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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Tag Archives: truth

D4: Dictator’s Degenerative Delusional Disease

07 Wednesday Dec 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America

≈ 29 Comments

Tags

Democracy, essay, politics, truth, USA

“Stop, Hey, what’s that sound?”

— Buffalo Springfield 

Imagine someone being so rich and powerful and well-connected that they can summon world experts for advice on just about anything. 


Imagine this someone is also motivated enough and smart enough that they beat out all sorts of rivals to get to the position they’re in — not purely by inheritance — but partly or even mainly by merit and luck. 


And, then, given those overwhelming advantages, they make stupid decisions anyway.

For a recent example, go no further than Putin’s war on Ukraine. Or T-Rump’s recent call to subvert the US Constitution.

 What’s going on? Chances are, both are suffering from D4 (Dictator’s Degenerative Delusional Disease). 

What is it?

D4 is a very common affliction among dictators who are heads of state. But it’s not limited to those few. It can occur in the bully of the family, a narcissistic team leader, or a business executive. Anyone who has a degree of unchecked power is subject to contracting the disease.

Where does the name come from?

“Dictator’s” because it mainly strikes those with a degree of unchecked power. 

“Degenerative” because, left to its own course, the disease will get worse and worse over time.  

“Delusional” because, one of the most destructive systems of the disease is the dictator’s beliefs (and eventually even perceptions) are not moored to reality. 

“Disease” because it is bad for the physical, mental, and spiritual health of the dictator, those around him, and the society as a whole. 

 



Why is it bad? 

For those around the dictator, the disease is bad because people close to the dictator are typically demeaned, demoted, fired, or, in the case of Putin, killed. 

For the society as a whole, D4 is bad because intelligent actions rely on finding and communicating the truth. When the dictator instead subverts the truth and insists on people pretending lies are true so that the dictator “looks good”, innovation suffers; the economy suffers; and since energy goes to fighting imaginary enemies, real dangers receive fewer resources. Hitler’s dictatorial insanity caused 6 million Jews to be intentionally killed, but he also caused the death of 4.2 million non-Jewish Germans including soldiers and civilians. Stalin was responsible for the deaths of over 10 million Russians though how many more is in some dispute. Somewhere between 40 and 80 million Chinese died under Mao.  

Dictatorship and the attendant D4 is even bad for the dictator. They might enjoy their ill-gotten gold or possibly enjoy the cruelty they are able to wreak. Ultimately, however, they miss out on the best parts of life. As they ignore the voices of reason around them, they become more and more disconnected from reality. Ultimately, even if their brains don’t fall prey to hardware destruction, they do fall prey to data degradation. They insist on an ever-more illusory view and ignore or destroy those who try to bring them back to reality. 

How can we prevent Dictator’s Degenerative Disease? 

Although, there are no panaceas, there are several known ways to help prevent D4.

Anonymous FB can be provided to the dictator or dictatorial boss. This can help them stay tethered to reality. However, the natural tendency of the dictator, when they get news they don’t like is to insist on finding the identity of the person who gave the honest, but unwanted feedback. Ex-President Trump, for instance, not only fired the whistleblower Alexander Vindman, but also Alexander’s brother. 

The ruled need options. One of the major goals of any would-be dictator is to get rid of free and fair elections. Once they get in power and begin using the government to line their own pockets, people in a democracy would simply vote them out. So, instead, they either hold no elections or hold “show” elections. Free and fair elections are one of the best mechanisms for keeping rulers accountable.  

The culture of a society can also help. If someone in a major political party in America showed obvious signs of wanting to become a dictator disconnected from reality and began lying about results of their programs, soon the other powers in the political party would gently push that person aside. Until recently. 

Day in Court. Another check on D4 is to have an independent judiciary that does not feel “beholden” to the dictator. Once judges decide to give “special treatment” to a would-be dictator, D4 becomes much more rampant. 

Checks and Balances The founders of America (and other democracies) realized that some people are quite susceptible to D4 and therefore arranged a system of Checks and Balances. This method only works if the the other parts of the government perform their duty. Everyone in the judiciary and the legislature swears to uphold and defend the Constitution. But if people take this oath and then thumb their noses at that oath by not, say, convicting an obvious breach of faith on the part of the would-be dictator, then the function of Checks and Balances stops working. 

The Rule of Law requires that no-one is above the Rule of Law. If even one person, such as a dictator or would-be dictator is treated as being above the Rule of Law, then, in effect, the Rule of Law means nothing. The dictator can essentially “overrule” any court by means legal or illegal. 

Turnabout is Fair Play. Conceivably, a lottery system could be used to choose some of the people in government. Or, people could find themselves in any position in the society.  

Independent Judiciary. Judges could not be “sponsored” by the same wealthy people who have an outsized influenced on electing officials in the legislative and executive branches. 

Conclusion:

To support a dictator means nothing more or less than putting yourself in chains and then handing the keys to the dictator along with a lash in return for a promise that they’ll be good to you.

——————

Absolute is not just a vodka

Poker Chips

Dick-Taters

The Ailing King of Agitate

A Lot is not a Little

Guernica

Essays on America: The Game

My Cousin Bobby

Where does your Loyalty Lie?

