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Where Does Your Loyalty Lie?

28 Thursday May 2020

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

≈ 111 Comments

Tags

Corruption, crime, Democrat, GOP, graft, JFK, loyalty, Nixon, politics, Republican, treason, Trump, truth

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Remember the days when you flew a lot for your organization?

Do you remember getting bonus miles from an airline? 

Do you recall that many them (and companies in other industries) called this a “Loyalty Program”?

Why do you suppose some of them called it a “Loyalty Program” instead of a “Frequent Flyer” program? 

Did you ever work for a manager or supervisor or boss whom you felt loyalty toward? 

Why did you feel that loyalty? 

What would you do if you caught your boss stealing from the company? 

Was your relationship to your boss more personal than your loyalty to the company?

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Artwork by Pierce Morgan

I had many part time jobs working my way through college. One of those jobs was as a projectionist (1964). It did not pay much (less than $2/hour), but it was a fun job in many ways. I got to stride all over the large university campus, mainly to show slides or movies to classes in the School of Architecture, Law School, Medical School, etc. I had a direct supervisor, Ted, who taught me the facts of life — at least, when it came to male & female plugs, the value of looping your cords, and of carrying with you at all times on the job, a spare projection lamp, a spare sound drum lamp, and a small film-splicing kit. He happened to be a Democrat. 

Another man, tall and bald Mr. “Cramer”, served as boss for the whole A/V department. He was a Republican, like me. I liked both of the people in my “management chain.” Neither one played any stupid “power games.” So far as I could see, we all just wanted to do a good job. That applied to my co-workers as well though I only interacted with them rarely. The nature of being a projectionist then led almost exclusively to solo gigs. 

That was okay with me. If there had been two of us in a projection both hidden away from fellow students and faculty, by sight and sound, being Sophomores, we probably would have acted sophomoronically and made fun of the material being presented or ignored it entirely and played cards or solved the world’s problems in a BS session. Working alone, I listened to every single lecture on topics that I would never get to in my paid classes; e.g., American 20th Century Architects including my favorite, Frank Lloyd Wright (awesome!); Collagen as a possible cause of aging (it isn’t); Alcohol and Driving. (Spoiler alert on that last one — not a good idea). 

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In order to get paid (for attending these free lectures), I had to fill out a time card every day and sign it at the end of the week. My direct supervisor hinted that I could put down a few more hours than I actually worked. I didn’t do that. He hinted again. I still didn’t do it. Eventually, Mr. Cramer spoke to me. He explained that if the department didn’t bill for their allotted hours, the departmental budget for the next year would be cut to match the hours that were billed for the current year. I still didn’t pad my hours, though I certainly could have used the money. It did seem a bit unfair to me that the department would have their budget cut because they were efficient. On the other hand, from the perspective of the entire university, it didn’t seem like such a ridiculous system. I didn’t feel as though I was being “disloyal” to my direct supervisor or the department boss to write down my true hours. Nor, did I feel particularly virtuous in putting my hours down accurately. It was just what I felt was the right thing to do. I don’t think it actually occurred to me to try to “rat on” my boss about the policy of padding the hours. I’m not sure whether that thought ever crossed my mind, but I didn’t do it. 

It should be noted that at that point in my life, I considered myself a Republican, though I was not yet old enough to vote. My parents had both been Republican. My mother’s entire family was Republican. I was enthusiastic about Eisenhower and  went to see Nixon talk at a nearby shopping center. I was likely only about 20-30 feet away. I have zero recollection of what he said, but he had seemed wonderful at the time. 

That same year, I also went to see Kennedy in an open car motorcade down Triplett Boulevard in Akron. He didn’t give a speech; he just waved to the crowd. I was curious because I had heard that he was super handsome. To me, he looked awful and not the least bit handsome. I could not understand why women thought he was attractive. His face looked like wrinkled leather to me. I grew up Republican and was “rooting for” Nixon. (Even my mother thought JFK was handsome, though she still voted for Nixon). 

Nonetheless, like nearly everyone I knew, I was fairly well devastated by John F. Kennedy’s assassination the year before I began working in the university A/V department. I was deeply saddened by his death and wondered seriously about the “conspiracy theories” about Johnson (among other possible criminal masterminds) having engineered the assassination. I didn’t believe any of them, but I did consider many of them as real possibilities. 

