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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Tag Archives: Democracy

The URGENT E-mail

31 Sunday May 2020

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

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Democracy, Dictatorship, ecology, fiction, greed, pandemic, Sci-Fi, Science fiction, story, USA

man in black holding phone

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“You ready to head home, Barry?” 

“Yeah, just let me read this URGENT e-mail. Hold on.” 

DO NOT REPLY TO THIS USERID. THIS WAS SENT FROM A DISCONNECTED SERVICE MACHINE. IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS, PLEASE DIAL THE TOLL FREE NUMBER AT THE BOTTOM OF THIS MESSAGE. 

“What the heck? I’d better read the rest.” 

WARNING: You have an incompatibility possibility between your X-CalDYS system CWP and your YODEL system HGH. If this continues, you will either cease to exist or your SNABLE account will be cancelled or both or neither. In any case, please fix this immediately by following the proper procedures. Dial 1-800-555-9876 for help. 

“What procedures? What are they talking about? I didn’t even know I had these systems.” 

“Sorry, Barry, I can’t help you on this one. Hey, it’s 8 PM. I’ve been going since six this morning. I’m gone.” 

“See you tomorrow. I’d better call.” 

Barry’s fingers beeped out the tones and then heard the cheery voice of concatenated speech: 

“You have reached the help center. Your call is important to us. Please stay on the line and you’ll be helped by the first available agent. Meanwhile, please listen to these important and informative messages from our CEO!

man wearing blue suit

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“Hello fellow employees. Our results for the second quarter of last year are not so far behind the analysts’ expectations for our results for the third quarter of next year as they had been thought to be by the fifth quarter of this year. What does this mean for you? Work harder! Work smarter!! And, whatever you do, help make us the most efficient company in the world so my bonus will be bigger. Next quarter, we….” 

The pre-recorded and completely irrelevant message of the CEO was replaced by the concatenated speech synthesis.

“Thank you for holding. Press 1 for help on Windows, Doors, and Sewer Pipes. Press 2 for help on recipes for Chicken Tetrazzini. Press 3 for general counseling. Press 4 for other help.” 

Barry jabbed the 4 key. 

“Thank you. You have reached general help. Please enter your employee number followed by the Hunkdab.” 

Barry keyed in his employee number. “The what? Hunkdab? This must have been mistranslated from Serbo-Croatian. Probably the pound sign.” 

“That is not a valid employee number. There is no corresponding record in the SNABLE system. Please enter a valid employee number.” 

“What? Maybe the asterisk key?” 

He rekeyed his employee number followed by the asterisk. 

“That is not a valid employee number. There is no corresponding record in the SNABLE system. Please enter a valid employee number.” 

“Oh, crap. What is this all about? Geez. It’s 8:30. I’m outta here.” 

Barry moved the cursor to the entry line and typed “LOGOFF.” 

The computer beeped. “ERROR 95433-J: Machine cannot be logged off by a non-existent user.” 

“What the–? What is this? Some kind of virus?” He hit the power switch. “What a day.” Barry packed up his laptop and opened his office door. 

Beyond the door, the dim hallways and locked doors that typified the drab and depressing departmental decor had disappeared. Instead, Barry looked out on pure whiteness, infinite and featureless in every direction. He blinked. Tentatively, he began to stick the tip of his finger into the white goo, thought better of it, and used his pen instead. The pen felt as though it was going into hot tar. It disappeared beyond the plane of his doorframe. He pulled the pen back. The half that had been enveloped in the whiteness was gone. 

He went back to his desk, grabbed some loose change and tossed a few pennies into the white space. He waited for the coins to hit something far below. Barry cocked his head. A long time went by. There was no sound. He shouted into the whiteness, waiting to hear a tiny echo. 

Nothing. 

“Okay. Okay. Possibility one. I’m crazy. Possibility two. I’m in some really new weird part of the universe. Possibility three. I’m the victim of an elaborate practical joke.” 

close up photography of a snow

Photo by Constantin Dorin Adrian on Pexels.com

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J slid to S’s work bubble and peered at S’s progressively overheated dance. S blinked at J’s presence and joined her hands. The bubble popped. 

woman with face paint with pumpkin

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“Problems with your A-life studies, S?” 

“Yes, Master. Just like all my previous experiments, the organization reaches a certain level of complexity and it self-destructs. Each of the autonomous agents still seems rational but the whole doesn’t work. What am I doing wrong here, Master?” 

J laughed his mighty laugh. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, S. Even I haven’t totally mastered the emergence.” 

“I guess you did have a problem…there were some creations you had to scratch. Just recently, the Sol Project, I believe?” 