Happy Talk Lies

The Stopping Rule

Such a teeny tiny loser man

Teliot State

Donnie’s Last Gift

The Update Problem

Essays on America: Wednesday

Essays on America: Labelism

Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

Fencing

What Line?

Clarence but not Darrow

The Extreme Court

Alito’s Egg

Dance of Billions

Fencing

03 Saturday Dec 2022

Posted by petersironwood in poetry, politics

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Democracy, life, poem, poetry, politics, truth, USA

Photo by Regina Pivetta on Pexels.com

The briars dripped with blood & gore

But briars did not hurt enough

The human skin had grown too tough

So wire fences barbed will score.

Photo by Daniel Abbatt on Pexels.com

We just ignore the other side.

If still they claim a crust of bread

We’ll break or bomb or bullet dead

And throw them off our pretty ride. 

Photo by Cleyton Ewerton on Pexels.com

Our pretty ride of glass and steal

Should not be fouled by poorer folk

The words can’t count when poor folk spoke

So we’ll just love our current deal.

Photo by Jimmy Chan on Pexels.com

There’s no appeal for fairer day

No one will blame for stopping here

Our reptile brain must think it queer

To let them in to work and play.

Photo by Henning Roettger on Pexels.com

There’s nought to say but: “It’s complex.”

Lean back & watch some more TV

To practice rich hypocrisy  

To face cruel facts would only vex. 

Photo by Julius Silver on Pexels.com

A lexicon devised to cleave: 

“Illegals” or a “lesser race”

Or seek a different path to grace

Not us?  No need to care or grieve.

The weave we weave is just for us

Perhaps that “US” should be just me

And those who think & look like me

The rest can’t ride on my fine bus.

And when at last the broken bus

There’s no-one left to fix or care

The greed we taught is empty air

That love denied was meant for us.


How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Siren Song

Dance of Billions

The Ailing King of Agitate

The Echoes of your Actions

The Crows and Me

Hot Dog

The Word for War

Guernica

Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

The Orange Man

Absolute is not just a Vodka

Such a teeny tiny man

What Line?

02 Friday Dec 2022

Posted by petersironwood in family, poetry

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

life, poem, poetry, story, truth

Where do you draw the line?

Between the group you’re in 

And the group who’s sin?

I really want to know. 

I am curious in that way. 

But some are far less curious than I. 

And that is a good thing I say.

Why?

Because if everyone were equally curious 

We might all die of the same untested plant

Or seek to glide from cliffs like a hawk

It could be awk

Ward 

Don’t you see? Perhaps I rant. 

But I really want to know: 



Where do you draw the line?

Who is in your clan?

And not okay for travel ban?

And who’s so far outside

You think it good they died?

Here’s a thought you might suppose

The larger your circle you care about 

The larger the family you have.

So I am more than a little curious to know:



Where do you draw the line?

Imagine if every living thing on earth 

Drew a circle as large as earth

Herself and we would all be 

Family. 

So I really want to know: 

Where do you draw the line? 

What does it do to the way they look at you

When you draw a line? 

What does it do to you 

When they draw a line?


What if time were not a straight unbending line?

What if, instead, we create the world that is yet to be?

What if, instead, we filled a future world with love

And beauty. 

So again, I am curious:

Why do you draw a line? 

——— 

Dance of Billions

Listen you can hear the echoes

Somehow

The Forest

You must remember this

The jewels of November

Castles Made of Sand

Such a Teeny, Tiny, Loser Man

20 Sunday Nov 2022

Posted by petersironwood in poetry, politics

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Democracy, poetry, politics, truth, USA

Photo by Min Thein on Pexels.com

He’s such a teeny, tiny, loser man.

A baby in a man-sized orange suit.

When faced with how to place a travel ban

He always took the childish racist route. 

Photo by Todd Trapani on Pexels.com

A fortune bragged, inherited, then lost.

But not to worry, he’ll feign charity.

And when he loses, he lies at any cost.

The party dies but he just swallows pity.

His sportsmanship is mere insistent screams.

He cares for naught save lies he spews each day.

He is the champ of winning in his dreams. 

Knows naught of friendship, love, or learn or play.

Photo by Ben Phillips on Pexels.com

One day, the naked king will lie alone.

And live alone in tweet-space on his phone. 

Photo by Egor Kamelev on Pexels.com

(I’m King! I’m King! Of Everything!)

Stoned Soup

Absolute is not just a vodka

Dick-Taters

RIP, GOP

Where does your loyalty lie?

What about the butter dish?

The stopping rule

The update problem

Siren Song

Essays on America: Wednesday

My Cousin Bobby

The Ailing King of Agitate

Donnie & Veterans Day Parade

Siren Song

Donnie’s Last Gift

Imagine all the People

Dance of Billions

The echoes of your actions

Ah wilderness

You must remember this

The forest

Thirsty Thursday

13 Thursday Oct 2022

Posted by petersironwood in nature

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

beauty, life, nature, rain, truth

Water is life.

At least, most forms of life need water. Indeed, most forms of life are mostly made of water.