But even if it had turned out that Johnson had engineered he whole thing, I wouldn’t have believed that every Democrat was a crook or an evil person. I knew people who were Democrats and they weren’t any more or less ethical than Republicans. They had a different agenda. And a different espoused philosophy. 

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Ayn Rand had written two of my favorite books (then), The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged. Great stuff, I thought at the time. I felt like I could be one of the heroes in her books. I see now that people are much more interdependent than I realized back then (although, the degree of interdependence has also increased over the last half century — a lot!). Her work, at that time, gave me a philosophy somewhat in line with what the Republican Party said it was about — a high degree of individual freedom coupled with a high degree of individual responsibility, focused on, but not limited to yourself. 

In the current days, there are still people who label themselves as “Republican” who claim to subscribe to Ayn Rand’s philosophy. As someone who used to be very simpatico to her ideas, I cry “Bullshit!” The character of folks like Mitch McConnell, Donald Trump, and Rand Paul are much like some of the villains in her fiction — nothing like the heroes. The heroes of The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged are the people who get paid a lot of money for actually producing something worthwhile; e.g., amazing buildings or a new and extremely cheap energy source. The villains are the cheats and the con men and the people who call in political favors and give contracts to people for kickbacks. The villains are the people who try to subvert the cheap new energy source to keep their oil profits!

Moreover, though it’s risky business to speak on behalf of a dead person, let me put it this way. I cannot imagine Ayn Rand agreeing to the kind of shenanigans that the GOP is trying to pull off now. She would have no doubt been against social security and for privatization. But she would not have thought it ethical to steal the money from the social security taxes and give it out to billionaires. In fact, she was for a progressive income tax. Her rationale was that the rich benefit so much more than do the poor from all the legitimate functions of government: police, fire, roads, post office, armed forces, courts of law, education(?). I’m not sure any more of her precise list, but it’s very short. It certainly doesn’t include having the government take on the job of dictating religious beliefs, or restricting a person’s sexual behavior among consenting adults, or of subverting elections, or of taking on the role of Crime Family in Chief. 

Trumputinists are not in any way shape or form taking their values or agenda from Ayn Rand. Some of them are absurdly accurate real-life portraits of her villains. None are anything like her heroes. All her heroes provided actual value. Trading money and favors and telling lies and making false promises and being a con man and a child molester — these are not value-creating activities. Not heroes. Villains. 

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Of course, there’s nothing sacred about Ayn Rand’s (mislabelled) system of “Objectivism.” There’s no particular reason why the Republican Party, or any other party, should base it’s own philosophy on “Objectivism” but it has made me suspicious about what the Republicans are really are up. They have claimed to be about individual freedom, but have increasingly been for taking freedoms away — the Second Amendment being the singular exception. Instead of being for real freedoms that actually matter such as — very importantly — Freedom of Religion and Freedom of Speech, they now generate and promulgate made up freedoms such as “The Freedom to Infect Others” or “The Freedom to be an Asshole” and the “Freedom to Call the Police when POC Exists Somewhere I Can See Them.” These are not freedoms. And they are certainly not in line with responsibility. 

So, as you might now guess, I have come a long way politically from being an Ayn Rand fan and a Republican to being a Democrat. Some of that is because I have changed. As I said, it’s far clearer to me now that we really don’t earn our money independently of each other. We don’t live our lives independently. All of us are in this together whether we admit it or not. 

It hasn’t just been me who has been changing though. When I was first forming my opinions about the two major US political parties, it was more often the Southern Democrats who were promoting racism than it was Republicans. And, it was Democrats, not Republicans, who seemed more instrumental in getting us into dubious wars, dubiously led.

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Some of the Republican values seemed to have completely reversed from before. For instance, at this point, the Republican Party is far more ready to embrace racism and racists. No serious Democratic political entity would do that — at least not intentionally. That, to me, is sufficiently evil to put the GOP out of the running for my votes.

On the other hand, until recently at least, the GOP had some quite reasonable positions. I didn’t agree with them all, but they were reasonable. How much should America put time, energy, dollars, and the lives of our citizens at risk to make the world a more democratic place? You can’t look up the answer to a question like that in a trig table. It’s a complex issue requiring a balance of long-term direction and short-term flexibility so you can do the right thing even though the “right thing” is a choice between the lesser of two evils.