“Rumor races faster than fact. I call it the Earth Project after the planet with the intelligent life forms, but you are right, I might well have to scrap it. Same problems you’re having but at a larger scale. The so-called intelligent agents are destroying their own ecosystem.” 

air air pollution climate change dawn

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“Smart!” said S sarcastically. He pondered for a few moments. “Are they too smart? Is that it?” 

J considered. “I don’t think they are too intelligent. Cetaceans are more intelligent and they are doing just fine except for being killed off by the two-legged apes and having their oceans befouled. No, these particular forms grew into this weird combination of being intelligent problem solvers and inventors yet nearly blind to Ka and Karma.” 

“How can they survive at all?” 

“Not completely blind. I said ‘nearly’ blind. They are aware of the fact that they are destroying the ecosystem in a kind of frenzied self-centered greed. They have actually made a scientific study of their own behavior; written books about what they call ‘The Tragedy of the Commons’.” 

“Well, then, with all those insights, what’s the problem?” 

“They aren’t doing anything about it, or at least not enough to survive. Instead of baking more pies, they squabble about the pie they have.”  

“It’s the same thing really in my little experiment. Everybody knows the company has too much bureaucracy and greed and some people do try to fix it but as often as not, the fixes make things worse. But, you obviously already solved it for the company case, right?” 

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Barry found the number for the crisis line, picked up the phone to dial. Then, he noticed that the whiteness was creeping closer like a sea of living, moving, Elmer’s Glue, thick and deadly. And closer. And closer. The office, just a few feet in front of him, was disappearing with a hiss. He dropped the phone, turned, then ran to the emergency exit. Then, he remembered that it was locked from the outside to prevent people from stealing equipment — though, in fact, that had never once happened. 

“What the hell?!” were the last words he uttered. 

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————————————-

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

Pies on Offer: Mincemeat & Rhubarb

Index for Pattern Language for Cooperation & Teamwork

Author Page on Amazon

Screaming out a Warning

30 Saturday May 2020

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

≈ 7 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?

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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

 

Donnie Takes a Blue Ribbon for Spelling!

18 Monday May 2020

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

≈ 20 Comments

Tags

America, Democracy, environment, fiction, school, short story, sociopath, sociopathic, truth, tyranny

 

two girls doing school works

Photo by Pragyan Bezbaruah on Pexels.com

 

 

[NOTE: This is a work of pure fiction. Any resemblance to characters alive or dead is purely coincidental.] 

“Children, let’s all clap our hands together. We want to congratulate Marcy for winning a Blue Ribbon for winning the Spelling Bee.” 

Donnie rolled his eyes. He had never liked Marcy. Her skin was dark, for one thing. Not as dark as a N——- but too dark to be a real person. Maybe she was “Port of a Rico” or something. Who cares, thought Donnie. Stupid spelling bee anyway. 

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The teacher, Miss Galore, noticed that while most of the kids in her third grade class were clapping, Donnie was grinding his teeth and pounding the table and rolling his eyes.

“Is everything all right, Donnie? You seem upset.” 

Donnie made himself smile pleasantly. “Oh, I’m fine, Miss Galore. Thanks for asking. I’m so pleased as punch for Marcy. What could be better than winning a Blue Ribbon for a Spelling Bee?”

“Oh, good. I’m glad you’re okay. But since you brought it up, there is another contest coming up. This month will be a Science Fair. Let me see the hands. How many of you would like to enter the Science Fair?” 

Everyone’s hand shot up, even Donnie’s. 

Then, the bell rang. But Miss Galore ran a tight ship. The children knew that even though school was basically over when the bell rang, it would be impolite to leave until they were dismissed by Miss Galore. 

“All right, class. I’ll tell you more about the Science Fair tomorrow. For now, Class Dismissed.” 

The kids all began chattering with their friends, and walking out toward the place were parents were lined up in their air conditioned cars. 

brown and white snake

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Donnie grabbed his books and walked over to Marcy. “Hi, Marcy! That’s really swell that you won the Spelling Bee! That Blue Ribbon looks very cool! Can I see it?” 

Marcy didn’t really trust Donnie, but his voice sounded sweet, so she handed him the ribbon. 

Donnie’s teeny hand shot out like a striking snake and he snatched the ribbon. He turned and dashed out of the room as fast as he could. He skidded around the corner and slapped into the door to the boy’s bathroom. He dashed over to the nearest stall, threw the ribbon into the toilet, and closed the stall door. Then, he flushed the toilet. He gathered his books back up, and opened the stall door slowly. He peered out. Only one other boy, Billy, was in the bathroom. Most of the kids were outside lining up to get picked up by their parents or chauffeurs, he thought. Billy, like an idiot, thought Donnie, is looking down at his thingie to make sure he doesn’t pee on the floor. Who gives a damn? So, Donnie pushed open the door to the boy’s bathroom. On the far side of the hall, only about ten feet away, Miss Galore and Marcy were both staring at him. 

