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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Tag Archives: greed

You Must Remember This

19 Sunday Apr 2020

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

≈ 28 Comments

Tags

Climate change, COVID19, ecology, environment, greed, life, pandemic, poem, poetry, truth

worms eyeview of green trees

Photo by Felix Mittermeier on Pexels.com

A breeze flutters the leaves of the tulip tree
It seems to me
They wave, they warn,
“Remember us. Remember, that we may come again.
That once again forests of greenery will come to be.”

 

adventure arid barren coast

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Under this clear blue sky,
Under this bright yellow sun,
In this verdant surround, I see, nonetheless,
Long lines of grieving skeletons
Wandering the gray-brown dessert
Searching for food, for water,
For the lost way,
The fallen times.
Someone has lost the memo,
Broken the schedule,
Failed the test,
Not met the ROI.

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I have drawers of papers,
But what do they mean?
And why are they there?
They seemed so important once.
I have closets of clothes
That no longer fit.
I have machines that would buzz and whirr delightfully
If I could find a place to plug them in.

woman in black jacket sitting on rock formation

Photo by Chase McBride on Pexels.com

 

And, in these dead days of gray on gray,
I must remember, I must tell,
Though few believe,
“Once there were forests here,
Trunk on trunk of thick tall tree,
Leaf and flower, flower and leaf,
Green, green, under a clear blue sky.
We can make it live again.”

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Now, so the story goes, the Devil tempted us with knowledge
And we were exiled from Eden into this world.
But, really, who is this Devil, anyway, I wonder?
What if, drunk on half-knowledge, we left voluntarily?
Greedy for the shiniest bauble,
The sparkliest stone,
We forgot that sunset on lake,
Icy creeks, and snow-laden trees,
Are more beautiful than jewelry.

time lapse photography of waterfalls during sunset

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I see them marching, line on line,
Mindlessly miming a pattern, a template,
Aimlessly roaming, but all in formation,
With no information, but under orders, all the same.
The cadence of the stepping,
The drubbling of the drums,
Makes it all seem okay somehow
As row on endless row,
Over the cliff they go.
Blind are they to the leaves of the tulip trees, still green,
Waving their warning; warning with their waving,
Bending, sighing, singing, in the breeze:
“Remember such as these,
When there are no more trees.
Remember such as these,
After the fire and the freeze.”

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Author Page on Amazon

Index to a Pattern Language on Cooperation and Teamwork. 

Myths of the Veritas – Explorations of Leadership, Empathy, & Ethics in times of crisis. 

Donnie Visits Granny!! 

10 Friday Apr 2020

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

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

Conman, crime, death, fiction, greed, inheritance, life, psychopathy, sociopath, story

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Donnie looked from one gray green wall to another. Nothing to break the monotony but outlets, weird machines, some stupid hangers for charts. Also, it smelled bad.

Worse, Donnie was bored. There was nothing interesting in this entire room. Who the hell designed this? Certainly, nothing worth stealing. Well, not necessarily stealing, he thought to himself. Getting someone in trouble though? It didn’t really matter what the thing was worth; what’s most important is to make it bad for the other person but have no possible blame on me. Good Lord, I’m smart. But there’s nobody here to blame except Daddy and if he found out, he’d make me play “good dog/bad dog” for a week. If only Maryanne were here or, better, Fred Junior. He was supposed to come visit too. 

Granny was asleep and snoring. Dad, folded up his newspaper; arose and walked out, seeming to forget that his young son was there too. Donnie stood up; took one step; stopped; took another step. “Sir?” He enquired. 

Dad turned in surprise. Oh, of course, he thought. The dumb one. “Hey, Donnie, come on. Granny’s asleep. Let’s go grab a bite.” 

Soon, they were sitting at a small round table on uncomfortable chairs and eating off a chipped and badly cleaned red formica top — eating hospital hamburgers, cold greasy fries, and sipping ersatz coke. But Donnie didn’t care. This was more fun that sitting quietly in a room with the old lady. Daddy seemed to be in a good mood, so he chanced a question. 

tables and chairs outside an irish pub

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“Daddy, why do we come visit Granny? Don’t you — I mean — do you find it boring?” 

“Boring? Of Course, she’s boring. She’s a bag of bones. Not much mind there to begin with, but now? Just goes on and on or says nothing at all.”

“So why did we have to come visit?” 

“You think just because she’s useless that she doesn’t have value? Don’t be stupid. Don’t you know why we’re here? Can you really be that stupid?”

“Value? What do you mean? She doesn’t have any value that I can see.”

“Donnie, Donnie, Donnie! She’s worth a fortune! As soon as she dies, we’ll be rich. Richer. That’s why we’re here?”

“But Daddy. How much?”

pile of gold round coins

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“That’s just it, Donnie. I don’t know. She may be useless, but one thing she can do is change her will. And cut us out. She won’t say what’s in it now. So, we have to pretend to be nice to her. When he gets so senile she cannot remember what’s happening, we’ll have her committed and we’ll take charge. I have the lawyers all lined up. But first, you know, we have to play nice. So don’t complain when you come see her. Wait till her will’s read. That’s when you find out how much she really values you.”

“Okay, Daddy, but can’t we just come see her right before she goes senile?” 

“Yes, but no-one can tell. She could have a stroke today. She could even conk off right now in her sleep. We won’t be that lucky though. She could stay ‘competent’, as they call it, for ten more years. Crap! I hope not. Or, she could fall and break her hip. Then, you know, half of ‘em die within a month.” 

“Hello, Father. Squirt.” It was Junior. 

Donnie hated being called ‘Squirt’ — it wasn’t his fault he’s been born later. But he had learned that saying: “Don’t call me that!” just made Fred more, not less likely to say it again. No, there were other ways. Other ways to get back.

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Junior said, “I just saw Granny. She wondered what became of you two.” 

Soon all three of them were crowded into her tiny semi-private cubby. Granny looked a them and shook her head. “What a sorry lot. Son, go somewhere else for awhile. I want to talk with my grandsons privately.” 

Fred grumbled but arose and headed back toward the cafeteria. It had already occurred to him on multiple occasions that it might be worth being her Angel of Death. But even the idiot cops knew where to look. If he slipped her something in her IV, they’d know he had means, opportunity, and motive. Screw it. He could deal with seeing her once a week. He had his newspaper, an endless source of items that say loud and clear: Hey here’s a possible sucker! This one’s husband just died, left her some dough, and she knows nothing about finance. Or, how about this one — this old lady dies, her husband has no cash, and she has to sell her house fast. That means cheap. Yeah, thank God for the newspaper. Lots of stupid people to screw over. 

Granny smiled and spoke in confidential tones to her grandsons. “Your Dad is a pain in my butt. He always was. Even as a kid. You boys seem pretty decent though. As it stands, I must tell you. I’m leaving it to you. And, if it were just a matter of how I feel, I would keep it that way. But your Dad is so thin-skinned. I realize it might actually kill him. I don’t want that. So how about if I do you each a third? How does that sound?”

