Supported by the most menial of the Blowhards. 

If they have no breath, 

If no-one speaks before their death, 

Then,

 

Who are the Speakers for the Dead? 

What do they say? 

 

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No-one can say. 

That’s kind of the whole point, don’t you see? 

Everyone is different. 

Everyone learns something different. 

Everyone has a piece of the puzzle laid before us growing ever larger till it will overwhelm

And when no-one will dare to grab the helm. 

And so these lives go silently 

Out of this life and into something else entirely.

 

Are we learning 

Through the burning 

And the yearning unfulfilled 

All the turning unwilled

That we are all:

photography of maple trees

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

Leaves upon the Tree of Life. 

The Life of the Tree

Depends upon the health of every Leaf

And every Leaf 

Depends upon the Health of the entire Tree. 

Is that so hard to see? 

That’s it — in its entirety. 

Like most trees, humanity 

Must be its own gardener, 

Tender, 

Lover.

A6253369-6ABE-4B57-884E-BEFF53F7F505

How can we grow and glow 

Without the unspoken words of the many 

Dispersed instead of our waiting ears,

The unspoken syllables slide into the bowels of a machine?

 

And some few recover.

We should be listening carefully to each one. 

They are bringing tales from distant lands 

Which we hope never to visit ourselves. 

 

Are they, then, the Speakers for the Dead? 

And what, prey, do they tell? 

 

Or, shall we let the politicians far and wide 

Whose ear-to-ear grins have never faded.
Regardless of thousands of corpses laded.
(They’re playing for the other side) 

Shall we let them be 

Speakers for the Dead? 

No, they will not be Speakers for the Dead.

Because they cannot hear.
Because they cannot see.

Because they cannot feel. 

Because they have forgotten that Truth is not “ours” or “theirs.”

4770779D-0898-482C-B861-83F8498070A4_1_105_c
Truth belongs to the Tree of Life 

Not to one Leaf or Another.

Every single Leaf’s your sis or brother!

Let us sing then; sing together.
Heal the Tree wherever it’s needed. 
That’s how forests are reseeded. 

worms eyeview of green trees

Photo by Felix Mittermeier on Pexels.com

 

Other Poems on the Web

The Impossible

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Isa Dream?

Ah Wilderness!

 

Unmasked

30 Tuesday Jun 2020

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

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

America, coronavirus, COVID19, freedom, masks, pandemic, responsibility, Trumpism, USA

Unmasked

A mask.

father putting on face mask on son

Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on Pexels.com

It’s uncomfortable.

It’s sweaty.

It makes you realize how bad your own breath smells.

Not wearing a mask may set you apart from your master, Vladimir Putin and his puppy, Donald J. Trump. After all, they don’t wear masks.

DCA8FC9A-F229-4538-9EA2-D9E13D4796EB_1_105_c

A mask reminds you of the outlaws in the Old West. A mask marks you as someone who reads. A mask marks you as someone who listens to science.

And science is hard. You maybe didn’t do too well in science. Or, maybe you’re just fed up with science because it tells you that Cheetos and beer is not a well-balanced and healthy diet. Or, maybe you’re fed up with science because it tells you that if we keep paying no attention to our carbon footprint, we will end up destroying a lot of the ecosystem we rely on to survive. We are melting the polar ice caps. We are killing the forests. We are killing the bees. We are killing all the fish. We are destroying the Coral Reefs. We will have more and more pandemics in the future. People living on seacoasts will be under water. Salt water. Meanwhile, potable drinking water supplies are shrinking.

air air pollution climate change dawn

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Why? It’s the fault of science, damn it! If we didn’t have science, we wouldn’t know those things! If we didn’t test people for COVID19, we wouldn’t have any cases! If we didn’t do X-rays, we wouldn’t have any broken bones! If it weren’t for science, you couldn’t be electrocuted! If it weren’t for science, which says we need to breathe air, people wouldn’t drown! If it weren’t for science, people could jump off cliffs and fall 500 feet onto hard rocks and they wouldn’t even get scratched!