Marcy’s bottom lip was trembling and there were tears on her cheeks. A big smile lit up Donnie’s face. That won’t do. He pushed his fingernails into his palms and forced himself to create a look of concern on his face instead. He had practiced for hours in front of a mirror, so that his look of concern was remarkably genuine looking. Now, he needed the voice to match.

“What’s wrong, Miss Galore? You look troubled.” 

Miss Galore took a few steps closer. “Marcy tells me that you took her Blue Ribbon.” 

“Oh, yes, I did look at it. It’s wonderful. You should feel very proud, Marcy!”

Marcy tried to make her voice sound strong, but at that, she failed. “You took my ribbon though! Give it back! I didn’t even get to show my Mom and Dad yet!” 

Donnie looked over. She was on the brink of squirting out more tears. Sort of like peeing on your own face, when you thought about it. I’ll never do that. What an idiot she was. If she didn’t want me to take her ribbon, why hand it to me, he asked himself. Stupid bitch deserved to lose her ribbon. 

“Miss Galore, I did look at Marcy’s ribbon for a moment. I gave it right back to her. What’s wrong? Did you lose it, Marcy?” 

“NO! I didn’t lose it! You took it!” 

“Oh, Marcy, I’m so sorry you lost it. We all lose things some times. As I’m sure Miss Galore will tell you — you have to be careful not to lose things —- especially things you like a lot.” 

Marcy was now screaming: “YOU TOOK IT! GIVE IT BACK! IT’S MINE!” 

Miss Galore noticed more kids were gathering round to see what was causing the commotion. She said calmly, “Donnie, can you please give me the ribbon?” 

Donnie looked affronted. “Oh, I don’t have it. I just had it for maybe — one minute — not even a minute — maybe fifteen seconds. And then, I handed it right back.” 

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Marcy held back her tears, but barely. “Why did you take it in the bathroom?”

Donnie put a look of puzzlement on his face. “Why did I go to the bathroom? I had to use the toilet, Marcy. Isn’t that why you go to the bathroom too?” 

Now, Miss Galore looked back and forth between the two children. Donnie didn’t look upset at all. But Marcy certainly did. She wondered whether Marcy could have simply misplaced it. “Do you think it might still be back in the classroom, Marcy? Maybe we should take a look?” 

“NO!” Marcy screamed. “I didn’t lose it. Donnie asked if he could see it and then he snatched and he ran out of the room and into the boy’s bathroom. I don’t have it. He has it.” She pointed at Donnie. 

“Well, I don’t have it. I will swear on a whole stack of Bibles. You can search me. Search me good. I don’t have your blue ribbon Marcy. I’m sorry you’re upset. I know it makes me angry too when I lose things. But you shouldn’t go blaming other kids when you lose something.”

“ARGH!” said Marcy. “I did not lose it! You took it! Make him empty his pockets, Miss Galore. I know he has it!” 

Miss Galore frowned. She couldn’t really do a thorough search of him. Maybe she could get one of the boy counselor’s to do it. She glanced around. Luckily, the teachers still stood out among the students. “Oh, Mr. Graham! Mr. Graham! Can you please come here a moment?”

Miss Galore explained the situation quickly. Mr. Graham frowned. “I’m not doing a strip search of the boy! How about this: write a note and ask the parents to search him when he gets home. Donnie, turn your pockets out.” 

“But Mr. Graham, I didn’t do anything. I didn’t steal her stupid ribbon. I looked at it. It’s — I have to tell you, it doesn’t look that nice up close. Her little medal isn’t even real gold. I don’t have anything bad in my pockets.” 

“Donnie. Do it now! Turn your pockets out,” said Mr. Graham who could pretend to be genuinely outraged over nothing and he genuinely didn’t like back-talk from students.

Donnie shook his head and appeared very reluctant, but he turned out all four pants pockets Except for a pack of Kleenex, and what appeared to be the wings of a dragonfly, his pants pockets were empty. Mr Graham nodded. “Thank you, Donnie. Hand me your backpack.” 

Donnie shifted from one foot to the other. “Mr. Graham, my driver, Pom-Pom is going to be mad that I’m so late. It’s just books mostly.” He handed the backpack to Mr. Graham who searched the inside and turned each book upside down to see whether there was a ribbon hidden between the pages. He turned to Miss Galore. “Nothing.” 

“You see?” said Donnie. “I told you I didn’t steal her stupid ribbon! She’s such a liar! She probably cheated to win the ribbon in the first place!” 