Junior shrugged. “Anything’s fine, Granny.” 

Donnie thought that was a rather pathetic answer. “Granny, we love you and you’re going to be around for a very long many years! Don’t talk about giving stuff away. You are the one who should enjoy it!.” 

“Thanks, Donnie. Please don’t tell your dad. I want to keep him guessing for awhile. Now, how about you two help me get in my walker. I’m getting stronger every day. That damned flu about did me in though. Every day, I go a few more times around these halls. We can pass the time. I can tell you stories about when your dad was little.”

Junior shook his head slightly. Donnie thought that might be even more boring than sitting in her bare room and listening to her breathe. 

They got her on her feet. As a reward, Granny kept her promise and started droning on about how Fred was when he was only five and stole something or other and was so clever something or other and he got so scared something or ever and peed his pants and then something or other. Donnie felt he would actually die of boredom. Then, something echoed in his head: ‘peed his pants’ — hold on. Hold on! There could be use in that story after all. He could store that away and use it against Daddy if need be. 

“Granny! That was a good story! Tell me again!” 

red school blur factory

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Donnie took a new interest in Granny’s stories, now that he realized she knew things that might prove useful later. Round and round they went. Junior hardly said anything, but Donnie asked a few questions here and there. He could see that Granny was getting very tired. In fact, Donnie himself was tired. But if he kept encouraging, and kept asking questions, it just might work.  Round and round they went. Round and round. It wasn’t working! Donnie was growing impatient. Why wouldn’t she have a heart attack? Damned old bag of bones. Suddenly, something that Daddy had said echoed in his brain. He glanced over to Junior. He had to bite is lip — hard — to keep from laughing. A nurse and Daddy were talking at the entrance to Granny’s room. They were looking straight at each other and not paying any attention to the threesome down the hall. Now or never. Donnie shout: “No Fred, not so fast! NO! You’re hurting her. Here! Let me… FRED!! NO!!” 

Donnie’s heart was pounding. He hated to take this kind of risk, but it seemed to be working perfectly. Granny was tired and losing her balance after the first twist. Now, she only needed the slightest of nudges. Donnie did it with his hip. Over she went. The nurse was already half running in her tight white skirt and clacking workshoes toward the old bag of bones, but she would hit the ground long before anyone could reach her. “GRANNY! Here! I’ll get you! Junior! Junior! I can’t hold her!” 

Of course, Donnie wasn’t really trying to hold her. He was adding a push to her fall.

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After the medical team came and took care of Granny’s newly broken hip, and she was well-sedated, the trio got into the car and drove back home. Donny plunged ahead with his plan. It was good to strike first. 

He’d have to appear genuinely upset. He bit his tongue and stabbed his teeny fingers into his palms, not enough to bleed, but enough to help him into the pain zone. “Daddy, I’m so sorry. I tried to catch her but I wasn’t strong enough. I thought Junior… never mind.” 

Dad was hooked and asked, “‘Never mind’ — what?” 

Donnie said, “Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t mean to say anything. Tattling is wrong.”

Dad had not only bitten on the hook. He had swallowed it as well. “Donnie. Tell me what the hell is going on. Or, I’ll beat it out of you!”

Donnie put a pained look on his face and glanced at Junior. “I’m sorry brother. So sorry.” 

Donnie had developed his skill of laughing at other people’s idiocy while he appeared the whole time to be crying, wracked with pain or guilt. “Daddy, I don’t think Junior meant to have her fall. He was just … playing … right Junior. You didn’t mean to hurt her, right?”

Later that night, after Fred Senior finished beating Junior, he went into the kitchen and poured himself four fingers of Scotch. He liked that first buzz. He poured himself another one and downed that one as well. Suddenly, he recalled his casual comment earlier in the evening. He had mentioned that if his mom broke her hip, she might die. Could his dumb son be smart enough to have broken her hip to speed up his inheritance? Fred chuckled. No, he thought. That’s crazy. There’s no possible way. It was Junior…or was it? He poured himself another four fingers, downed it and staggered up to bed where he fell into a deep stupor. In the morning, the insightful clarity of the previous night had dissolved into the fog of a hangover. There was a remnant of dislike for both his sons; a sour aftertaste. He didn’t know why. Nor, did he care. 

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———————————

 Donnie Plays Bull-Dazzle Man!  

Donnie Plays Doctor Man!

Donnie Learns Golf!

Donnie Plays Soldier Man!

Author Page on Amazon

Myths of the Veritas: Inversnaid Revisited

06 Friday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, management, politics, psychology, Veritas

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Cupiditas, death, ego, greed, legends, life, myth, Resistance, stubbornness, truth, Veritas

animal bee bloom blooming

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Trunk of Tree led the small group through the fields of wildflowers buzzing with bees and up the  grassy foothills that marked the edge of the lands the Veritas considered as home. Jaccim and Cat Eyes came next, each leading a pack horse. Cat Eyes discovered that she had a fondness for horses and, oddly enough, for Jaccim himself. Each day of the journey, Jaccim became more familiar with the Veritas language, thanks to tutoring by Cat Eyes. She spoke with Jaccim partly to learn more of his people, but this proved difficult. Jaccim had memorized a few verses that the Z-Lotz had insisted everyone learn, but he could not explain what the verses meant. 

In fact, Jaccim knew almost nothing about the history of his own people, nor how they came to be aligned with the Z-Lotz. Cat Eyes discovered that Jaccim had learned how to handle horses from his own father and uncle. He had ridden from an early age and had taken part in a number of different raids when he was younger — raids to steal children for the Z-Lotz. To her astonishment, Cat Eyes learned that Jaccim had never asked himself why they had been stealing children, or what was to become of the children once they were delivered to the Z-Lotz let alone how these cruel predations ravaged the children or their families. It was just what he was told to do so he did it. Cat Eyes sighed and shook her head. She considered trying to give some insight to Jaccim about what her life had been like but decided this was not the time. They were relying on Jaccim to find a path through to her homeland. If she were successful in having Jaccim see and feel just how reprehensible his actions had been, how might he react? She did not know; but she didn’t want to chance his bolting with the horses, which could have been one possible reaction. 