How fiscally conservative should the US Government be? How much should the government try to regulate different industries and companies? How much of our tax dollars should go to research various topics in science and medicine? What do we do about climate change? There are a host of issues where it’s actually useful to get input from a variety of different sources and where working together makes sense. 

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Lately, however, the so-called “Republican Party” has made such a sweeping change, that it seems absurd to me to even call it the “Republican” Party any longer. 

For example, “How fiscally conservative should the US Government be?” is not a question that the so-called Republican party even deigns to consider. They have new position which is: “Make the economy look good and do whatever it takes to make the DOW go up all the while funneling as much money as possible to us and a few of our friends.” That is not a political position! That is a criminal position.

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“How much should the government try to regulate different industries and companies?” is not a question that the so-called Republican party wants to consider. Their position is, “How can we make Americans sick by rolling back EPA and OSHA regulations while simultaneously getting kickbacks and making the economy look better.” That is what they are about. Again, it is not a political compromise about where to be on some tradeoff function between economics and health. No. It’s a strategy for crime; for graft; for stealing your tax dollars and making the planet worse for your children and grandchildren — not better — worse. 

“How much of your tax dollars should go to various topics in science and medicine?” This no longer interests the So-Called Republican Party (SCRAP). What does interest them is to funnel as much of your tax dollars as they can to their friends and family and donors. Scientific peer review? So experts will determine what should be funded? Ridiculous! We’ll fund whomever we damned well please. Again, that is not a political tradeoff that should be debated; e.g., how much research money should go to long term versus short term research. No, it is a criminal agenda. That is what SCRAP is up to.

“What do we do about climate change?” This is an issue that everyone in every party should care about. It is about the quality of the world that we leave for our children, our grand-children, our great grand-children and all the living being son this planet! And what is the SCRAP position on how we should go about this? It isn’t a problem! It doesn’t exist! It’s all a hoax! 

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What? Seriously? 

Not so long ago, Republicans and Democrats differed in their philosophies about Judges. The Republicans generally preferred “Strict Constitutionalists” while Democrats preferred judges who would take into account the current situation in interpreting the Constitution. This is nothing like what current SCRAP are doing. They want to select as many judges as possible who will swear loyalty to them. This is tough to carry out because people often, but not always, get into the law because they respect the Law. So, “conservatives” and “strict constitutionalists” may refuse to render opinions just to please the people who got them confirmed. But the fact that SCRAP is trying to execute an ineffective criminal plan doesn’t make it any less criminal. 

Political parties evolve. They change. They will continue to change. 

Evolution takes time though. The Republican and Democratic Parties changed their positions on racism over the course of decades.

The changes I am talking about above are massive changes. And, they have taken place only since Donald Trump took office and they have accelerated after the GOP Senate refused (save Mitt Romney) to convict Trump on his impeachment charges. Perhaps even more important than the fact that they failed to convict Trump is that Mitch McConnell swore, along with all the other Senators, to hold a fair and impartial trial. And, then, Mitch McConnell, in full view of everyone, smiled and laughed and promised that Trump would be found Not Guilty and that he would coordinate his running of the trial with Trump’s defense team. He promised Trump that they would subpoena no documents and call no witnesses. 

This goes way beyond being loyal to “your team” or “your party” — this is putting the Party above the Country. This is SCRAP, not the GOP, not the traditional Republican Party. If anything, my expectations are that actual Republicans might be faulted too much for sticking to the rules and might do so even when common sense demanded a slight bending of the rules. But this is not “bending the rules.” This is throwing the whole idea that rules matter completely out the window. You may think that’s just swell. I don’t. And maybe we can debate that later. But the point here is that it is a massive change in SCRAP. 

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If you think of yourself as a Republican, you have to do some real soul searching here. Are you being loyal to the “Republican Party” that you’ve been a part of for awhile? Or are you being loyal to SCRAP? Old Time Republican Party — believed in the rule of law; believed in playing fair; believed American power in international affairs was important; believed in individual responsibility. SCRAP – believes in dictatorship; believes in cheating; believes in letting Russia dictate foreign policy; believes in magic and crime not data-based management of government. 