Miss Galore wanted this to be over. “Okay. Okay. You two get over here. I want you to apologize and shake hands. Marcy, you apologize for accusing Donnie. And Donnie, you apologize for … not making sure that when you handed the ribbon back to Marcy, that she didn’t drop it. I don’t know. Anyway, just shake hands and I don’t want to hear any more about it. I’m sure your ribbon will turn up, Marcy.” 

woman s head on plate

Photo by Designecologist on Pexels.com

——————————-

That evening at dinner, when he had eaten his fill and Fred Senior seemed to be in a reasonably decent mood, and not yet drunk, Donnie casually said, “Say, Sir, did you know that there are N——-s at my school?” 

Fred Senior, sputtered through his mashed potatoes. “WHAT? Are you sure?” 

Donnie looked at the ceiling and pretended to think. “No, but I think so. She might only be half N——. I don’t really know. She has dark skin though. I never paid much attention but today she told a lie to try to get me in trouble at school.” 

“What the F*** are N****s doing at your school? I’ll talk to the Principal tomorrow and get this straightened out. Are they teaching you kids anything useful at that school?” 

Fred Junior said, “Yes, Father. I am learning algebra. That’s useful.” 

Fred Senior smirked and snorted. “Doesn’t sound like it, but the main thing is you’ll get into a good college.” 

Donnie added, “I’m going to win a Blue Ribbon in the Science Fair. I’ll find out more about it tomorrow.”  

Fred shook his head. “Christ! What rot. Anyway, how about desert?” 

Mary brought over a large dish and placed it proudly into the middle of the table. In it were little scoops of watermelon, cantaloupe, and honeydew. There were slices of apple and banana as well as some ripe strawberries all arranged quite artistically to Mary’s eye. 

Fred Senior grimaced and shouted, “What the F### is that? Seriously, Mary, have you gone nuts? I asked for desert! Not a f###ing salad!”

Mary swallowed hard. The A/C was out. It was hot as hell on this day in mid May. She had remembered that fruits were so much better for you than pies, cakes, and cookies. She thought maybe it would nice to have a cool fruit salad on a warm and sultry night. She had thought. That was her problem. She should never think. She should just do whatever Fred tells her too. Her mind raced. What could she get to assuage her husband quickly. 

Fred Senior glared at her. He had stopped yelling though, thought Mary. His voice instead had that soft, sweet, syrupy sound that it made…whenever things were going to go terribly badly for her.

Fred Senior did indeed speak in a soft, controlled voice. “Children. Go upstairs now and do your homework. I need to have a little chat with your Mother. You know. Big People stuff. You wouldn’t be interested. Boring really. So upstairs. Go on. Up. Now.” 

The children pushed their chairs back and looked straight down at the ground. They had been taught that, even a glance at each other or at Mom or Dad could — would — be considered as a reproach to their Father. So, they all tip-toed up to bed and immersed themselves in a book; they learned that if they did it well enough, they could ignore the noises — whatever they were — that would be coming from the kitchen and dining room. 

All, but Donnie, that is. His procedure, was to go up with the other kids and then sneak back down and watch. It was one of the biggest risks he ever took in his entire life. But he couldn’t help himself. He loved the way Daddy made Mommy so weak and pathetic. It made his Daddy so much bigger and stronger and manlier. He would be that way some day. He would be just like Daddy! And, next week, I’ll win a Blue Ribbon in Science! 

gray industrial machine during golden hour

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

————————————————————-

Other blog posts: 

What about the butter dish? 

Inventing a New Color

There’s a pill for that

Citizen Soldiers: Part 1

Citizen Soldiers: Part 2

Citizen Soldiers: Part 3

After the Fall

Author Page on Amazon

 

Sports Fans Only

17 Sunday May 2020

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

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Corruption, Democracy, fairness, fascism, games, life, relationships, sports

Sports Fans Only

football game

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Many people in America, as well as many other parts of the world, miss watching sports during the pandemic, or participating. In many places, it is okay to play tennis and golf with special procedures in place. (e.g., no rakes in the golf bunkers; don’t take out the flagstick). Other, more full contact sports pose problems. But the biggest problem is the in-person audience when it comes to professional sports. 