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Original drawing by Pierce Morgan

Sometimes, Jaccim was silent for long periods of time. Sometimes, Jaccim asked Trunk of Tree to stop for a moment. Jaccim would close his eyes, apparently in some sort of inner dialogue with himself. Then, he would open them and scan their surroundings. Then, he would point and nod. Trunk of Tree would continue down the path chosen. When Cat Eyes grew tired of her tutoring, she would drop back a few paces to chat with Lion Slayer and Hudah Salah. She had learned a few words of the language of the Nomads of the South when she was in the City of the Z-Lotz, but she was learning much more from them. In particular, she asked about various kinds of plants, animals, and physical features that she saw. When she learned a new word, she would store it in her head. She began to notice as the journey wore on that the words of the Nomads and the words of the Veritas and the words of the ROI and Z-Lotz, while all different, were not so different as they might have been. 

in distant photo of tree on landscape field

Photo by Sebastian Beck on Pexels.com

At one point, their small group rested under a large, spreading oak which dominated a long slope of golden grass. Called “oak” in Veritas, the Z-Lotz word was “oag” and the Southern Nomads called it “oh-kah.” At first, Jaccim only referred to the tree in terms of the ROI expression: “hard to work wood tree”, but at last, he recalled that some called it “oat-tah.” While Cat Eyes carried on her linguistic queries, the rest of the group began to prepare a lunch. Jaccim tethered the horses to a low hanging branch. Fleet-of-Foot, who had been mainly walking with Easy Tears, jumped up and grabbed a branch, pulled himself up, and soon clambered to the crown. From here, hidden in the thick summer foliage, he peered around in all directions. He also cupped his hands around his ears while spreading his ears out slightly. Thus able to hear much fainter sounds, he slowly turned his head, listening as well as watching for any possible armies, game, or … what was that sound? As he turned toward the still-distant Twin Peaks, he heard a slight sound of … rushing water? It seemed to be coming from the nearby foothills. These hills were similar to the ones they had just left, but grew steeper and larger. Somewhere in those hills, fresh running water gurgled over rocks and sang its song loudly enough for him to hear from his high perch. Convinced that they were in no immediate danger, he climbed down to have his share of the lunch and told the group of his discovery. 

The next morning, after they climbed the top of a hill, they could all hear the roar of water and soon, they could see the sun glinting off the rushing water in the distance. Jaccim confirmed that long ago, the raiding party had also found this stream. It took most of the day to reach the water. The “stream” that Jaccim had mentioned was more properly called a river now. Cat Eyes pointed to the high peaks before them and, they were able to see tiny threads of silver cascading down the sides of the mountains. Some of that distant water would eventually find its way into this river, she reckoned. They refilled their water skins. As they sat around their small evening campfire telling their stories and making their plans, they were treated to a distant show of lighting and a reverberating thunder. The horses, despite being tethered near the coolly flowing water, paced nervously and nickered. 

cascade creek environment fern

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Trunk of Tree, who had grown weary of stories and plans at last said, “Let’s get to sleep. I’ll take the first watch. Then, Lion Slayer. Then, Fleet of Foot. We leave early in the morning.”

Jaccim shook his head, “We’re all tired. We have a long journey tomorrow. Many days after. We must move away from the river.” 

Trunk of Tree grunted. “Absurd. I’m in charge. This is a perfect spot. The horses can drink their fill. We cannot easily be seen. There is game. Sleep now. Walk in the morning.” 

Cat Eyes glanced at Jaccim. He was frowning. His mouth moved but no words came. She asked in ROI, “Why should we move, Jaccim.” 

Jaccim spoke quickly in ROI and supplemented his speech with sign language. “The rain on the mountain will melt more ice and bring much water. This water — or much of it — will come riding down the mountain like a herd of horses or buffalo and trample everything beneath it. We must move to higher ground or be trampled.” 

Cat Eyes translated for the group. 

Trunk of Tree held up his hand part-way through. “Absurd. No. We are safe here.” 

Cat Eyes could see that Trunk of Tree was “digging in” and ignoring the ideas of others. He was the sort of person, she saw, who found it particularly difficult to “change his mind” once he had made a decision. She shook her head and closed her eyes so that Trunk of Tree could not see her rolling them in disgust at his intransigence. 

Cat Eyes spoke in her softest, most enticing voice. “Trunk of Tree. You are our leader. I have no idea whether there is danger here. How can we know? But I do know something of the power of water. When we escaped from the war party that came to the burned village of the ROI, we rode hollowed logs. We almost went over a cliff but, thanks to luck, and Jaccim’s quick thinking, we were able to get to shore just in time. The logs were big, but when they went over the water cliff, those logs smashed onto rocks below as easily as I can break a twig — or, Trunk of Tree, in your case, as easily as you can break a large branch.” 

Trunk of Tree shook his head again. He looked at Lion Slayer. “Have you ever seen or heard of such a sudden river coming?” 

island during golden hour and upcoming storm

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

Lion Slayer answered, “I have not seen such. We have too little water. In my life, I have never seen too much. But we do have stories about such. Too much water comes too quickly and kills plants, animals, and even strong trees, stout in trunk, have fallen, according to the stories. But no, I have not seen such myself.” 

“But I have. And, so too have you seen this, Trunk of Tree, or at least the aftermath.” It was the quiet clear voice of Easy Tears.

Trunk of Tree frowned at her. “What are you talking about?” 

Easy Tears smiled in the fading campfire light. “I am talking about the Battle of the Three Paths. Eagle Eyes devised a way to make much water come at once and washed away quite a few of the Cupiditas warriors. Some of the Veritas may have forgotten. Lion Slayer and Hudah Salah were not there, but you might remember, Trunk of Tree. Do you?” 

Trunk of Tree considered. “Maybe something. I was busy fighting. Perhaps. But I doubt it could have actually toppled the warriors. Not if they were strong.” 

Fleet of Foot nodded, “I saw it with my own eyes. It was something I will never forget. One minute a throng of Cupiditas soldiers were running across a shallow stream and suddenly the whole lot of them were knocked off their feet and taken away from us. Listen!” Fleet of Foot pointed upstream. The others turned and listened. In the quiet, they heard the horses whinnying but also stomping the ground and jerking at their tethers. 

Jaccim added, “Horses know danger. Horses know danger. Good ears!”  

brown and white horse

Photo by Rolandas Augutis on Pexels.com

Cat Eyes cupped her hands behind her ears. “NOW! Move!” 

Trunk of Tree stood and threw his arms in the air and shouted, “This is ridiculous! Absurd! It’s only water! I don’t hear anything!” 

The others grabbed what they could and scrambled to higher ground. Jaccim however, went first to the horses, untied them and swung his leg up around one of them and grabbed hold of the other by the rope that necklaced the neck of the other. 

The voice of Cat Eyes rang out, “Trunk of Tree! Come! We need you to lead us! Don’t get swept away like the Stupiditas!” 

“I’m staying right here! You are all fools! I don’t….” 

The group had all climbed a nearby hill but there was no sign of Jaccim, Trunk of Tree, or the horses. Now, everyone could hear the roaring water bearing down on their location. Jaccim rode up astride the largest horse, still carrying water skins. He led another horse and across the back of that horse, Trunk of Tree lay senseless. 

Jaccim looked at Cat Eyes and shouted in ROI to be heard above the roar. “Sorry. I had to knock him out. For his own good. Will he try to kill me when he wakes?”  

Everyone now looked down at the valley right below them. In the dim light of the moon they could see, not a river, but a wall galloping down the valley. It was a wall not just of water but of ice and logs and mud and rocks as well! It destroyed everything in its path. 