Bullshit. 

And you know it’s bullshit.

If Trump tells you that “his gut tells him” it’s okay for you to jump off a cliff because gravity is a liberal hoax, are you going to jump?

faceless barefoot man sitting on high cliff

Photo by ArtHouse Studio on Pexels.com

Science doesn’t cause gravity. Science doesn’t cause human ills like Global Climate Change. It allows us to understand things at a deeper level so that we can take appropriate action. Science isn’t the reason you need to wear a mask to help prevent the spread of the deadly pandemic. The reason has to do with the nature of the novel coronavirus and the nature of human life. We breathe. We must breathe to live. We breathe air in — and as we do so, germs come in with the air. We breathe out. As we do so, germs come out. 

That has been true since life forms climbed out of the ocean onto the land 500 million years ago. It didn’t start being true once we developed science. 

But there’s some good news! Properly wearing a mask will work to protect you — even if you don’t like science. A mask will work to protect your family, even if you don’t like science. Properly wearing a mask will work to protect your friends — even if you don’t like science. Wearing a mask will help prevent the spread of the virus and allow us to minimize the economic impact — even if you don’t believe in science. Conversely, not wearing a mask will help the pandemic spread costing more American lives and losing more American jobs even if you believe the pandemic is a liberal hoax. The virus doesn’t give a damn about your politics.

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Are you the sort of person who yells and screams and insists that you have a right to defecate in public? To walk naked? To have intercourse in public? To throw rocks at people who walk by you, provided you’re throwing the rocks from your own property or on public property? How about a flame thrower? That might be fun! Stand in your front yard and toast people who walk by. You should be allowed to do that! Right? So long as you and the flame thrower are on your own property. Do you have the right to try to build a nuclear reactor so long as it’s on your own property? Do you have the right to burn poison ivy vines in your own back yard and let the toxic smoke drift into your neighbor’s yard?

If you’re wearing a mask when you’re close to others, you are sending a message.

The message is not: “I hate Trump.”

The message is not: “I am a democrat.”

The message is simply this: “I care about my health and the health of my family, friends, and fellow Americans.” That’s it. That’s the message.

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Of course, you can add more messages if you like. You can wear a mask that says something additional. You can put hearts on it or pictures of cute kittens or put photos of the coronavirus on it. But the main message is the same: “I care about human life.”

And, if you don’t wear a mask in situations where it’s appropriate, it also sends a message.

The message says, “I care more about my momentary comfort than I care about your life.” Just remember, if you want to walk around in public wearing that message, you can expect people to respond accordingly.

person s hands covered with blood

Photo by NEOSiAM 2020 on Pexels.com

Let’s suppose someone has been very careful for months. They rarely go out. They go to the grocery store once every two weeks, wear a mask, wash their hands frequently. So far as they know, they have come in contact with no-one who’s sick. One day they go the grocery store and meet YOU. And YOU decide that YOUR comfort is more important than anyone else’s life so you don’t wear a mask. The shopper goes home and two weeks later, his parents both get COVID19. Two weeks after that, they both die. One of the shopper’s kids had just finished chemotherapy for leukemia. That child got sick with COVID19 and died as well. The shopper could not be with any of his or her loved ones in their last moments.

How do you think they will react when they go back to the store and see you again — and once again, you’re without a mask?

How would you react if your loved ones were killed by COVID19 and you could trace it back to someone not wearing a mask in a place where it was required?

Would you say, “Oh, well. Everyone should be free to do what they want. After all, everyone dies eventually anyway. At least, people can go to the beauty parlor and go bar-hopping. Who cares if kids fighting cancer or grandparents die?”

Character is revealed by choices under pressure.

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What choices are you making? What messages are you sending to your fellow Americans? You can choose to do whatever “Der Fooler” tells you to do. You can choose to believe whatever “Der Fooler” tells you to believe. If you do, then, you may as well buy a Trumputin mask and wear it 24×7. Because your face, your individuality, your identify no longer means anything. To you, your life means nothing, because it means nothing to Trump and Putin. To you, the lives of your loved ones mean nothing, because you are going along with actions dictated by Putin and Trump — and those actions are predicated on the lives of Americans meaning nothing.