Water is some amazing stuff. It’s one of the few things that ordinary people in ordinary circumstances see in solid, liquid, and gaseous phases. One thing that’s unusual about water is that when it freezes, it expands. It also has a high “heat capacity.” This means that water takes a lot of heat energy, relative to most materials, to increase its temperature. It also means that, once heated, it takes a long time for the water to cool to the ambient temperature. It’s why land areas that are near the oceans tend to be more moderate in temperature than similar places inland.

A hundred miles inland from where I live is a place called “Palm Desert.” The average night temp in the coldest month is 41 degrees Fahrenheit while the average daytime temperature in the warmest month is 107 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s a difference of 66 degrees! I live near San Diego, a few miles from the ocean. For San Diego, the average coldest temperature is 51 degrees and the average for the high is 77. That’s a difference of 26 degrees. Quite a difference. That difference is due to the high heat capacity of water.

Water is beautiful in many forms: rivers, springs, waterfalls, clouds, rainbows, dew, rainstorms, ocean waves are just a few of the many ways that water strikes us as beautiful.

A well-fed adult human can last weeks without food but only a few days without water. I wonder whether we also need the beauty of water. It shows that the region we’re in may be survivable. It also indicates there is other life as well nearby. Perhaps as a corollary to these, water may remind us as well that what is “out there” and beautiful to look at is also “in here” — inside us.

Water also plays with and transforms light. When water shows itself as droplets, as shown in the pictures here, it demonstrates two aspects of its nature: it adheres to other surfaces and it coheres to itself. A drop of water on a flower or leaf demonstrates its dual nature. This is also our own dual nature. We must play our part for a time as a separate droplet, but such a droplet does not keep that form forever. Each one of these water droplets has been part of a cloud, part of a river, part of an ocean. We too change. We too need to be coherent. But we also need to interact with and adhere, at least for a time, to aspects of our environment.

A drop of water does not obscure the form of the leaf or petal it finds itself on. Rather, the droplet enhances the form of the leaf or petal upon which it rests.

What about you?

The Walkabout Diaries: The life of the party

The Walkabout Diaries Mind Walk

The Walkabout Diaries Sunsets

The Walkabout Diaries Bee Wise

The Walkabout Diaries Friends

The Walkabout Diaries Life Will Find a Way

The Walkabout Diaries: Walk in the Park

The Walkabout Diaries A New Rose is a New Rose

The Walkabout Diaries: Racism is Absurd

The Walkabout Diaries Lest we Forget

Ice

Dance of Billions

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Coelacanth (3/3)

10 Monday Oct 2022

Posted by petersironwood in family, fiction

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

boat, crime, FBI, fiction, fishing, life, murder, story, truth

2019: 

The den’s dark paneling reeked oppressively of cigar smoke. The room seemed decorated for intimidation rather than comfort. Keisha imagined what it must have been like for Lila to grow up surrounded by trophy cases filled with daddy’s accomplishments. Apart from trophies, the only other “personal touches” were the myriad mounted fish. She had agreed to follow Lila’s lead in their conversations with Mr. Jordan.

Lila, however, sipped sherry silently, focusing on putting precisely correct amounts of brie on every cracker. She seemed subdued, even cowed, by JJ. Keisha smiled as she realized that this obese, balding CEO with hairy forearms was now her father-in-law. She chuckled inwardly wondering how he’d take that news. Keisha pointed to one of the many mounted fish. “That’s an interesting one. Looks like something from the Age of Dinosaurs! Where did you snag that guy?” 

JJ’s voice was harsh and raspy. Keisha decided he loved projecting pure virility. “That’s a coelacanth. They appeared about 400 million years ago. Paleontologists thought they died out 65 million years ago. Guess what? Coelacanth are still here, hiding deep below the surface. I caught that one off the coast of South Africa. Takes patience. Bring ‘em up too fast and they explode.” 

Keisha blinked. “Explode?! How do they taste?” 

JJ barked a laugh. “Like crap. No real value. Slimy. Tasteless. I caught it to prove who’s king of the food chain. Same in business. Win. Everything else is bullshit.”

JJ grabbed the remote and clicked on the wall-sized TV. “Watch the Patriots if you like. But set your alarms for five.”


Keisha shook her head. “No thanks. Lila’s going to show me her latest results.” Her father-in-law shook his head sadly. Keisha added. “It’s for work. We’re developing a textual analysis program.” 

JJ’s waved his hand dismissively and muttered, “FBI – glorified cops. Badge and gun. That’s all you need. Not a fit job for girls anyway.” 

Keisha bit her lip so hard, she nearly made it bleed, but kept her silence.

Once the pair were alone, Lila apologized for her father. Keisha shook her head. “It’s okay. You warned me. I thought you exaggerated. But no. Anyway, I’d love to see your results.” 

Keisha scanned them quickly. “Can you get me on the wireless here?”

“Sure. But why?” 

“Lila, I’m not sure. But — I’m sorry to say so, but I have a bad feeling about JJ. Do you mind if I access the records and apply your algorithms to his old police statements?” 

Lila frowned. “What? Why? Do you think…?” 

“I just think if we’re going out in a boat alone with the guy….” 

Lila snorted. “JJ’s my dad, for God’s sake. I know he’s a boor but … surely, you don’t think —“

Keisha shook her head. “Lila, I know he’s your dad. You always refer to him as JJ. Anyway, it won’t take long to run some tests. Think of it as practice. Maybe nothing will show up. Probably, nothing.”