Cat Eyes screamed back, “I won’t let him!” But she could barely hear her own voice. She wasn’t sure Jaccim could make out what she was saying. She used sign language to emphasize her promise of protection, but no-one was watching. All stared down below, mesmerized by the chaos beneath them. The riverbed swelled. The wall of water passed them and became a mere churning sea of blackish brown water swirling in the moonlight. 

Cat Eyes slowly shook her head and gritted her teeth. Trunk of Tree, their supposed “leader” of this expedition had almost gotten the whole lot of them killed. And why, she wondered. The answer came to her unbidden. His pride, she thought. His stupid pride. He made up his mind without knowing the facts. Then, when he heard the facts, he refused to listen. As though his ignorance was somehow better than facts. And that ignorance and vainglorious vanity had almost destroyed all of them and instead of connecting with her people, his stupidity has nearly cost them … the Veritas might not have ever found out what had happened to them. She might never have seen Tu-Swift or Many Paths ever again. And the Veritas would have to face the Z-Lotz with seven fewer warriors and without the horses and without the knowledge to be gained by connected with the Veritas beyond the Twin Peaks. 

mountain covered with snow

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She considered killing Trunk of Tree herself. It would be easy enough to do while he was unconscious. She knew exactly where to press hard on his neck. It had worked on one of her worst tormentors in the Z-Lotz village. She had gotten away with that because that monster, known as M-M-M, was old and terribly fat and unfit. Everyone had dismissed his death as natural. She had left no marks on his body. And she had even pretended to grieve for him … as though she had been desirous of the attentions of that cruel monster man. But no-one would believe someone as strong and fit and young as Trunk of Tree died in his sleep. If anything, they would blame Jaccim for hitting him too hard on the head in order to knock him out. It would be seen as accidental but — they were arguing right before. Too risky, perhaps. But how else to take down a leader who nearly led his own expedition to death for no reason, other than his own stupid pride at being unwilling to admit his own ignorance? Disgusting. 

Trunk of Tree’s idea of “leadership” was to impose his will on others. Wasn’t that exactly the same as old M-M-M — imposing his will on her? His pleasure had seemed to come, not from the sex itself really, but from making her engage in sex against her own will. She saw Trunk of Tree as nothing more than a younger version of M-M-M and she desperately wanted to kill him in his sleep. Once he awoke, it would be much more dangerous. But it was also dangerous to let him stay their leader. Why had Many Paths even chosen him to “lead” this expedition. She must have known what kind of a person he was. Leader! Hah! 

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Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

Inversnaid (by Gerald Manly Hopkins)

 

Ambition!

04 Wednesday Mar 2020

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

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

ambition, greed, irony, life, materiality, mindfulness, poem, poetry, SHRUGS, spiritual, truth, worship

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I’ll be Number One!
They’ll say I’ve won!
Biggest man in all the land!
Forego the loving touch
Of a lovely lover’s hand.
A tracing finger
Long will linger —
But no so much
As a mountain carved,
A fountain named,
A people starved,
A nation flamed!

Some children caged!

 

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I hunger yet
To win the bet;
To march the march
Through desolate lands;
Light the torch
On tortured hands;
Found a city;
Show no pity;
Conquer all;
Steal the ball!

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I may not know
Of crystal snow
Or love in bed —
Silky hair wet
Falling full across my face;
Laughter; holy grace —
But instead
I get
No forced solitude.
I have the multitude
At beck and call
And in my thrall.
On flashbulb feasts
I will dine,
Roasted beasts,
And finest wine!

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And when the game
At last is won
And My Own Name
Heads everyone’s,
I’ll laugh and flash
From bed of death:
I held the lash!
No wasted clock
On balderdash
Or poppycock.
I rushed ahead
To this final bower
My ultimate power.
So I could lay
Beneath cold ground
Beneath the sound
Of crashing drum
— beat
And brashing horn
— blast
And marching man
— feet
And now at long
— last

With my last breath,
Content.

Perfectly content.
Serene.
Perfectly serene.
Yet —
Yet, I wonder —
Is it too late?
Have I missed … ?
Could I just have a chance to — ?

Oh.
I see.
It’s over.

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Author Page on Amazon.

The Game— What does one do, if one has so much wealth and power that you literally want for nothing?

Essays on America: Addictions

28 Friday Feb 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

addiction, America, greed, inequality, racism, story

two clear wine glasses

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“Brad! Glad you made it. A glass of Dom P to celebrate?”

“Great! Nice tie.”

Brad smiled; poured the drink; gestured out the penthouse window. “Should be, Taylor. Two hundred bucks at Bellini’s.”

Glasses clinked. Taylor smiled. “Well, Brad, the market liked your move. Up 4 and 3/8. Not bad.”

“Just the beginning, Taylor. Once we announce the ‘synergies’ between the two companies, we’ll make real money on our options.”

“How many ‘synergies’ are you talking about?”

“At least 50,000 off the payroll,” said Brad, pausing to take another sip. “Machines do most of the Amazon clear-cutting now anyway.”

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“Cool. Mary, I take it, will be bidding on a few more Monets?”

“Mary’s ‘on vacation’, Taylor. Put her up in a private place. Good doctors, the right drugs, etc. It’s cheaper than a divorce.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know.”

“She found out about Jenny and temporarily lost touch with reality. Even started talked divorce. My doctors are calling it a dissociative disorder. I don’t want any negative publicity to queer our deal. Hopefully, she’ll be back to her senses by Christmas, or she can just stay there. Anyway, are we still on for next Thursday at Pebble Beach?”

“Try to keep me away!” Taylor chuckled.

Taylor and Brad stared into the sparkling streets of Manhattan, laid out before them like attractive derivatives.

“Oh, Christ. Taylor! Look at that. Addicts. I hate that crap. Jewelsananny should clean junkies off of the streets permanently.”

“No kidding. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have your life run by addiction. Those people will do anything to get their drug. Pathetic.”

“Amen.”

pile of gold round coins

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Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

Fire and Ice

27 Thursday Feb 2020

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

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

empathy, environment, fable, fire, greed, hate, ice, life, love, myth, story

orange flame

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Fire: “What are you doing here? Fool. I’m god on earth now. You’re neither wanted nor needed. It’s over.”

Ice: “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

Fire: “Bah. In war, it is I who kills. Flame-throwers, the gunpowder propelling bullets, bombs, and best of all, but rarely used, atomic fire. Oh, it warms my heart to see all that death and destruction.”

Ice: “Yes, but I am your best partner, though you know it not.”

ice formation

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Fire: “You? Hah. Okay, I grant you, frostbite and cold have destroyed the bodies of many. Napolean and Hitler and Lord knows who else’s armies. But still.”

Ice: “No, you’re foolish and rambling as ever. I’m not talking about how I can help you kill. I’m talking about how I prepare the ground for you. Make people not care. Encourage the turning of a cold shoulder, a blind eye. Without me, people might never turn to you. Without me, how could they contemplate intentionally ignoring the truth? How could they embrace the litany of lies that lead to war? Who would willingly kill others if they clearly saw how useless and cruel it all was?”