And, there are consequences. In the rush to fulfill Trump’s agenda (make the Trump Crime Family Rich and stay in power as dictator), people have died who did not need to die from COVID19. More people — many more than have died so far — are also likely going to die — also people who did not need to die. Is that really what you signed up for? Is that really the Republican Party? I don’t think it is. But I’m no longer a Republican. I’m looking at this from the outside. The Republicans I have known throughout my life would not support most of this SCRAP. Mr. Cramer, my old A/V boss would not have supported this SCRAP. My grandfather would not have supported this SCRAP. My three uncles who fought in World War II would not have supported this SCRAP. My mother would not have supported this SCRAP. My father, who also fought in WWII would not have supported this SCRAP.

How about you? 

Where does your loyalty lie? 

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Author Page on Amazon

Trumpism is a New Religion

You Bet Your Life

Wednesday

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

Absolute is not Just a Vodka

Little Grandma

25 Monday May 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, family, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

death, family, life, Memorial Day, relationships, truth, war


 

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“Little Grandma” (as we all called her) was 86 when last I saw her alive on what was to be her deathbed. She smiled and asked about my broken arm. She was old, bent, wrinkled — and tired — so she said. I guess it was from her Native American bones that I inherited my love of nature, my peace with all of it; all that is natural and beautiful on this tiny jewel of a planet — the wild iris, the rose, the caterpillar, the crimson sunset and the rain.

The rain. But of course, there are a thousand kinds of rain. They come in so many colors, moods, and sounds. Tall sheets of rain seen from miles across the “Big Sky” country; cold, drizzly little fall rains; sudden laughing summer showers; lashing hurricanes that flood and kill and toss trees like broken toys.

When we buried you, “Little Grandma,” it was a gray day steel steady rain of tears from a sky that held unseen clouds. It was the rain, I guess, that drowned out the meaningless words of the poor man in the black robes babbling uselessly to comfort me. The grass was very green in your little spot beneath the black, dripping elm.

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On the rain fell, on the ancient little church, on the little crowd of black umbrellas, on the stones of the graveyard, gradually, gradually, fading out even the words carved in stone — but not the words carved in my heart, “Little Grandma.”

We don’t think of “Little Grandma” as a fallen soldier. In her longish life, however, she saw her children and then her grandchildren go off to war. Seldom even a heavily redacted post card. Never a call on the satellite phone. And her grand-daughter’s husband was killed in a war. So, I thought of her on Memorial Day — and all the other millions of women who kept life going — and all the while never knowing whether their sons and husbands would ever return whole — or return at all. Now, of course, women are also war-fighters. But haven’t they always been?

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Author Page on Amazon

Citizen Soldiers: Part 1

 

Donnie Takes a Blue Ribbon for Spelling!

18 Monday May 2020

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

≈ 20 Comments

Tags

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“NO! I didn’t lose it! You took it!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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————————————————————-

Other blog posts: 

What about the butter dish? 

Inventing a New Color

There’s a pill for that

Citizen Soldiers: Part 1

Citizen Soldiers: Part 2

Citizen Soldiers: Part 3

After the Fall

Author Page on Amazon

 

Absolute is Not Just a Vodka

11 Monday May 2020

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

≈ 132 Comments

Tags

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

Demanding Absolute Power Leads to a Far Worse Hangover.

close up photo of martini in cocktail glass

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

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Everything. 

The Truth. 

Your Possessions.

Your Soul.

Your Neighbors.

Your Friends. 

Your Spouse. 

Your Parents.

Your Siblings. 

Your Kids. 

Your Wealth. 

Your Reputation. 

Your Feet.

Your Arms. 

Your Face. 

Your Mouth. 

Everything. 

industry metal vintage technology

Photo by Markus Spiske on Pexels.com

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

You will believe as you are told to believe.

You will give to the State whatever it requires.

brown and white snake

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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

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

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

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

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

tombstone on cemetery during daytime

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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

adult affection baby child

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

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

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

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

gray industrial machine during golden hour

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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

Nada.

Nothing.
Zero.
Zilch. 

No protection. No wealth. No opportunity. Nothing.

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

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

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

I don’t know. 