Lila frowned again, “No, I’m telling you.” Here Lila broke off as a disturbing image loomed into her head.

Keisha spoke softly, “Lila? Are you okay? You literally like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Lila’s voice became flat. “Let’s run the tests.”

Being a CEO, JJ had excellent bandwidth wherever he went: home, limo, yacht. The algorithms spun their magic and trolled the text. By morning, they were exhausted but convinced. They also agreed that proving it in a court of law would be an entirely different matter. Textual analysis didn’t have decades of precedent like DNA testing. Convincing a DA to open up such an old case? Impossible without more direct evidence. 

Keisha said, “We need a plan.” Lila agreed.

———

The morning fog lifted. They were soon underway. The women leaned out into the salt spray which made rainbows in the rising sun. Meanwhile, JJ hunched in his dark, dank electronic cockpit below, searching his screens for signs of fish.

From below decks, over the slapping waves they heard JJ growling, “Where the hell are you, stupid fish?!” 


Keisha stared down into the cabin at the hulking back of her father-in-law. Once, he had been athletic. She wondered how athletic he might still be. 

Dark clouds loomed on the horizon. Lila reported, “Father! A storm’s coming!” 

She could see him shake his head. “No rain in the forecast. Just clouds. Doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Father. I have to talk with you.” 

JJ growled, “Nothing to say. We’re fishing!” 

Keisha had never heard Lila’s voice sound so cold as she said, “I remember what really happened to Trevor and mother. I saw you.” 

JJ laughed. “You were a girl! You don’t know what you saw. Anyway, nobody’ll believe you — especially after ten years of silence!”

Keisha said, “We have other evidence. We accessed your original statements to the police and ran them through our analysis programs. They are strongly indicative of fabrication and misdirection. We have your own words. It’s now admissible in court as textual evidence.” 

JJ screamed, “Bullshit! You don’t have any sexual evidence. I made sure of that. You don’t have anything that would stand up in court. I’m the biggest fish out here. Face it. I’m wealthy enough, powerful enough, and smart enough to get away with murder. So I did! It’s the way of the world, Lila! Time to grow up! No-one will believe you or your so-called colleague.” 

Keisha held up her cell phone. “Even with your confession streamed to our FBI colleagues?”  

JJ stammered, “But I’m … “

For the first time in her life, Lila interrupted and finished his sentence for him: “A coelacanth, dad, a coelacanth.” 

As Gold as it Gets

True Believer

I can’t be bothered

Tit for tat

It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy

Donnie’s last gift

A horror story

If only.

Naughty knots

It was in his nature

Dance of Billions

Coelacanth (2/3)

09 Sunday Oct 2022

Posted by petersironwood in family, fiction, psychology

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

fiction, life, story, truth

2018: 

Room 22A. Lila inhaled deeply; glanced at her program guide and Rolex. Three pm. Her slot. No use putting it off.

Go on, Lila. It’s just a practice run, for God’s sake. 

The voice in her head was her father’s. Her cheeks reddened. His “encouraging” words always belittled. She heard another voice from inside the practice room— a warm voice. 

Lila turned the cool brass knob and pushed. At the podium stood a tall, athletic, young black woman with large penetrating eyes and shiny dreadlocks. She immediately smiled a large radiant grin at Lila.

“Hi! Come on in. I just finished. I’m Keisha. It’s my first professional talk as well. Don’t worry. I’ve warmed up the audience.” 

Lila glanced around at the empty chairs. “Audience? Ah.” She laughed. “Joke. I get it. I’m Lila. Nice to meet you. How did you…?” 

Keisha laughed warmly. “Hey, we’re both forensics experts for the FBI, right? You’re young. And, frankly, you look a little — terrified.” 

Lila strode up to the podium, unslung her backpack and retrieved her laptop. Her eyes swept the baseboard for the nearest outlet. 

Keisha spoke again, now imitating a Carnival Barker. “Come on up, young Lady! This podium’s got all the power cables, internet connections, and Karma you’ll ever need.” 

Lila laughed and held up her hand like a surgeon, “Power Cord!” 

Keisha immediately cottoned on to the game and held it out for her, repeating “Power Cord!”  Lila felt Keisha’s fingers lingering. So what?! This time, it was her own voice, strong & defiant.

Once Lila’s computer was connected; she relaxed and asked, “What’s your talk about, Keisha?” 

Keisha said, “I thought you’d never ask. The title is Syntactic and Rhetorical Cues to Guilt.

Keisha smiled and laughed her maddeningly warm laugh. “You come to my talk tomorrow and learn more. What’s yours about?” 

“I’ve been using statistical analysis of texts — rhetorical, syntactic, and lexicographical —  to predict criminal patterns. It’s just a start — but — it’s really promising. I’m building on the work of Hart at UT Austin and Foster at Vassar. So far as I know, this is the first application to criminology.” 

Lila studied Keisha’s face. What she read there was genuine admiration. 

Keisha smiled. “Oh! You’re Lila Jordan! We’re in the same session tomorrow! You know, maybe we could work together. If we could combine our two approaches, that would be awesome!”