Fire: “Yeah, yeah. I doubt it. Fire begets fire. Hate begets hate. What does your little chill of indifference have to do with it? Be gone or I’ll melt you to water. Boil you to steam.”

Ice: “Perhaps. But I might douse you to smoldering embers. I suggest you think about it. We can work as partners. Each making the other stronger. Actually, we have been partnering, but I’ve never gotten the credit I deserve! You’ve ignored me too long.”

men s black and white checkered shirt

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Fire: “Hah! Not nearly so much as you have ignored me! You’re useless without me!”

Ice: “Fine, if that’s the way you feel, then this is goodbye! Forever.”

Humanity decided to open its heart; embrace empathy; dismiss the lies of “other” and instead loved everyone as sister and brother. Fire shook his coronal locks in disdain and slunk off to reinvigorate himself in the core of a distant star.

Ice regained his rightful throne at the poles of the spinning emerald and sapphire planet. He abandoned the heart of humanity. Unbridled greed became nothing but the shadowy memory of a bad drug trip or a recurring nightmare — still scary to contemplate, but powerless to destroy the trajectory of life’s grand and glorious growth.

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Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

Serious Fun and Games

25 Tuesday Feb 2020

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

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

codes, Design, games, greed, legend, life, love, myth, relationships, Veritas

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Tu-Swift watched the small party leave and chewed the inside of his lips. Though he understood the “rationale” that Many Paths had given for the composition of the search party, he suspected that her real reason for leaving him out was more personal. She wanted to keep Tu-Swift close at hand. True enough, his knee still didn’t act quite right. He would walk along just fine for a time and then, he would just slightly misjudge the ground and a rock might slide a little to one side or the other and his knee would suddenly “give out.” Riding wasn’t much better. Although he was now second only to Jaccim in skill, he couldn’t ride for long. Tu-Swift wanted to be among those who first encountered the Veritas beyond the twin peaks. He had dreamed of being there when she was reunited. What, he wondered, if she never returned here? He stared at the long and beautiful ebony hair of Cat Eyes and remembered how it had pleasurably whipped his face on that wild flume ride. She turned back and grinned at him; waved; he could see the sunlight making a kind of dark rainbow in her hair. He waved back. Tu-Swift hadn’t noticed Sooz walk up behind him so that when she spoke it startled him. 

“You like her, don’t you?” 

“What?! Oh, Sooz, sorry. I … well, yes. I mean, don’t you?” 

Sooz smiled with her mouth but her eyes remained tight. “Oh, yes, she’s quite smart. It’s been fun working with her — and you — to better understand that game she brought with her from the ROI. Want to play?”

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Indeed, many of the Veritas had made some contribution to understanding the game, but Cat Eyes had been crucial in understanding. True enough, thought Tu-Swift, she was smart, but mainly, she had helped the most because she had seen the game played. Although, as a slave, they had never asked her to participate in the giant settlement of the Z-Lotz, she had in the last few weeks, under the direction of Many Paths, been able to calm her mind, shut her eyes, and systematically “revisit” memories of watching the game played. She had not only seen in her mind’s eye what the throws and moves were; she could also recall what had been said and note the reactions on people’s faces. Playing the game proved to be fun for those Veritas patient enough to learn it including Tu-Swift and Sooz. And playing the game improved the speed with which they could decode the characters written on the many leaves that Eagle Eyes and Lion Tamer had returned with. 

“I would like to play with you, Sssooz. How about another game instead?” 

Sooz blushed. Tu-Swift and Sooz had been working on a secret code for communicating between the two of them. They said the same word, but in different ways. They would change how long they held on to one of the sounds that nature had long ago given the Veritas and that variation would change the meaning. The also said the words with a slightly different tone structure. They had worked together for several weeks on a kind of magic trick and were about to perform it in front of Many Paths and She Who Saves Many Lives. Tu-Swift and Sooz had made a pact not to let anyone else in on the secret quite yet. If they could pull off the trick in front of those two — and Eagle Eyes — then, they would reveal it to everyone. 

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Tu-Swift believed this could prove useful as one of the new weapons of the Veritas. Many Paths had asked Tu-Swift to lead an effort to develop weapons that could be used without anyone noticing, including, if it came to that, the Z-Lotz who might try to kill or capture all of the Veritas. Tu-Swift had not wanted to contemplate being captured again, and the idea that all of the Veritas might be enslaved was horrendous. And yet, he could see the wisdom of preparation for such an eventuality. He reckoned that if he and Sooz could fool Eagle Eyes, Many Paths and She Who Saves Many Lives, they would be able to communicate secretly even if the worst came to be. 

Tu-Swift pulled a piece of birchbark from inside his tunic, walked over to a nearby charred log and broke off a small piece of charcoal. He carefully wrote a few strokes on the birch bark and handed it to Sooz. She read aloud, “Kiss me.”  

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Tu-Swift leaned over and whispered, “If you insist.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. It felt good. He wanted to write her some more when a small and very familiar voice called his name. 

“Hi Tu-Swift! Are you two playing a game? Can I join?” 

It was Day-Nah. Day-Nah was gradually becoming more friendly with all of the Veritas but  still felt most comfortable when he was with Tu-Swift. Usually, Tu-Swift enjoyed his company but he scrunched his face up at the current interruption. I will have other opportunities, I suppose, thought Tu-Swift. He glanced at Sooz who noted the chagrin on the visage of Tu-Swift and chuckled. She smiled at Dah-Nah and said aloud, “Ssssure, Day-Nah, we wouldddd love to have you join in our reading game.” She winked at Tu-Swift with an eye that was hidden from Day-Nah. 

Despite the momentary disappointment, Tu-Swift had to smile at her hidden message which promised much more later. He looked at Day-Nah and smiled at him as well. “We’re practicing making marks and saying them. Here. You put some marks down. Let’s see whether we can say what you meant.” Tu-Swift gently took the birchbark from Sooz, stroking her hand as he did so and surreptitiously smudging what he had just written. He handed the birchbark and piece of charcoal to Day-Nah. He had expected Day-Nah to put down one word. Instead, Day-Nah was making a whole forest of marks. At last he handed the birch bark back to Tu-Swift. 

Tu-Swift shifted position so that he now saw shoulder to shoulder with Sooz. Together they looked and read aloud. “?We go? ?See the whole collection? ?Again?” Tu-Swift sighed and glanced at Sooz. She made the slightest nod. They stood and walked across the cleaning and over to one of the many storerooms of the Veritas. Many Paths had asked for the table acorn-smashing table to be cleared. Several stumps already provide sitting. In the early spring, this table was used for mashing acorns that had been softened and de-bittered over-winter in the swamp. For now, people of the Veritas at various times came in and practiced decoding the marks. Everyone had been instructed to be very careful not to harm the delicate leaves of bark.  