Trump is unmasked as a puppy of Putin.

You are unmasked as a puppy of Trump. 

You are not a “freedom fighter” because you refuse to wear a mask any more than a tramp who defecates in the path on a public park is a “freedom fighter.”

You will have zero freedom under a Trumputin dictatorship. 

You will have zero freedom when you’re lying face down in a semi-coma with a ventilator stuck down your throat.  

woman s head on plate

Photo by Designecologist on Pexels.com

—————————-

Trumpism is a New Religion

You bet your life!

It’s just Tommy being Tommy

Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

The Truth Train

The Anti-Academic Pandemic

The Watershed Virus

The Happy Talk Lies
                            

Screaming out a Warning

30 Saturday May 2020

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

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

America, coronavirus, COVID19, Democracy, Dictatorship, fascism, life, pandemic, truth, tyranny, USA

selective photography of flying black falcon

Photo by Nigam Machchhar on Pexels.com

I have been screaming all my life
For you to wake up.
I see the train coming
And you lie there on the tracks
Arguing in your drunken stupor
Over this and that
Tit and Tat
While the mammoth Midnight Express
Barrels toward you full tilt
A million pounds of steel
Headed toward your soft
Mammalian bodies
And your huge but fragile egos.

group of people walking beside train rail

Photo by Guduru Ajay bhargav on Pexels.com

Do you think that if you win the argument
Somehow your flesh
Will withstand the razor wheels?
Somehow, the sheer logic of your position
Will harden you to titanium?
Or that the diamond sparkling clarity
Of your almighty rightness
Will armor that sweet soft skin?

medieval armor

Photo by Ott Maidre on Pexels.com

What kind of drug are you on?
That you don’t hear the roar
That you don’t see the lights
That you don’t feel the track vibrate?

2E9EBFDF-8366-41E3-B9D1-47136A7D029B

And I always marvelled at the squirrels
Darting into the road, zigzag,
Throwing themselves stupidly under squealing tires
When peace and safety were so close
And so, so straight ahead.
Congratulations!
We make them look like mammalian geniuses.

brown squirrel on ground

Photo by Irina Wildlife Photographer on Pexels.com

Clickity-clack down the track
We’ll all be sliced in two
And never even have eyes to look back
Never even

DCA8FC9A-F229-4538-9EA2-D9E13D4796EB_1_105_c

 

 

Where does your Loyalty Lie? 

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Truth Train

A Profound and Utter Failure

Rejecting Adulthood

You Bet Your Life

Essays on America: Wednesday

Trumpism is a New Religion

Creativity in Issue Resolution

Build from Common Ground

Myths of the Veritas: The Forgotten Field

 

What about the Butter Dish?

08 Friday May 2020

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

≈ 18 Comments

Tags

cognitive dissonance, coronavirus, COVID19, epidemic, pandemic, politics, psychology, Putin, science, treason, USA

What about the Butter Dish?

cooked pie

Photo by kelvin carris on Pexels.com

So, here we are, staying relatively safe by staying home. One of the impacts of never eating out is doing more dishes. We end up washing dishes nearly every day now rather than a couple times a week. 

Today, it’s my wife washing the dishes while I gather dishes and dry them. She likes to wash the dishes for the cats nearly every day while I generally wait till they obtain the proper patina of dried food. I think about how tigers drag their dead prey around for a week or more in the hot tropical sun. I think about how the cats eat bugs, plastic, lizards, and each other’s puke so — I’m thinking they’re likely not into the same exact aesthetic as I am. But — hey — if she wants to do cat dishes, fine with me. I go around the house and collect cat dishes. 

You may think that I would “know” where the cat dishes are because we only have six white cat dishes for wet food and six aluminum ones for dry food “snacks.” And mainly I do know because the cats generally eat in the same places every day. Tally however, likes to lead me on a bit of a game before she decides exactly where she wants to eat on any give day. 