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

woman playing golf

Photo by Jopwell on Pexels.com

Other than that thrill? 

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

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

Everything. 

Everything you love. 

You have no real choice. 

You have given up your life as an autonomous human. 

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

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

architecture art clouds landmark

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness. 

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

Your Life

Your Liberty 

Your Pursuit of Happiness. 

usa flag waving on white metal pole

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

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

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

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

No. 

You won’t. 

flight sky sunset men

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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

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

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

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

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

close up photo of martini with olives

Photo by Engin Akyurt on Pexels.com

Absolute is not just a vodka. 


Essays on America: Wednesday

What About the Butter Dish? 

The Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

Essays on America: The Game

You Bet Your Life

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

Snowflake

08 Friday May 2020

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

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

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

Snow. 

Made of Snowflakes.

Snowflakes. 

close up photography of snowflake

Photo by Egor Kamelev on Pexels.com

Everyone comments: “Every snowflake’s different.”

It’s a cliché.

However amazing that may be, 

Amazing still is every snowflake’s sixfold symmetry.

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

How does the three millionth molecule out near northeast

Know what the three millionth molecule out near southwest

Is doing?  

person holding snowflakes decor

Photo by Jill Wellington on Pexels.com

I’ve a story to explain: 

Once upon a time,

Everything was One.

If truth be told, 

It was a boring too much One of Oneness.

So, 

As matter is wont, 

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

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A multi-colored, 

Multi-facetted 

Extravaganza of galaxies. 

And yet, 

We (not just you and me)

We (meaning all of existence)

Seek that underlying, undying, 

Unification.

silhouette people on beach at sunset

Photo by Dana Tentis on Pexels.com

Hence, 

The mystery of gravity. 

(Why else would everything 

In the universe be attracted to everything else?)

In between the ting and tang of bells;

In between the yin and yang of all;

In between the sweetness of the notes of song;

In between this moment and the

Next… 

In all those in-betweens we glimpse:

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

Reality.

Universality.

We are all One.

And always shall be. 

So quell your fears of Worst.

Slake your thirst.  

Let the snowflakes, 

Fall, fall, and melt upon your tongue.

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Wars? Scars? 

Hate? Fear? 

What chance do they have

In the longest run of all who run?

Division is but the ignorance of too    few    years

Brewed into flat, stale, tasteless beers.

Routed and touted as though it were a fine wine

Touched by Heaven’s Gate – a touch divine. 

photo of woman near wine glass

Photo by Elly Fairytale on Pexels.com

The Mad King shatters all of US

And all the US of US

He throws each one of us

Under his failing falling galling bus. 

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

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

Photo by Zichuan Han on Pexels.com

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

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

And I will lie and check and slay all day. 

I sing the electric assault. 

I sing it’s time to kill my foes. 

I sing it’s time to burn the world!”

And all the while, each snowflake shows, 

Each flag unfurled,

Each insult hurled,

Turns the earth a greener hue;

Turns the air a cleaner blue. 

In the stillness and the in between, 

We now begin to see 

That we are we. 

woman raising her hands

Photo by Marlon Schmeiski on Pexels.com

Bound thus together by our common scenes

And bound together by our common genes

We reject the clown’s inept inanity.

We see so clearly now that we are one humanity.

And all the screaming, scheming, double-dealing

Gets rightfully confined to back ward dreaming. 

All across the world, humanity is teaming. 

This is one large, deadly test 

To see if we could see

That we are we is manifest 

For all humanity.

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

Let snow abound.

Our unity is found.

We very nearly drowned.

Our feet at last are touching ground.

Our voice: at last a singing sound.

Prometheus at last unbound!

Our truth at last is found!

Our world is very clearly round!

earth space universe globe

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

————————————————

The Impossible

Mother’s Day

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

Author Page on Amazon

Index to Pattern Language for Cooperation

 

Drowning in the Obvious, Denied by the Oblivious

06 Wednesday May 2020

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

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

coronavirus, COVID19, death, Dictatorship, fascism, leaderless, life, pandemic, truth, tyranny

person riding a bicycle during rainy day

Photo by Genaro Servín on Pexels.com

 

The rain has continued nearly unabated for an unknown interval — perhaps only days, probably weeks, possibly years. Even continuous rain might be more bearable. 