It took a moment for the trio to become adjusted to the dim light. Day-Nah, the youngest, had adjusted the most quickly. He took the first leaf and stared at it. It seemed laid out differently from all the others. This first leaf of thin bark had many large spaces in it while all the other leaves were largely filled from top to bottom. Only a few spaces popped up here and there. Day-Nah began to turn his head this way and that. 

Tu-Swift’s inner eye suddenly showed him that flash of the long dark rainbow hair of Cat Eyes and he sighed. He said aloud, “I hope our searchers are able to find our cousins — there is no map. Jaccim says he knows the way, but I think his horse may know the way better. You know, horses are pretty amazing Sooz. I hope you someday get to ride one. They are big, but there’s no need to be scared.” 

horse near trees

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Day-Nah muttered, “Map?”  

Tu-Swift shook his head. “What map? They don’t have any map. We’re taking about horses now.” 

Day-Nah, who generally seemed quite attuned to Tu-Swift’s every move, ignored Tu-Swift. He furrowed his brow and said again, “Map?” 

Sooz said kindly, “What map are you talking about, Day-Nah?” 

Day-Nah lifted up the first leaf and said, “This map.” 

Tu-Swift’s brows furrowed and he shook his head. “That’s not a map Day-Nah. It’s just the first leaf.” 

Day-Nah ignored them and put the first page up against a nearby pot so that it was nearly vertical at one end of the table. Then, he began arranging the leaves on the table. After about half of them were arranged on the table, Tu-Swift said, “Come Day-Nah, what is this nonsense. I thought we were going to practice. What are you doing?”

Day-Nah said again, “It’s a map.” He continued arranging the leaves carefully. “Now, go over to the door and tell me what you see.”

Tu-Swift sighed. “I won’t be able to see the marks from there. I mean, I will be able to see them but I won’t be able to tell which mark is which.” 

Day-Nah, said with some insistence in his voice, “Try it.” 

Tu-Swift sighed. He tried to be lenient with Day-Nah. As traumatic as it had been for he himself to have been stolen from his tribe, he imagined it had to be even more traumatic for Day-Nah. But now the kid was being annoying. He shook his head and walked over to the door. He stared at the leaves carefully laid out on the table. 

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“Are you happy now, Day-Nah, just as I suspected, I cannot decode a single one of those marks from here. I almost have them memorized but I cannot actually discern them. They are just … just … Turtle in the sky!!” 

Sooz looked at the wide-eyed expression on Tu-Swift’s face. “What are you talking about? Have you both gone crazy?”

Tu-Swift gestured frantically. “Come over here! Come over here, Sooz! Look!” 

Sooz dutifully stood though she shook her head and slowly walked over. “My eyesight’s not any better than yours, Tu-Swift. I don’t even think Eagle Eyes could…” 

And then Sooz saw it too. The small markings could not be discriminated from each other but when the leaves were arranged thus, larger characters stood out. Those characters could be made out. She said them aloud: 

“Life must balance. Freedom and discipline. Work for self and work for tribe. Work for self alone ended the world for Orange Man and then greed ended the world. Now, we rebuild.” 

Tu-Swift swallowed hard. That was the essence of the story contained in the pages. The Orange Man had destroyed a tribe — and himself. But — the world? Everyone knew that too much greed was very strong and very bad medicine. How did Day-Nah know this was a map? With a sudden inspiration, Tu-Swift opened the shutters of one of the storehouse windows and walked outside. He peered in at the leaves arranged on the table. Now, he could see yet another pattern of characters that stunned him into a long silence. 

“Love/Unity makes Life. Greed/Division makes Death.”

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—————————————————-

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

The Book of Anti-Life

26 Sunday Jan 2020

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

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

bully, greed, hypocrisy, legend, lying, myth, story, tale, Veritas, Z-Lotz

When, after a week’s deliberation, the people decided to attempt to contact that people of the Veritas who lived beyond the Two Peaks. Tu-Swift was over-joyed. He imagined himself as leading a dozen riders, including Cat Eyes, over wild hills and into unknown canyons and through deep forests.

daylight forest glossy lake

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As Tu-Swift contemplated this image, a smile grew on his face. Sooz looked at his face and hers became a puzzled look. “Shall we go back to the game?” she asked, trying to catch his eye. 

“What?” Tu-Swift said absently. His image disappeared. He shook his head at his own foolishness. They only had four horses now and only two of them were sufficiently trained. Why would they choose Tu-Swift? His knee still hurt when he rode and, for that matter, when he walked very far. Besides, Sooz was his special friend, he thought. He sighed, turned to Sooz and smiled. 

“Yes! Let’s do that, Sooz! It’s kind of fun. Do you mind if Cat Eyes plays too?”

“Oh, not at all. She will be vital for us to understand this.” 

Four of the Veritas had fallen into a habit of getting together for most of the morning to study the game and the many leaves of stick figures that Eagle Eyes and Lion Slayer had brought back from the Z-Lotz. These four: Eagle Eyes, Tu-Swift, Sooz, and Cat Eyes constituted the regulars. Many Paths, Shadow Walker, Easy Tears, and Jaccim often observed closely and offered occasional suggestions or comments. 

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Original freehand drawing by Zoe Colier

After the initial insight of Tu-Swift that these drawn stick figures represented the initial sounds of words and that the words where the ones signified by sign language, the group had easily noted that there were only 64 different signs. Most of the gestures were easy to guess. A few proved quite stylized and barely recognizable, but within a week, they were satisfied that they knew exactly which sound each of the 64 different signs stood for. 

And, then, they were stumped. Each leaf of the recovered sheaf of leaves was covered with a random collection of these sounds. But when people spoke, they spoke one sound at a time in quick succession. Here, they were seeing hundreds of sounds all at once. It would be as though everyone in the tribe were shouting something different. It would be chaos. And chaos is how these stick figures swam around before their eyes. 

Just before the mid-day meal, She Who Saves Many Lives happened upon their deliberations. They briefly explained the concept. The Old Leader nodded and said, “Yes, I heard your explanation — very clever, by the way — at your telling, Tu-Swift. And Many Paths mentioned that you were trying to make more sense of it. I doubt I could be much help. Which is the first step of the journey? This one? It seems larger than the rest. And which is the next? This one?” she queried as she pointed to the stick figure next to the larger one. “Or this one?” she asked pointing to the one below it.

Tu-Swift shrugged, “We don’t know. What? Wait. Did you say something about a journey?” 

footprints on snow

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She Who Saved Many Lives smiled, and looked at Tu-Swift, “Yes. When you talk, you can’t say everything at once. You have to say one thing at a time. It’s a journey when you talk so this — I would tend to assume — is also a journey. Or, a dance if you like. Or a tune. But if it’s a journey, I need a map. Where do we go from this — this is for the “Oh” sound is it not?”

Everyone drew closer. Eagle Eyes said, “Yes, that’s for the “Oh” sound but what is the second step of the journey? We don’t really know.” 

Cat Eyes added, “If we go this way, we get “Oh” then “R” … then, if we keep going this way….”