Lila blurted out: “I’d love to work with you!”

“Great! I’ll let you practice! See you tomorrow. Maybe we can grab a bite before the afternoon session. Here’s a tip. When you start your talk, look out at the audience and imagine them all buck naked! I’ll be in the front row and I’m already hooked. I’m hungry to learn more about you and your work.” 

Keisha smiled again and strode down the aisle. Lila’s eyes lingered on Keisha.

The next morning, Lila decided to take Keisha’s advice. Although Lila’s eyes moved about the audience, she really focused her talk on her new friend. She enjoyed picturing her naked. 

Keisha suggested they order room service since her room had a view of the harbor. She ordered entrees and desserts for them to share in celebration of their successful presentations. Lila objected that she needed to lose weight. Keisha smiled and said, “You are perfect as you are. But if you want to lose weight, I have just the ticket. A blindfold picnic.” 

Lila’s breathing quickened. “What’s that?” 

“Close your eyes, Lila. Just leave everything to me. No talking. You just let me feed you. Just follow my orders.”



They missed the afternoon session and the next morning’s as well. Infatuation grew to passion and eventually, passion grew to love. Over the next few months, their relationship deepened. It seemed, for a time, to be perfect. 

Until the issue of marriage came up. 

Which led to the issue of “coming out.” 

Which led to the issue of “honesty.” 

The very strength of their love made their disagreement that much more difficult to bear. 

They said the same things repeatedly, with increasing heat but no more llight. Keisha found it impossible to understand Lila’s resistance to complete openness, explaining that it was the twenty-first century for God’s sake. Finally, even the Supreme Court recognized gay marriage. Keisha had known she was gay since she was twelve. Her parents had known and accepted her for who she was. 

Lila came from a different world. “You don’t understand, Keisha! My big shot CEO father JJ won’taccept my being gay! He’s the only family I have left. If I lose him too.…” 

The fifth time they argued, Keisha decided to take a different tack. “You’re right. I’m luckier than you. But just because my parents accepted me doesn’t mean everyone did. There’ll always be cruel people. We both know that. But the one who matters most to you is your dad. How about this? We get married. I go and meet JJ. I get to know him. We don’t start by telling him everything. Instead, we make it clear that we’re colleagues and friends. He’ll like me!” 

Lila considered. “Okay. It’s worth a try. Say! Have you ever been fishing?” 

“Fishing? Yeah, a few times. Uncle Stan showed me how to fly fish.” 

Lila laughed. “No, not like that. I’m talking about Deep Sea Fishing. Every year, my father takes time off for an extended fishing trip.”

Keisha blinked. “Really? I thought you said you never wanted to go boating again. Does he…?” 

Lila ground her teeth, “Father went back on the boat the next day! He even tried to get me to join him! Imagine! I’d just lost my mother and my brother. He said get aboard right away or I’d be afraid forever.” She sighed. “Maybe he’s right. Boats don’t bother him. Every year, he bugs me to join him and bring a colleague along — by which he means a potential husband so that I can leave the “Glorified Police Department” — his name for the FBI. Okay. Once we’re married, I’ll wait a few weeks and call father and tell him I’m bringing a colleague along on his next excursion. I will watch for the best moment to break the news. I’m still not convinced it will work, but maybe nothing will. He’s very set in his ways. Like with the boat. Even a tragic accident…”

Keisha tilted her head. “What’s wrong? You’re thinking back to that awful day?”

Lila nodded slowly. “Yeah. Kind of. I just — sometimes this horrible image flashes into my mind. I know it’s just my imagination. But still…”

Keisha took Lila’s hand. “Come here, love. I’m so sorry. Let’s just sit here side by side.” They sat and Keisha held her close in loving silence.


Dance of Billions

Life is a Dance

Take a Glance; Join the Dance

Family Matters 1

Family Matters 2

Family Matters 3

Is a dream

Walkabout Diaries: Friends

Walkabout Diaries: Sunsets

Walkabout Diaries: Life Will Find a Way

Gambit Disinclined

30 Friday Sep 2022

Posted by petersironwood in fiction, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Democracy, fiction, life, politics, Putin, story, truth, USA

Photo by Kevin Malik on Pexels.com

The gym stank of sweat, disinfectant, bloodstain. Vlademort shook his head; thought: stuffy stupid place for a chess tournament. Which I will win. “A silly game; a silly name,” it sang and rang inside his brain. 

Others might resign, down a piece to a stronger player; that was the “sensible” thing to do; the “honorable” thing to do, he knew.

Vlad sang instead these lines as lyrics deep inside his outsized head: 


“Check and Slay;

There has to be a Winning Way!

I am Me 

And meant to win!

I am He

So cheating isn’t sin!”

Aloud, he called in his strong, authoritative voice, “Sir, we have a problem. My opponent cheated. We must rectify the situation for the good of the Noble Game. And the honor of our School and our Party.” 

For a moment, Vlademort worried that a glimmer of smile might betray him. He bit his tongue down on his lower teeth. That usually worked, just as it did this time. As the Assistant Headmaster strode over to the boys, the man asked what the trouble was.