No. 

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

clouds dark dramatic heaven

Photo by Adam Kontor on Pexels.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IMG_1442 


 

Fiction about real leadership in a series of crises. 

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-academic

Trumpism is a New Religion

You Bet Your Life.

Rejecting Adulthood

A Lot is Not a Little

Author Page on Amazon

Timeline

03 Sunday May 2020

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

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

coronavirus, COVID19, cruelty, despotism, Dictatorship, fascism, Feedback, life, pandemic, plague, Putin, testing, treason, truth

1/22/2020: 17

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“…totally under control…

“It’s going to be just fine…”

And dandy, 

Like dynamite lit 

But under a bowl

You don’t see much 

If you are such 

That has no spine. 

Nor half a wit.

Death tastes like candy!

close up photo of woman holding lollipop

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com

2/1/2020: 304

“…we pretty much shut it down…” 

No need to frown! 

We’re the best game in town! 

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

2/8/2020: 813 

“…so we’re in very good shape…”

I like to rape, 

The younger the better!

Epstein, my buddy: quite the jet-setter! 

Jeffrey WHO? 

Him I barely knew! 

He mysteriously died

Before he could squeal 

‘Cause we had a deal. 

Billy Barr is the best!

He’s on my side! 

Kills on request. 

DCA8FC9A-F229-4538-9EA2-D9E13D4796EB_1_105_c

2/22/2020: 2460

“…stock market looking 

Very good to me…!”

And books, I’ve been cooking

Ever since I was wee!

Which reminds me of pee!

Which starts with a ’T’

Which stands for Trump

And kissing my rump.

coronavirus

Photo by CDC on Pexels.com

3/8/2020: 3826

“The risk is low!” 

And I oughta know!

I’m a genius who’s stable!

(I watch Fox on cable).

I go with my gut!

(Nearly as big as my butt!)

If they die in far places

Why should I care? 

Not even white races

Just people to spare. 

Here in ‘Merica, we’re still sitting pretty.

Only 22 deaths, it’s a drop in the bucket!

The snowflakes are getting amazingly petty!

But I don’t care and just say “#### it!” 

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

3/22/2020: 14,739

Thank goodness for ME!

My ratings are high! 

Among my slaves it’s 509

Do not whine!

Do not cry!

Plagues enrich the Crime Family!

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

4/5/2020: 72,535

There’s plenty of testing as you can see!

For everyone willing to bow to ME!

American deaths are sitting quite pretty!

Though some will call for tears and pity.

It’s just a ten K.

It’s AOK!

64AC5B76-C6C3-40D5-A26D-9CB06754678A_4_5005_c

4/19/2020: 167,788

Let’s open up and re-elect!

We can’t have a down-ish DOW!

I’m the ONE the Russians select!

Letting everyone vote is a sacred cow.

Arm yourselves and demand to be free!

To do what I tell you fanatically! 

Americans dead? Only 41 thou! 

brown spider on spider web

Photo by Erik Karits on Pexels.com

5/3/2020: 246,943

I grade myself: with every A!

And who knows better than brilliant ME!

I dotted each ‘i’ and crossed every ’T’

And jumped at each opportunity

To watch Fox News on my TV

And Marrow-Lago’s? Golf’s place to play!

two man standing beside golf carts

Photo by Jopwell on Pexels.com

Go drink some bleach! 

And crowd on the beach!

We’re falling behind in the USA.

We’re only just now at 68K!

D202CABB-A6CF-4932-87E1-6F6A161730CE

Come on people! Show your master!

I need an even million dead — and so much faster!

Putin’s telling us all to hurry

Don’t stay home with your chin all furry.

Get those tattoos, massages, and cuts!

If you die it just shows that you had the guts!

To follow “Der Fooler” right over that cliff!

If you don’t like death’s smell, 

Then don’t take a whiff.

Stay under my spell

And before this year’s end, 

I’ll have met Putin’s quota!

You shouldn’t care even one iota

How many fell or now live in hell.

Family dead or perhaps a dear friend?

Who gives a damn when I’m having such fun!?

My race to dictatorship nearly won!

And when at last all power is mine,

I’ll rewrite history so you will learn, 

That it’s fine to torture and great to burn!