If Trumputin is re-elected, we won’t have to worry about that — because there will be no sports — not in the true sense of the word. There may be acted-out charades of sports. But instead of actual competitions among people who are mainly on the “up and up” rather than “on the take.” At first, the replacement of honest sports with charades of sports, will only be sporadic and limited to the sports Trump happens to care about. But eventually, everyone in the administration will join in to wield their power and influence — not for the good of America — but for their own petty interests. The best athletes will simply quit. I can’t imagine the top tennis stars would participate in a scripted simulation of sports with the outcome known in advance so that money would flow from other people’s pockets, yet again, into the coffers of the Trump Crime Family. 

male bugs illness disease

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I’m reminded somehow of Lyme Disease and deer ticks. Deer ticks are the vector for spreading this disease to humans. It’s a nasty disease, and in some cases even crippling, but you don’t notice the worst effects for a long time. You get this little tick, barely visible, and it burrows into your skin. Then, it starts sucking your blood. You would think that if something started sucking your frigging blood out of your frigging body, you would bloody well notice! But the tick has a little trick. A tick trick. It squirts out a local sedative. Isn’t that sweet? You don’t feel the pincers pierce your skin. You don’t feel the barbed mouth parts drilling in to lap up your blood. You don’t feel a thing. You’ve been sedated. 

Getting back to organized but predetermined “sports,” when people realize that all of professional sports is simply a charade — a show put on for the rich and powerful and that it has nothing to do with skill, or experience, or tactics. It’s all about who already has the most wealth. It’s a table with no bet limit. It’s a table with no bet limit. Now — what does that mean? It means that whoever has the most wealth and power can determine the outcome every single time. Everyone else will lose on average.  

colosseum rome italy

Photo by Davi Pimentel on Pexels.com

At some point, the deer tick becomes completely engorged with your blood. Her body swells up grotesquely, but apart from looking gross and losing a bit of blood, she has likely left behind a little gift for you as well. That gift is a packet of bacteria that will now proceed to infect your entire body. As I said, it’s nasty for most people, and some never fully recover. 

At first, the corruption due to any infection is somewhat localized. But soon, sports at every level will be corrupt. And why shouldn’t it be? Isn’t school to prepare people for life? What kind of school would prepare children for a fair world when the actual world is completely unfair? So, the incentives will be for school to teach children — not actual physical skills and fair play — but instead, teach how to cheat, what to do when caught, how to bully, how to kiss ass. These are the skills they will need in sports or in any other endeavor.

I hope we do fully recover. The Class of 2020 gives me hope.

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————————————————————-

Trumpism is a New Religion.

The Truth Train

The Anti-Academic Pandemic

You Bet Your Life!

 

 

Absolute is Not Just a Vodka

11 Monday May 2020

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

≈ 143 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

Photo by Engin Akyurt on Pexels.com

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. 

industry metal vintage technology

Photo by Markus Spiske on Pexels.com

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.

brown and white snake

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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. 

tombstone on cemetery during daytime

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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.”

adult affection baby child

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

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.

gray industrial machine during golden hour

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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? 

woman playing golf

Photo by Jopwell on Pexels.com

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. 

architecture art clouds landmark

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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. 

usa flag waving on white metal pole

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

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. 

flight sky sunset men

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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

Photo by Engin Akyurt on Pexels.com

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

Snowflake

08 Friday May 2020

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

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

brotherhood, Democracy, fascism, globalism, love, pandemic, peace, plague, poem, poetry, snow, snowflake, truth, UN, USA, world

Snow. 

Made of Snowflakes.

Snowflakes. 

close up photography of snowflake

Photo by Egor Kamelev on Pexels.com

Everyone comments: “Every snowflake’s different.”

It’s a cliché.

However amazing that may be, 

Amazing still is every snowflake’s sixfold symmetry.

“What’s so special about that,” you say. 

How does the three millionth molecule out near northeast

Know what the three millionth molecule out near southwest

Is doing?  

person holding snowflakes decor

Photo by Jill Wellington on Pexels.com

I’ve a story to explain: 

Once upon a time,

Everything was One.

If truth be told, 

It was a boring too much One of Oneness.

So, 

As matter is wont, 

We Big-Banged Ourselves into this far-flung Universe:

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A multi-colored, 

Multi-facetted 

Extravaganza of galaxies. 

And yet, 

We (not just you and me)

We (meaning all of existence)

Seek that underlying, undying, 

Unification.

silhouette people on beach at sunset

Photo by Dana Tentis on Pexels.com

Hence, 

The mystery of gravity. 

(Why else would everything 

In the universe be attracted to everything else?)

In between the ting and tang of bells;

In between the yin and yang of all;

In between the sweetness of the notes of song;

In between this moment and the

Next… 

In all those in-betweens we glimpse:

59F746D3-44C7-4058-AB5B-69DF3980C697_1_105_c

Reality.

Universality.

We are all One.

And always shall be. 

So quell your fears of Worst.

Slake your thirst.  

Let the snowflakes, 

Fall, fall, and melt upon your tongue.

DCA8FC9A-F229-4538-9EA2-D9E13D4796EB_1_105_c

Wars? Scars? 

Hate? Fear? 

What chance do they have

In the longest run of all who run?

Division is but the ignorance of too    few    years

Brewed into flat, stale, tasteless beers.