Vlademort’s foe, Dmitri, didn’t know what Vlad meant about “cheating.” Vlad had stepped right into a discovered check by a knight’s move that also attacked Vlad’s unprotected King’s Bishop. Vlad hadn’t seen the consequence so now he would pay the price. Very nice! But discovered check wasn’t cheating! While Dmitri pondered this silently, Vlad struck.



“Sir, as you can no doubt quickly surmise from the board, Dmitri just moved his knight here so he would check my King and attack my Bishop. A double attack. The problem is, his knight was here and we can all agree he cannot move a knight up two and over two.” Vlad locked eyes with the Assistant Headmaster and painted his face with confident innocence.

Dmitry frowned. “What? That’s the most absurd poo I’ve ever heard! My knight was here!” 

“No, Sir, with all due respect, I clearly remember asking myself why he would move the same knight so many times to get in this position when, as you can clearly see, his bishops are completely undeveloped. It seemed strange at the time. I guess…I hate to say it, but maybe that’s what he … I don’t know. What does it show, Headmaster? I’m at a loss.”

“Vlad, I’m not the boss; I’m the Assistant Headmaster. You boys are going to have to work this out for yourselves. I don’t get paid enough to settle all your petty disputes.”

Dmitry’s face reddened with fury. He clenched his teeth. 

Meanwhile, Vlademort nodded and said in an even tone. “Yes, I’m sure we can work it out. Dmitri? Do you want to move your knight back to where it really was, resign, or just play again? Tell you what. You can have white this time. Deal?” From the outside, Vlad seemed serene but the inside scene was a scream of joy. He had used them both as toy. He felt no wrong; he sang instead another song inside his head:



“I am Me! 

Victory!

I’ll show mom and daddy too

What I can do.
You killed my puppy;

You evil two!

You will see:

Everything belongs to me!”

He sang it as he lied. As he sang, dissidents died. He sang it as he bombed and killed. “I am me and so strong-willed. You will see! It all belongs — belongs to me!” After being deposed, tried & condemned, Vlad’s song of wrong and might — still felt right.

The song so strong it rang and sang; inside his bullet-riddled head the last thing it said:


“I’m me 

And all will see

It’s all a victory!

For me!”

His blood about him lay.

He’d no more lies to say.

—————-

Essays on America: The Game

Donnie Learns Golf

Dick-Taters

Con Man’s Special Friend

American Dream 2

Absolute is not just a vodka

Poker Chips

Stoned Soup

The Orange Man

Three Blind Mice

Where does your loyalty lie?

The Stopping Rule

The Update Problem

Wednesdays

My Cousin Bobby

Gifts for Worms

Freedom!

Thrumperdome

Life Will Find a Way

Dance of Billions

Satire Slain; Fans Mourn Death of Genre

24 Saturday Sep 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

absurdity, conspiracy, Democracy, politics, satire, truth, USA

Charles Wallace (L) and Luna (R)

Saturday is for satire. I enjoy writing satire, particularly when it is aimed at helping us see the kinds of absurdities we can talk ourselves into. Political satire I find especially satisfying. 

But now? Satire, at least political satire, is dead. And, I know the people responsible. Not personally, but I know who they are in general, and in some cases, I know quite specifically. I mourn the passing of the genre, as do we all. We had barely recovered from mourning the passing of the Queen when the news hit about the death of political satire. Sad.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t by any stretch, imagine that my difficulties in satirizing the Mango Mussolini, match up to his more serious crimes such as — you know — treason; fraud; trying to isolate us from our allies; trying to become dick-tater; trying to destroy the rule of law; trying to divide America; waging a never-ending crusade against truth; replacing patriotic experts throughout government with inept sycophants; destroying one of the two major political parties; killing off (according to Lancet) at least 200,000 innocent Americans through his lies about COVID and bad modeling of the proper reactions — compared with these — oh, and did I mention compromising our national security during and after his “Pee-Residency” in the “Whites Only House”? None of these compare with making it virtually impossible to write political satire. 

Possible replacement for the elephant: Greedy, indolent, & filthy. Photo by Samira on Pexels.com

But I still mourn the loss.

In the last few weeks alone, the Hairless Hitler has:

*Asserted that because he once worked at the White House, he was allowed to take anything from there when he left and take it to his own home. 

*Asserted that there doesn’t have to be a process for declassifying Top Secret documents but rather he can declassify them simply by thinking about it. 

Photo by BROTE studio on Pexels.com

*Fully embraced the Q-anon conspiracy theories and they now salute him just as the Hairy Hitler had his mindless minions salute except that instead of putting up their whole hand, they put up one finger. No. Not that finger. Not the sensible one. Their index finger. The same finger poised to launch nuclear war by the man who got TFG Putin office in the first place. The same finger used to guide a sharpie pen over a few hundred miles of weather map to show a possible hurricane track to hide the fact that Putin’s Puppet misspoke. {Shudder! Horror!} Remember that? Instead of saying, “Oh, I misspoke” and thereby fix the error, the “Stable Genius” thought it better to mislead thousands of Americans about the path of a hurricane.  

Normally, any of these would be sufficient for involuntary incarceration in a mental hospital. Instead, he uses these actions to raise money to line his pockets by claiming he’ll use the funds to aid his defense.  