I can treat everyone just like swine!

My ego will swell! So all will be well!

Hitler’s reign: a mere thousand years!

More important: his tally of ten million dead!

86A389C7-4CD7-42E3-ABFA-A555A5BB24CB
D27C46AA-C37E-4AB7-8FE8-8DA937E31A91

Vlad and I have work to do, 

But our being happy depends on you!

We’ll only be happy when few are fed

And we can feast on trillions of tears!

Shut away your childish fears!

Believe our lies, however absurd.

I’ll abandon you as quick as a Kurd!

brown and white snake

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

But you’re not allowed to see what’s true!

Or look beyond my invisible hue!

Watch my glitter as you fall down and die

Give “Der Fooler” one last sigh

Love me tender and call me ‘great.’ 

As you fall and die — but don’t be late! 

tombstone on cemetery during daytime

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

It’s all a hoax that’s been brought by the left

Who’d open the borders and make you all gay.

Just believe in me and you don’t have to think!

I’ll take your cash and leave you bereft. 

I’ll make you work for a dollar a day

While you wallow in filth and smell the sick stink.

IMG_8483

But that’s just Donald: me being me!

So know your role; increase that toll!

Help me reach that golden goal!

Let’s destroy democracy! 

Let’s fashion a world where I am supreme!

And everyone knows their proper place.

I’ll drink the milk and all of the cream. 

But you can be happy that I’ve lived my dream:

When I die — take the whole human race. 

Once you’ve given your all and all you have to give

When *I* die — why should anyone live? 

burial cemetery countryside cross

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

Let’s go lackeys and strive for the best!

Make America Great and lead all the rest!

Make America end with a big loud BANG!

Help me sharpen COVID’s brutal FANG!

A million dead at the end of the year!

Me on my throne without shedding a tear!

IMG_9198

12/31/2020 (world): <2,000,000

12/31/2020 (USA): >1,000,000


Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

You Bet Your Life!

Trumpism is a New Religion

Abandoning Adulthood

Just Tommy being Tommy!

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic 

Donnie Gets a Hamster!

 

 

Comes the Reign

29 Wednesday Apr 2020

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

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

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

photo of water drops on glass

Photo by Andrew Neel on Pexels.com

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

No. 

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

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

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

man holding umbrella

Photo by Thgusstavo Santana on Pexels.com

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

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

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

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

police army commando special task force

Photo by Somchai Kongkamsri on Pexels.com

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

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

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

Distracts us from what we know; the arctic blow.

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

two soldiers standing on road

Photo by Thang Cao on Pexels.com

The twisted cross of hate

Raised like a toast to celebrate

Our own lobotomy

Courtesy of the false dichotomy.

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

action aim armed army

Photo by icon0.com on Pexels.com

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

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

silhouette and grayscale photography of man standing under the rain

Photo by Aleksandar Pasaric on Pexels.com

 Citizen Soldiers, Part One

Citizen Soldiers, Part Two

Citizen Soldiers, Part Three

Claude, the Radioman

Trumpism is a new Religion

You Bet Your Life

Essays on America: The Game

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-academic 

Author Page on Amazon

Essays on America: OOPS!

29 Wednesday Apr 2020

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

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

coronavirus, COVID19, Design, Feedback, pandemic, politics, systems thinking, testing, truth

 

sunset skyline boston dusk

Photo by Kristin Vogt on Pexels.com

OOPS!  

The basement in the rented Woburn house was not particularly pleasant. Cold, damp, and dark, there were only four small basement windows and even these were cluttered with spider webs. One day, in order to try to make the place marginally more usable for my three small kids, I removed all the spider webs. The next day, the basement was swarming with hornets! 

OOPS! 

We had an oil burning furnace in that basement. The landlord cautioned me before we even rented it, that a pair of knobs should be used to make sure that the water level in glass vial be kept between two marks. This gauge looked like the gauge in a level.

I glanced at the gauge every so often. Initially, I checked it every day or so. But the level never moved. So, I began checking it every week. But it still never moved. It never seemed to move for two years. One day, I glanced at it, and to my horror, the gauge was almost completely empty. 

OOPS! 