Sooz, who generally stayed fairly quiet at these sessions jumped up and shouted, “Orange Man: The Legend!” 

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Tu-Swift jumped back at the sudden movement of Sooz. He frowned, but quickly saw that Sooz was right. He said as much, and the other two agreed. 

She Who Saved Many Lives gestured lovingly to the group and said, “I see you’re making progress. Keep up the good work.” 

The four were so busy trying various journey patterns that they almost forgot to give their leave. Very quickly, Cat Eyes said, “Look, it’s here. It’s all here. It goes this way all along this path, then it drops down and you walk your eyes back this way and then, when you get to this side, you drop down again and go left to right again. The whole legend is here, at least in essence. Listen. Greatly aided by her knowledge of the Legend, Cat Eyes painstakingly, and somewhat haltingly took her tongue on a journey guided by her eyes which went first one stick figure over and then she had to think of the sound. As she went on, she grew more agile. At the end of the Myth of the Orange Man, she was speaking like a dog runs on three legs. 

When she got to what everyone knew to be the “end” of the Myth of the Orange Man, there were many more stick figures. This was not material known to them and the work was much harder. The foursome completely forgot the mid-day meal, and did not notice the sun sinking into the Northwestern sky. The four took turns reading aloud (no-one had yet realized that one could also read “silently”). 

Just as they ended, Many Paths walked up, sensing their eerie sense of excitement tinged with horror. “I just saw She Who Saved Many Lives” and she said you were making progress in understanding how to work with the stick figures. 

The four exchanged glances. Eagle Eyes spoke first, “Many Paths, we know how to follow the path. We — this is the Legend of the Orange Man… the whole thing. But then, there’s more. These words … they are horrible words.”

Many Paths was genuinely puzzled. “What? How can words be horrible? What do you mean?”

Tu-Swift bit his lower lip. “We were excited to discover — I think Cat Eyes came up with the idea to follow a path and say the sounds one at a time. They are like footprints of the thoughts and footprints of the sounds in the mind of the person who made these marks. But what we found. It is not a good thing.” Tu-Swift glanced at Cat Eyes.

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“It wasn’t my idea,” said Cat Eyes. I think Sooz may have come up with it. But after the Orange Man — and the whole village dies, the words continue. They say that the Orange Man was not cruel enough. That he wasn’t smart enough. The reason he failed, according to this was that he did not have good enough weapons. They say a leader must have weapons that prevent anyone from challenging their authority! What kind of lesson is that? What kind of story is that?”

After a short silence, Sooz added, “I didn’t think of the path idea. I thought it was Tu-Swift. But no-one blames him. The words are what they are. But, instead of making the Orange Man out to be the monster that he is because of his greed and his lying, the words that speak from these leaves say he wasn’t enough of a monster. He needed better weapons to take what he wanted. It’s an evil thing to say, isn’t it? Do you want to make us all … submit to your will … because you have a Killing Stick?” 

Many Paths shook her head and frowned. “Of course not! What kind of a leader would I be then? I agree they are horrible words, but we don’t have to accept them as true just because someone made those symbols.” 

Cat Eyes added, “There’s more. As I suspected from my time with the Z-Lotz, the actual priests of the Z-Lotz don’t believe the things that they say. According to this, all the rules and laws that they claim come from the Great Bear in the Sky are just … just made up … to help control the people. The religion is just another of the weapons for controlling people. I feel sick. These words make me sick. This … these leaves say everyone should steal from others and it’s just who has the best weapons.” 

Many Paths nodded slowly. “I see. You four have made an important discovery. Well, actually, you have many several important discoveries. You understand how to say words that someone far away and long ago has thought. This is amazing. But you’ve also discovered that The People Who Steal Children are even more evil that we thought. They don’t respect us. But they don’t even respect the people of their own tribe. They don’t even respect themselves. Not only do they have Killing Sticks — they believe these Killing Sticks are a good thing. They believe that lies are good. They believe killing easily and without honor or bravery is a good thing.” 

The five of them stood in silence for a time. 

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Original drawing by Pierce Morgan

Many Paths spoke. “Actually, we only know that one among these people thinks these things. Although Cat Eyes lived among them for awhile. Do you think these words reflect the way all the Z-Lotz think or only the person who made these marks?”

Cat Eyes took in a deep breath. “I think more than one. But not all. Some among the Z-Lotz showed me kindness. Most just ordered me about and did not go out of their way to be cruel. But some…some of them…think exactly such things.” 

Many Paths nodded slowly. “Yes. We must share these discoveries with all of the tribe and think of what to do next.” 

Tu-Swift spoke softly, “Sister, these words make me feel bad. Do you want to share them with everyone? Won’t that make everyone sick at heart?”

Many Paths sighed. “You may be right. I fear you are right. Yet, I am reluctant to keep such knowledge secret from the people. I need to think on how to do this though. We need to take in this knowledge and make plans for what it means.” 

——————————————-

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  

By the Numbers

10 Friday Jan 2020

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

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

addiction, alcoholism, essay, greed, non-linearity, self-destruction, Trumpism

selective focus photo of table tennis ball and ping pong racket

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A Tale of Two Table Tennis Tables

 

One of the fun things for me personally about beginning to work at  the IBM research Eero Saarinen building — a fascinating building for numerous reasons. For one thing, it was a 22nd century flying saucer of a Sci-Fi vibe filled with dark glass, concrete and steel. However — it walls were studded everywhere with a huge amount of beautiful and variegated natural stone. I make no claim that this has anything to do with the actual design rationale for the building, but to me, it represented the idea that the future (symbolized by the sleek design, the glass, the steel) would be achieved on a foundation that was strong; it consisted of a great number of individuals from a great diversity of background in terms of age, gender, national origin, religious backgrounds, and academic disciplines. I liked that. It made me feel good to drive to work knowing that I would be entering a building with that symbolism, a symbolism reflected in the reality of the actual working environment. 

A short walk from that Eero Saarinen building lay various recreational facilities. Bernen House, for instance, had two rooms, each containing a ping pong table. Around noon, about 8-15 people would typically gather to play. If you won, you got to stay and take on the next challenger. If you won three in a row, you had to step aside any way. I’ve always been decent at table tennis. But, now I found myself playing with an entirely different class of player. These folks were excellent. As in the Research Center itself, these folks came from many different places including America, but also India, Japan, China, Middle East — all over the world, really. And, of course, playing each other was a lot of fun just because there was such a variety of playing styles. 

At some point, the administration decided to use part of Bernen House for administrative offices. So, one but not both, of these ping pong tables was taken away. Whereas with two ping pong tables bringing out 8-15 players, you might think one ping pong table might bring out 4-8 players. Or, you might think people would be willing to wait longer and we would still have 8-15 players. Or, you might think it would be somewhere in between, say 6-12 players. What actually happened was this: after a few weeks, there were typically zero players. 