That’s what’s actually happening. 

How do I satirize that?  

I have to come up with something even stupider and more ridiculous. Hopefully, the even stupider and more absurd exaggeration will help people realize that the original and actual actions are also stupid and ridiculous. But what? What is stupider and more absurd than the actions of the 45th Toddler-in-Chief? 

I’ll have to settle for something that’s actually less stupid and less absurd, but hopefully something people might relate to.

Most people, at some point in their lives, visit someone else’s house, go to a workplace, or stay in a hotel. I realize that doesn’t cover everyone, but it covers most adults. Now, let’s suppose that you come over to my house for dinner. Let’s even suppose I invited you over. Then, you leave. I’m cleaning up and notice that a bunch of my silverware is missing. Surely, I think, surely my guest didn’t come over and steal silverware. I wouldn’t expect anyone to do that and if they spent the entire evening bragging about how rich they were, it would seem even more incredible. But then, let’s suppose that I heard from a mutual acquaintance that my recent guest has my silverware at home; that he’s bragging about having it. I go over and see that indeed, he’s stolen some of my silverware! I confront him. “You’re a thief!”I say. 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I can think of many excuses and I’m sure you can too. Here are a few that come to my mind.

1. “Yes, I did. I’m sorry. I have this weird kleptomania thing and I thought I was over it, but I’m not. Sure, you can have your silverware back. I guess it’s time for me to return to therapy. I’ll be glad to reimburse you for any inconvenience I may have caused.”

2. “I really loved your silverware. I wanted to show my wife and see whether she loved it too. I thought I had asked you if I could borrow some to show her. I’m so sorry if I forgot to ask you. My memory is not so good any more.”

3. “I loved the buffet you set out, but I didn’t have enough hands to carry everything, so I put some silverware in my pocket and must have forgotten it was there because there was another set right by my place.”

But let’s move on from the weak excuses to the silly excuse. 

4. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I felt like I had dirtied up so much silverware at your excellent dinner that I felt the least I could do was bring it home and wash it for you before returning it.” 

5. “I had such a wonderful dinner at your house! I know you’re of more modest means than I am so I thought I would take your “silverware” to a place where they will be able to copy the pattern and replace your iron flatware stuff with pure silver cutlery.” 

Photo by Clown Caramello on Pexels.com

And, there are plenty more, but yet more silly and more absurd than any offered by fantasy would be to say:

“Your silverware? What do you mean your silverware? You invited me over! Once I’m there, everything in your house automatically becomes mine. Your lucky I left you your TV, your fridge, and your spouse! And, anyway, besides the fact that it’s mine, you came over with your silverware in your pockets and planted in my house to make it look like I stole it! It’s a witch hunt! You were probably not actually looking for silverware at all; you were looking for your lost shaker of salt! There’s a woman to blame! And, anyway, why come over? Why not just ask me and I would have given you your silverware. I mean my silverware.” 

Or

Let’s suppose you worked for a time at a car repair shop. You couldn’t get along with your boss so they replaced you after a few years with someone more competent and harder working. You decided you’d start your own car repair shop. But before you left, you stole your boss’s rolodex. You were too stupid to simply make copies; you stole the actual rolodex. Your boss noticed. He asked you for it back. You sent him a few business cards. He noticed that it wasn’t actually a rolodex. The police show up. They ask for the rolodex. You say:

“Hey, I worked there! I’m entitled to the rolodex! Because when you work someplace, you own everything there. Anyway, I didn’t take it. It isn’t here! And, the one that is here isn’t yours! And you planted it! And, you weren’t really looking for the rolodex at all! You were looking for the answer to who killed cock robin! Or where they buried Jimmy Hoffa. Or, who really assassinated JFK!” 

It’s true that people often overestimate how much the world revolves around them.  

Find Trump. Photo by Jeff Nissen on Pexels.com

A little. 

But to imagine that your thoughts alone impact the real world — that is quintessential insanity. Adults, even cruel demented ones, must be held responsible for their actions. There also can’t be any doubt that bad parenting is at least partly responsible for an adult growing up so out of touch with reality that they believe in mythical psychokinetic powers. Plenty of responsibility also accrues to the so-called fans of the T-Rump who believe any absurdity he spouts. Further, if the Republican Party had held T-Rump to even the lowest possible standard of accountability and reality, TFG might not be certifiable today. But no-one did that. Instead, a new standard of cowardliness has emerged on the planet.  

Braver than 90% of GOP in Congress.

People all over the world, every day, risk their lives to escape dictatorships. In Russia, people risk their lives and long prison terms to protest Putin’s War of Stupid Aggression. In Iran, women risk their lives and long prison terms to protest the killing of an innocent woman by the so-called “Morality Police.” In the Ukraine, people are enduring extreme hardships & danger to avoid falling under the dictatorship of a man gone insane with greed. I read today, he replaced another general. It’s always someone else’s fault in a dictatorship, no matter how stupid the leaders are.

Meanwhile, in America, the enablers of the Mango Mussolini are presented with mountain ranges of evidence about the scope of TFG’s lies, cruelty, criminality, and his utter failure as a businessman who grew rich providing value and the response — ?