Routed and touted as though it were a fine wine

Touched by Heaven’s Gate – a touch divine. 

photo of woman near wine glass

Photo by Elly Fairytale on Pexels.com

The Mad King shatters all of US

And all the US of US

He throws each one of us

Under his failing falling galling bus. 

The roads all darken with the dirt and blood and salt.

man in black jacket and blue denim jeans standing in front of yellow bus

Photo by Zichuan Han on Pexels.com

“It’s not my fault! It’s all your fault! 

And you and you and you and you — you all must lose. 

And I will lie and check and slay all day. 

I sing the electric assault. 

I sing it’s time to kill my foes. 

I sing it’s time to burn the world!”

And all the while, each snowflake shows, 

Each flag unfurled,

Each insult hurled,

Turns the earth a greener hue;

Turns the air a cleaner blue. 

In the stillness and the in between, 

We now begin to see 

That we are we. 

woman raising her hands

Photo by Marlon Schmeiski on Pexels.com

Bound thus together by our common scenes

And bound together by our common genes

We reject the clown’s inept inanity.

We see so clearly now that we are one humanity.

And all the screaming, scheming, double-dealing

Gets rightfully confined to back ward dreaming. 

All across the world, humanity is teaming. 

This is one large, deadly test 

To see if we could see

That we are we is manifest 

For all humanity.

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Let snow abound.

Our unity is found.

We very nearly drowned.

Our feet at last are touching ground.

Our voice: at last a singing sound.

Prometheus at last unbound!

Our truth at last is found!

Our world is very clearly round!

earth space universe globe

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

————————————————

The Impossible

Mother’s Day

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

Author Page on Amazon

Index to Pattern Language for Cooperation

 

Comes the Reign

29 Wednesday Apr 2020

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

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

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

photo of water drops on glass

Photo by Andrew Neel on Pexels.com

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. 

man holding umbrella

Photo by Thgusstavo Santana on Pexels.com

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!  

police army commando special task force

Photo by Somchai Kongkamsri on Pexels.com

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

Photo by Thang Cao on Pexels.com

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.

action aim armed army

Photo by icon0.com on Pexels.com

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.  

silhouette and grayscale photography of man standing under the rain

Photo by Aleksandar Pasaric on Pexels.com

 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

Myths of the Veritas: Books

26 Sunday Apr 2020

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

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

bullying, Democracy, ecology, empathy, ethics, fiction, greed, harmony, history, leadership, legends, lying, myth, politics, power, science, truth

snow covered mountain under blue sky

Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com

Fleet of Foot took a deep breath. The air still held a bit of chill. In this place, the sun had difficulty finding and warming the land. He enjoyed the chill but also enjoyed the warmth when if finally came. He wondered how these Veritas who lived beyond the Twin Peaks regarded him and his companions. 

He realized that, whereas the Veritas who lived near the Forgotten Field of Flowers had had many interactions with a number of different tribes within living memory, the Veritas beyond the Twin Peaks had had only three such “interactions” in memory and all had been disastrous raids where children had been stolen and taken off on horseback before a reasonable defense could be mounted. Of course, they had tried to track down The People Who Steal Children, but such tracks had led to a solid wall of rock that none could penetrate. Others, including the parents of Cat Eyes, Of the Night and Gathers Acorns, had attempted to cross the treacherous melting glaciers. None had returned. 

Fleet of Foot looked over at Cat Eyes who sat in a circle with a dozen of her kin and they pored over some of the mysterious markings. The strange pupils of Cat Eyes had made her immediately recognizable to everyone here except the young children. This had no doubt played a part in their easy acceptance of Cat Eyes though the lucky accident — if that’s what it was — of her fulfilling a prophesy — made what would have been acceptance and rejoicing into something more — something like the reverence that everyone in his own land felt for She Who Saves Many Lives. And yet, Cat Eyes was so much younger. He watched her — she seemed so at home with everyone here. Fleet of Foot remembered his former friends ALT-R and POND MUD. They — or at least ALT-R would have used the good feeling to gain power or wangle extra portions of delicacies. But this was not the nature of Cat Eyes. She got along with everyone of every age. Most of those in the circle were young but everyone was interested in the decoding. 

MythofVeritas-2-1

It was important work in the eyes of these Veritas who lived beyond the Twin Peaks. Even Gentle Talons sat sometimes in the circle learning the keys to understanding the markings and then, taking one of the collections and trying to make sense of it. It was a halting and laborious process. There were so many to decode! Each one was like a precious jewel. Each one sparkled and reflected a new light on what was all about them. Some told of medicines that had been forgotten. Some told of strange mythologies about the earth and the stars and the sky wanderers. Some described impossible creatures, both humorous and terrible; both gigantic and some so small one could not even see them! 