Yes, you read that correctly. Zero players. How can that be? I can’t say for certain, but here is an analysis copied from an earlier post: (https://petersironwood.com/2018/12/20/non-linearity/)

Here’s what happened. The first day after this change happened, I went over and about fifteen people showed up. I, like everyone else, waited a long time for a game. Our “official” lunch hour was actually 42 minutes and the building was a five minute walk away. So, if you had to wait a half hour for your chance to play, it really wasn’t that much fun. In addition, there were some more subtle effects. All the players were good, but there some substantial differences in skill level. People tried to arrange it so that they played someone at about the same level. With only one table, this was trickier. In addition, when a relatively large number of people showed up, it was too crowded for everyone to see the match without interfering with play. It happened that I was too busy to go for a few days. The next time I showed up, no-one was there. Some of us talked about trying to “organize” the ping pong to insure that enough people showed up but everyone was busy and no-one wanted to take this on. Scheduling researchers is harder than you might think. It was hard for people to make a commitment to show up at noon because a meeting might run over, their manager might give them extra work, etc. The number of people showing up swung wildly for about two weeks and then stabilized.

At zero. 

The Death By Many Cuts

a barber grooming a man s beard

Photo by Thgusstavo Santana on Pexels.com

It was considered quite a torture actually: the death by many cuts. And, if you think about it closely enough to get mildly nauseous, you’ll understand why. But notice that everyone cuts themselves occasionally. I have cut myself shaving. I’ve cut myself using a kitchen knife. I’ve cut myself on sharp paper. I’ve cut myself with my own tennis racquet. I’ve obviously lived to tell the tale. A minor cut is not fatal. But a thousand will be. 

If you were chained in a cold, damp prison cell and each day, someone came in and cut you badly enough that it took awhile for the bleeding to stop, it would be difficult to think of anything terribly pleasant, but you might as well, if you possibly could. Anyway, every living thing is like this — there is a range in which it is able to recover and recuperate and a point beyond which death is the outcome. That’s true about temperature, dehydration, infection — any insult to the system eventually becomes fatal. It’s true of dogs, cats, humans, birds, teams, corporations, nations, and coalitions. It’s hard to predict precisely which straw will break the camel’s back, but it is certain that the back will break eventually. 

grey steel grill

Photo by Cameron Casey on Pexels.com

But let’s not leave you in that dark, dank cell, chained to the wall without at least doing you the courtesy of delving into your fate. I think you would find it rather annoying to be cut each day, knowing full well that at some point, you will die, but having no idea when. Your torturer might be a novice and accidentally cut an artery the very first day. Or, you might get a bad infection that kills you in a few days, long before you were supposed to bleed to death. In any case, the outcome is certain, barring some miracle. 

Self-Destructive Behavior

Now, imagine that you are in that stony cell, and the torturer tells you that they will destroy you, one piece at a time. He adds though, that before you’re cut, even once, you are shown a button on the wall, well within reach. It is explained that if you push that button, you’ll be free to go, no hard feelings and not a single scar. But if you didn’t push the button, you’d be cut. After that, if you felt like it, you could push the button and leave with just one scar. 

Apparently, some people in that position would be curious. “Well, it’s only one cut. Let’s see how bad that really is. If it’s bad, I’ll just quit. One scar. No big deal.” The torturer comes in and slices them. Now, they look over at the button and they think, “Well, I’ve come this far. It’s kind of interesting trying to figure out where he’s going to cut me next.” 

The next day, in this scenario, the blue button is once again appealing, and yet — that hypothetical prisoner (certainly not you, right?) chooses instead, another slice be taken. He feels comfort in the idea that he could, at any time, end this if he chooses, simply by pressing the button. Maybe he will see just how far he can go. But he’ll stop one short of killing himself. 

I suspect you’re thinking that no-one would possibly do such a thing; that it’s ridiculous. 

Really? 

No-one would do such a thing? 

How about an alcoholic or drug addict who regularly takes a dose that is very nearly lethal? How about a person who spends most of their life in a job that saps their soul because it’s never quite the right time to leave? How about the gambler who, from anyone else’s perspective, will eventually gamble away his fortune, his family, and his future — but they gamble it away regardless of every friend’s warning. They’d rather lose their friends than keep hearing the bad news about how destructive their behavior is. They’ll find new friends. Those friends will likely share the same addiction. And, rather than challenge his beliefs about how he just needs to get that one good break and he’ll be successful & famous, they’ll be agreeing with this unlikely scenario. Oh, my yes, he’ll be the one heading the parade and he’ll be made of money and all the people who laughed at him before will be singing his praises. He might say, just in so many words: “I just need that one good break!” And his new pals will say, “I know! I know!” Because they have very similar delusions. 

Of course, if there is a dollar to be made, there will be people aiding and abetting in the creation and propagation of such illusions. For example, the casino advertisements will show people winning and jumping up with joy. I’ve been to Los Vegas for a conference and in my observation, the winners at the slot machines did not jump for joy. Instead, they would wordlessly take their new stack of quarters and begin feeding them back to the machine. How many jumps for joy did I see? Zero. I didn’t even see a change of expression. 

buildings near body of water

Photo by David Vives on Pexels.com

And here’s the thing. Numbers matter. Occasionally being subjected to information that is erroneous will likely not move your opinion all that much. On the other hand, if you are subjected to relentless, targeted, misinformation all targeted at keeping you addicted to whatever it is: alcohol, tobacco, firearms, gambling, fast food, opioids, etc., it makes it that much harder to stop being self-destructive. 

In the “best case,” you’ll convince enough people to become addicted, that people will do much of your “advertising” for you. For instance, how many sit-com episodes have you seen in which someone is emotionally upset about something and their friend says something on the order of: “You know what we need to do? We need to get drunk!” Dealing with problems in this matter has become normalized in the culture. 

What you see much less of are relentless, targeted, misinformation campaigns telling you about the benefits of chess, say, or playing a musical instrument, or dancing, or reading widely, or learning a foreign language. There’s a bit of advertising and perhaps a claim may be exaggerated here or there. 

It is nothing like the campaigns to get you to do self-destructive things. Chess, music, dancing etc. all have actual benefits. When it comes to self-destructive behaviors, you need illusions to keep you hooked. You may be able to generate those all by yourself, but it certainly helps to have friends who share your illusions and your collective illusions are much more likely to gel with a large enough community of the like-minded if it is all jump-started with a large infusion of cash whether it’s from a consortium of casinos, pharmacy companies, or Russian oil oligarchs. 

pile of gold round coins

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Numbers matter. 

Author Page on Amazon

Are we, as Neil Postman claims “Amusing Ourselves to Death“?

You Bet Your Life

What Could Be Better: A Horror Story

25 Friday Oct 2019

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

≈ 22 Comments

Tags

fable, greed, halloween, horror, karma, story

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

photo of man walking surrounded with pumpkins

Photo by Connor Danylenko on Pexels.com

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What Could Be Better?! A Horror Story

———————————

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

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

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

money cash euro pay

Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

nature outside insect macro

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Author Page on Amazon 

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

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

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