“Oh, well, that’s just Trump”

Or,

“It’s all fake news!” 

Or, 

“Trump never lies! He told us so!” 

Or, 

“He must be successful at business because he told us so!” 

Or, 

“It’s a conspiracy of the FBI, CIA, DOJ, Wall Street Journal, NYTimes, NBC, CNN, DOD, Army, Navy, Marines, FORBES, Vanity Fair, FORTUNE, Liberals, POC, Asian Americans, Hispanics, Native Americans, Women, Homosexuals, Jews, Muslims, Chinese, Intellectuals, School Teachers, Science, Math, Readers, Writers, Wine Drinkers, CBS, ABC, Popes, New Yorkers, Californians, City-Dwellers, and Artists who are all out to get Trump & make him look bad!”

In the same way that people who “give an addict a break” by supplying cheap drugs “just to tide them over” are partly responsible for the eventual lethal overdose, so too, fans of Putin’s Puppet are partly responsible for the level of absurdity he now evidences. 

Nonetheless, adults must be held accountable for their behavior. That includes dictators and would-be dictators. It includes their enablers. It includes “election deniers” and those who promise to overturn elections if their owner-in-chief tells them to. 

Meanwhile, since my days of political satire are over for the foreseeable future, I’ll go take a picture of that which remains beautiful.

Absolute is not just a vodka

Poker Chips 

The Ailing King of Agitate

The Orange Man

Donnie Boy attends a Veteran’s Day Parade

Plans for US; some GRUesome

The Truth Train

The Con Man’s Special Friend

The Oxymorons of the Mango Mussolini

Donnie’s Last Gift

Siren Song

Dance of Billions

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

21 Wednesday Sep 2022

Posted by petersironwood in psychology

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

dogs, games, instinct, learning, life, pets, psychology, Puppy, sports, story, truth

I’ve been playing a sort of “ball chase” +  soccer with our new puppy, Sadie. She’s extremely good at it, IMHO. She instinctively chases a ball & brings it back. I’ve reinforced it but it would be a stretch to say “I trained her to do that.” I sort of expect most dogs to view this as a game not completely unlike chasing a bird or rabbit & bringing it back. 

The more interesting part came when I combined it with soccer. She learned (?) to judge carom shots off the baseboard and half closed doors. She tries to stop a ball before it hits the wall but judges that if she can’t stop it directly, she can stop the rebound. That she even tries to stop it is interesting. That also seemed “natural.” I probably reinforced her differentially, but again, it would be giving me far too much credit to say I trained her to “defend” against having the ball go past her. 

I begin a few weeks ago to play with two balls at once. This makes it more challenging for me not to break my neck as well as Sadie. What I find interesting is that she immediately tries to hoard or herd; i.e., control, both balls. She has tried picking up two in her mouth at once, but she can’t manage it. So, she holds one ball in her mouth and “corrals” the other between her front paws. When she gets bored, she relents and lets me throw or roll or kick the balls. 

I now sometimes use three balls at once. (I’ll let you know which hospital for flowers). Actually, I’m careful, but Sadie is sudden in her movements. Anyway, once I put a ball “in play”, I usually control or kick it with my foot. Sadie imitates (!?) me in this. She “controls” a ball by putting one of her front paws on it and she also pushes the ball with her paw, though she did try “nosing it” once but I think she found it uncomfortable since she shook her head and reverted to using her front paws. 

On some occasions, I “grab” a ball with the bottom of my foot and move it slowly back and forth and feign kicking one way and then kick another way which routinely makes Sadie growl as she scampers after the ball. There’s something else. The slow movement followed by quick movement energizers her more in her quest for the ball than if I simply & directly hit it. 

These types of patterns are found in human sports around the globe. Did they co-evolve with dog play? I’ve seen videos of many species of mammal playing “soccer.” From the video alone though, I have no idea how spontaneous the play is. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s pretty spontaneous. 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Soccer, American Football, hockey, rugby, field hockey, and basketball share this notion of trying to “make a goal” by getting past the defenders. In every one of these games, there is also the notion of “fake” or “feint.” It feels as though Sadie and I, if not reading from the same script exactly, both of us have the same “playbook” of things that are fun in sports. 

On a not completely unrelated topic, I am wondering whether any other new dog “owners” have noticed that their own sense of smell has been enhanced since sharing lives with a puppy. Perhaps it is not so much enhanced as that I pay more attention to it than I did a few short months ago. She goes sniffing and I go wondering for the most part, what it is she’s sniffing on about. 

To some extent, it’s the same with sounds. I’m typically a pretty visual person and when I walk alone outdoors, I mainly noticed what I see. When walking with Sadie, however, she reacts to many sounds that I would ignore. I know what it is and give it a name and then reassure her that it’s okay; that trucks and cars and airplanes and helicopters are okay, at least in the distance.



I sure hope I’m right.

The Walkabout Diaries 

The Walkabout Diaries

The Walkabout Diaries

The Walkabout Diaries

The Walkabout Diaries

The Walkabout Diaries

Sonnet for Sadie

Shadows Sadie

Sadie is a Thief!

A Cat’s a Cat That’s that

A suddenly springing something 

Math Class: Who are you?

Life is a Dance

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Dance of Billions 

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