Each day, the Veritas learned something. And each day was pleasant. Yet, each and every day, Fleet of Foot felt a stronger and stronger tug to return to his own home. Trunk of Tree had begun to insist that they return days ago. He felt that they had accomplished their mission and learned much besides. Fleet of Foot looked up and saw that Trunk of Tree strode toward him. Fleet of Foot sighed. For he knew that Trunk of Tree was about to argue, yet again, that they should return with their news to the Center Place of the Veritas. 

“Good morning, Fleet of Foot. See yonder Cat Eyes. She has found her home. That seems clear. What of us? Our home is also beautiful. Let us arrange to go. Leave her here. Let’s get back. We can’t take all those … things … with us!” 

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He gestured toward the cliffs where most of these strange boxes of knowledge were still among the many unexplored shelves. Maybe we could take a few. Maybe some of these Veritas will want to accompany us. But we need to get back! We have no idea what Eagle Eyes and Shadow Walker have found. We have no idea whether — even now — our Center Place may be under attack with Killing Sticks. We’re well rested. These Veritas have no Killing Sticks. What use are they? Let’s go.” 

Fleet of Foot sighed. He felt much as Trunk of Tree felt. He worried about the Center Place. Yet, the decoding work seemed very important as well. It was as though — it was a kind of magic. Cat Eyes and those she had taught were discovering things — some ridiculous of course, like the fish with eight arms and a beak who lives in a giant lake or large birds who cannot fly and little bugs so small they cannot be seen but still make people sick. Or the notions about the sky wanderers and the sun. Absurd, but still interesting. 

selective focus photography of octopus

Photo by Pia on Pexels.com

Yet other things seemed very useful: medicines, ways to prepare foods, a description of a way to lengthen one’s arm with a stick in order to throw a spear faster and farther. No-one had been successful at actually making such a device though. Perhaps it was also fanciful. Why would
“The Ancients” mix together so many fanciful things with useful information? It’s a mystery. 

Fleet of Foot nodded to Trunk of Tree. “There is much truth in what you say, Trunk of Tree. I too am eager to return. I suppose — I am not entirely convinced that the tunnel will even work. It was too … it seems now more like a dream I had than a reality. Somehow, I too worry about the Center Place. Perhaps most of us should return now. Let’s see how the others feel.” 

“Why? Many Paths made me the leader. I don’t see why you keep thinking I should see how the others feel.” 

Fleet of Foot sighed and looked at Trunk of Tree. “I know you don’t, Trunk of Tree. I have some trouble to explain it. If we all understand how each of us feels, then, when something happens we can work together better. We don’t have to stop in the middle of an emergency and have a discussion when there is no time for a discussion. Each person knows — or at least makes a good guess — about how every other person will react.” 

“If everyone would just follow my orders, we would all know too. Because everyone would follow my orders. If we did that….” Trunk of Tree gestured with his open hands but added no words of clarification.

pile of stones

Photo by Mau00ebl BALLAND on Pexels.com

“If we did that we would still be stuck in the tunnel. In fact, if we did that, we wouldn’t have even found the tunnel. Do you really want to decide for others whether they should go or stay? How might you make such a decision without talking with them?” 

“I know it’s important that we go back. We have information that we came to get. And, it may be important. And, you just said you feel the same way. Let’s just go! Come on Fleet of Foot.” 

“I think most will agree with you, but let’s hear their voices. Yes, we have learned some important things, but every day that Cat Eyes works with those — cousins of hers, we learn more about the world that we never knew.” 

“And we learn nonsense as well! What use it is to think about — the other day, I overheard Cat Eyes and her friends talking about a lake that is so large you cannot see across it! What nonsense. And, it tastes like salt. And, it has waves as high as a tree. What use are such ramblings. These things do not exist. I don’t believe any of it when there is so much that…now what?” 

There was commotion around the small circle of cousins. They all seemed to be talking at once. A small crowd was gathering around the circle and adding to the general commotion. As the crowd grew, others began to pause in their tasks and walk over to see what was happening. At last, Gentle Talons came over and used his not inconsiderable voice to quiet the crowd. 

“Please. Please! One at a time. What is all this ado about?” He looked directly at Cat Eyes, somewhat accusingly, somewhat wonderingly. 

closeup photo of book filed on shelf

Photo by John-Mark Smith on Pexels.com

“Oh, Gentle Talons, we have been decoding this book — for that is what they are called — all of them are called “books” — this book is called The Book of Civilizations. And it … it says that all of this — she gestured with both her arms, palms up, to sweep in the entire excavated cave was made by an ancient people…that there have been many great gatherings of people. Such people learned many things and had comfortable lives. And they had many wondrous things. They explored everywhere and learned much.” 