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Luna also likes to switch it up. On the one hand, she likes to socialize with her best (and only) feline friend, Charles Wallace. So, often times, she wants her food put down right beside him. But Charles Wallace, being younger, male, and more aggressive, sometimes steals Luna’s food — sometimes, even before he’s done with his own. Sometimes, Luna therefore prefers me to place the food farther away so she can have more of her meal in peace before Charles Wallace swoops in and starts chomping on it. 

I explain to you these details to illustrate that even though gathering the cat dishes is easy, it does require some attentional resources. 

What about the butter dish? What does that have to do with anything? 

abstract blue clean container

Photo by jamie he on Pexels.com

Patience. 

We keep a small human dish with butter in the cupboard so that it’s soft enough to spread on bread, waffles, potatoes, pancakes, or vegetables. When the butter gets used up, I put the butter dish down by some of the cat dishes and let them lick the plate clean. Yes. I do. Once the cats have licked it clean, one of us still washes it by hand and then puts it into a dishwasher whereupon the scalding water will kill any cat germs that might be on the plate. 

I leave the butter dish out for two reasons: first, the cats like the butter. 

Their tongues are able to lick it very much cleaner than I can manage with, say, a butter knife. So, the second reason is that putting it out for the cats is that it also works for my benefit. It makes the dishes significantly easier to clean. Not just the butter dishes, but all the dishes.

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When I do the dishes, olive oil on a plate easily washes off with soap and water. Butter? No. — It’s like glue, not oil. If a plate has butter on it, it will “contaminate” every other dish that such a plate comes in contact with. It’s amazing how persistent butter is. Even honey and maple syrup come off a plate fairly easily with warm water and soap. But not butter. So, partly I put out the  “empty” butter dish for the cats because they will manage to lick nearly every butter molecule — less contamination for the other dishes. And, by the way, it isn’t only the other dishes which are subject to butter contamination. The same goes for my hands. Olive oil washes off easily and if a little stays on my hands, it seems to be absorbed into my skin and help make up for the endless hand washing. Butter, on the other hand, does not feel good on my hands. Your mileage may differ. I don’t like it. It does not feel “clean.” 

Anyway, here I am thinking of various things, listening to the news, and gathering up cat dishes. I am mentally counting them as I do so. I don’t want to miss one. Who knows what psychological harm could come to a cat who might be “singled out” by having their dinner presented on a dirty plate when the other five are clean. I come to the last three dishes where Shadow, Molly, and Blaze typically eat and I hand these and the other three to my wife. She takes the six dishes and says, “What about the Butter Dish?” 

A seemingly innocent question. 

I look down, and I see that indeed, there is a butter dish and that it’s within inches of the spot from whence — just two seconds ago — I had picked up three “cat dishes.” 

wildlife photography of tiger

Photo by Sayantan Kundu on Pexels.com

I am certainly aware that our collective goal is to wash all the dishes. Indeed, most have already been done or loaded into the dishwasher. I well recall that I put the butter dish down there to be licked just a few short hours ago. 

I did not, so far as I can recall, look down at the four dishes and think, “Well, let’s see — one butter dish and three cat dishes. But she only asked for cat dishes so I’ll just leave the butter dish alone. No. I did not even see the Butter Dish! It entered no more into my consciousness than the tile floor, the Christmas-themed place matts, or the faux panel behind them. I was looking for — and counting cat dishes. That was how I thought of my tasks. 

I recalled a video which was popular for awhile. Perhaps you’ve seen it? It asks you to count the number of basketball passes made by the people in white shirts. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vJG698U2Mvo

How did you do? 

In a previous essay, I talked about how our habits can virtually blind us to what is right in front of us. 

https://petersironwood.wordpress.com/2017/02/25/the-invisibility-cloak-of-habit/

In the case of the cat dishes, it wasn’t habit so much as task focus that made me blind to seeing the butter dish. I was busy gathering the cat dishes, listening to the newscast, and — importantly, I think — counting the cat dishes. The butter dish was irrelevant to the task as I had defined it.