It became clear that Cat Eyes, for some strange reason, was having trouble speaking. She was swallowing hard, holding back tears. 

The booming voice of Gentle Talons rang out, “Please, sister, continue. What? Where are these civilizations?” 

Trunk of Tree and Fleet of Foot had walked over to watch more closely. Fleet of Foot craned his neck and wedged his way forward to look more closely upon the face of Cat Eyes. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. What is going on, he wondered. How can mere … markings on the page cause such pain? Books? She had called them books? But how can they cause tears? He forced his way into the circle and took the hands of Cat Eyes, holding them gently in her own. 

“What is it? What’s wrong, Cat Eyes? Why do these tears flow on your cheeks? What strange magic is in these — books?” 

gray concrete building on top of hill

Photo by Suliman Sallehi on Pexels.com

Cat Eyes squeezed the hands of Fleet of Foot and drew strength from them. She took several deep breaths and continued. “This book — this book tells of many wondrous civilizations. They used wisdom and experience much as we ourselves do. They learned from each other. They loved each other. They ensured that they had enough food and yet … each of them … each of these ancient peoples … destroyed themselves. But it’s worse than that. The destroyed themselves through greed and hubris. They sought to … they knew about the Myth of the Orange Man. They knew that lying and greed destroyed other, earlier peoples. And, yet, each time, they stopped … they stopped being kin and part of nature. They knew that greed had killed other civilizations before them.” Cat Eyes shook her head and sighed before continuing on.

“Yet, each new civilization thought — somehow — it would be different for them. Of course, it was not different. Lies and greed and putting power over truth destroyed every single one of them. The story seems so real. But — how can it be? How could people know such greed and lies led to so much death and destruction and yet — they did it over and over again? According to this….” Cat Eyes stopped. She shook her head. She gulped and slowed her breathing.

At last, she was able to continue. “According to this book, there are much worse weapons than Killing Sticks. And they have been used to destroy untold numbers of people. And, after the greedy take everything and kill everyone, they die too! Because — in all their greed, they forgot how to live without stealing from others. And this didn’t happen just once. It’s happened over and over. How can this be? It can’t be true.” 

history ancient peru south america

Photo by Amanda Kerr on Pexels.com

All had heard her words. And all reflected silently upon them. 

After some moments, Cat Eyes continued. “It can’t be true. And yet — I think it is — the book says that after a time, the greedy people begin to believe exactly that — that it cannot be true — and so — they make the same exact mistakes again. And again. And again. It seems impossible and yet…where are they? Where are the people who made these books and these caves? It seems as though they knew all of this — and allowed greed and lies to destroy them anyway! Are we doomed to be that stupid yet again?” 

Cat Eyes bit her lip and looked up at the eyes of each person she could see around her. No-one answered. She ended looking into the eyes of Fleet of Foot. But he too remained silent.

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——————————————————-

The Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

Author Page on Amazon

Essays on America: Wednesday

Essays on America: Rejecting Adulthood

Essays on America: A Lot is not a Little.

The Anti-Academic Pandemic 

The Truth Train

Essays on America: You Bet Your Life

Life is a Dance

13 Monday Apr 2020

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

≈ 73 Comments

Tags

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

woman raising her hands

Photo by Marlon Schmeiski on Pexels.com

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.

blur close up focus ground

Photo by Gelgas on Pexels.com

You might fight for the right

And still end up dead. 

You could turn from the luminous light

You can slink and surrender instead. 

gray industrial machine during golden hour

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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.” 

IMG_8483

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. 

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

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.  

89B1D15E-A1F6-4BC9-B704-6F78DFE2AD48

Life is a dance

On a thin razor’s edge

Of rigid and chance.

people dancing on dance floor

Photo by Prime Cinematics on Pexels.com

There are two ways to die

To fall off the ledge: 

Honor the Truth — or, Live out the Lie.

time lapse photography of waterfalls during sunset

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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. 

IMG_3277

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.

IMG_9198

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

Photo by Francesco Paggiaro on Pexels.com

Life is a dance

On that thin razor’s edge

‘Tween rigid and chance.

pile of stones

Photo by Mau00ebl BALLAND on Pexels.com

There are two ways to die

To fall off that ledge: 

Honor the Truth or Live out the Lie.

84700569-5EEE-4028-A4C8-AD1D62D20320

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. 

4F969AEC-A579-4A8B-9B35-F773A44B3E8B

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

  

 

 

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

Photo by Anamul Rezwan on Pexels.com

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!” 

bulldozer engine equipment heavy

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“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

Photo by Street Donkey on Pexels.com

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. 

white textile

Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

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. 

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

“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!

D22A0D07-1251-4482-BACF-71E8558F5CFF

———————————————

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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