Since I was also listening to the newscast, I began to think that this is related to why 40% of Americans don’t seem to care that the mishandling of the pandemic is resulting in tens of thousands of Americans needlessly dying from COVID19. It isn’t that they are doing a bad job of evaluating the behavior of #45. Evaluating his behavior and its effect on America is not viewed as a task. 

woman in black dress holding balance scale

Photo by JJ Jordan on Pexels.com

Their task as they see it, is to defend the President and his actions against his “enemies.” He declares people who disagree with him “enemies of the people.” The task of the base, as they see it, is not to question whether the other 60% are “really” enemies. He says they are and so their job is to defend POUTUS against those enemies. 

For that task, it doesn’t matter whether he said this would all go away. It doesn’t matter that he said there was plenty of equipment, testing, masks, etc. when it was a lie. Whether it’s 1 American dead or 75,000 dead is irrelevant to defending him. You might see it as quite relevant to whether or not you should be defending him. I think it is. But they don’t. Their task is to defend him no matter what happens.

He says that it will be over soon — and 10,000 people die — the question for them is:
“How can I defend the President?” 

He says that we will open back up soon — but there are 25,000 dead — the question for them is: “How can I defend the President?” 

If a million Americans die, the question for them will still be: “How can I defend the President?” 

The number of dead Americans just keeps going up so thinking about how many dead isn’t only irrelevant to defending #45; it’s counter-productive.

They (the people who still defend him) don’t scan the news or his tweets to evaluate whether they should be defending #45. They listen to the news or his tweets to look for things to say or retweet that will defend #45. Thinking about how many dead Americans there are is completely beside the point! 

If it’s early March and there are only a few cases and he says it will go away, they hear that it will go away. Good sound bite! I can use that to defend, they think to themselves. 

If it’s mid-March and he says everything will be back to normal by Easter, they hear that and use it to defend #45. 

If it’s May and 75,000 Americans are dead, they don’t pay any attention. But if he claims that he’s done a great job, they do pay attention because that is something that they can repeat as a defense. 

If he claims that China misled us, they do pay attention because that is something that they can repeat as a defense. If he says we’ll have a vaccine in a few months, they do pay attention because that is something that they can repeat as a defense. It is not their task to decide whether what #45 says is true before they repeat it. They repeat it because it’s pro-45. 

If they end up repeating defenses that are inconsistent with each other, what difference does it make? Who cares? They aren’t trying to be consistent or coherent. That’s not their task. 

abstract barbed wire black white black and white

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Their task is to defend. 

Unfortunately, lies and corruption are a bit like butter. Put butter it in the sink with all the dishes that you wanted to clean and instead, everything gets coated with corruption butter. It is so heavy with corruption that it’s easy to drop plates onto the floor where they smash to bits. 

But who cares? 

They defenders judge their performance and each other on how well they are repeating the messages of Fox News — not on how many Americans are needlessly dying. 

And once you evaluate yourself in terms of how vigorously you defend #45 for a few years, the worse he actually does as POUTUS and the more Americans he kills, it does not become less important for you to defend #45. It becomes even more important. 

Now, having killed tens of thousands of Americans needlessly, he has even more enemies and the press is going after him even harder, and liberals think he’s even worse than he was when he was simply stealing taxpayer dollars to funnel them illegally toward the Trump Crime Family or ripping babies away from their mothers.

The rest of America keeps showing them the butter dish. “See? It’s right here. How can you miss it?” 

And the base answers: “So? I don’t care. Why are you showing me the stupid butter dish? My job is to gather up and count the cat dishes.” 

woman with face paint with pumpkin

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com

——————————————

The Truth Train

At Least he’s our Monster

Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

You Bet Your Life

Trumpism is a New Religion

Rejecting Adulthood

Essays on America: Wednesday

A Profound and Utter Failure 

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