Now, I was faced with a dilemma. Which of these two knobs was I supposed to turn? There were no labels. There hadn’t been any when I rented the property. Of course, I should have asked the owner more questions during the walk-through. And, then I should have immediately made my own labels. But I hadn’t. 

OOPS! 

I could not recall which knob would cause the fluid level to rise. I decided to try it. I just opened it a little bit. Nothing. I watched closely. I waited. Nothing. As in the illustration above, there were no marks either on the knobs or on metal behind them. So, I wanted to return the first knob to its initial position. But in my hurry to “fix” the problem, it hadn’t occurred to me to put a little mark on the knob and the background so that I would at least be able to return it to the original position. 

OOPS! 

Well, okay but it was too late for that now. I waited. Nothing. I turned the first knob back to where I thought it was. The glass was still nearly empty. Was it slightly less empty than it had been? Or was it slightly more empty? I wasn’t really sure. I should have also marked the level very carefully. I didn’t. 

OOPS! 

So, the glass tube was nearly empty. I did definitely remember that I had been told this was a very dangerous situation! I had tried one knob and it hadn’t seem to do anything. I decided to try the other knob. I turned it a little. Nothing. I waited. Nothing. At this point, the sweat was pouring down the inside of my undershirt. I wasn’t really clear what might happen if I failed. Could the boiler actually blow up? Could it cause a fire? Or would I be lucky and it would just ruin the furnace? 

I opened the second knob a bit farther. Nothing. I waited. I opened it a bit farther. Nothing. I opened it a bit farther. Nothing. 

Then, suddenly, the vial began to fill. Rapidly! Too rapidly! I quickly turned the second knob back to what I hoped had been its original position. The vial was still filling. Try as I might, I could not get the vial to stop filling! 

 

Bang!! 

OOPS!

The glass vial had broken. Luckily I had not been hit by the flying glass. I turned off the furnace and called the owner. Eventually, it was fixed. In a few months, we moved to Westchester, New York. 

Perhaps few people have had the exact experience I had with an oil burner, but I suspect almost everyone has travelled to a new place on vacation or a business trip or visiting a friend and decided to take a shower at some point. (Think back to the pre-pandemic days). 

If you are in most bathrooms for the first time, you really have no idea how to arrange the knobs for a reasonable shower temperature. If you move the knob(s) and feel the change almost immediately, you can quickly arrange things so that you have a comfortable shower. In some houses or hotels, however, if you move the knob, there is a significant delay before you feel any change in the water temperature. You might arrange it so the water is perfect. You get in the shower, and you get your self soapy and …

OOPS! 

You are suddenly being boiled alive! So, you step out of the scalding water, and drip water all over the floor and go back round to the controls and turn the knobs until it feels comfortable again. You’ve learned your lesson. So you wait. Still comfy. Good. In you go. Ah, feels nice…

OOPS! 

Suddenly you are being sprayed with ice water! 

Think back and you’ve quite likely experienced something like this. If the feedback is delayed a bit, it makes it harder to adjust things. And, if the feedback for your actions is delayed a lot, it makes the adjustment very difficult indeed. Of course, if you have experience with that particular system or you have a decent model of how the system works, then, you can do a much more reasonable job of adjustment. 

Guess what? This is one of the factors that makes “opening the economy back up” extremely hard to do safely. I didn’t say “impossible” but very difficult. If you decrease social distancing regulations and people respond to those regulations by doing precisely as you’ve directed, it will be at least a week before you have reliable feedback about whether your actions have been too little lifting of restrictions, just right, too much or way too much. (It’s quite possible the “Goldilocks Zone” between surging cases way beyond hospital capacity and destroying the economy is very narrow).  

And, now let’s imagine that you are one of those politicians who looks at the data and immediately realizes and admits that you opened things up way too much. You retrench. You close things down. Once again, there will be a delay before the rate of new infections, new hospitalizations, and deaths starts to decline again. Meanwhile, even if you, the mayor or governor is wise enough to savvy to the delayed feedback, many of your constituents will not be. 

“What do you mean, you’re closing back down!!? You just opened up two weeks ago! I brought everybody back, assured my customers it was fine, bought all this inventory — and you shut me down!? Now, I’ve been shut down a week and so what? The cases keep going up anyway. Your order is bullshit and has no impact!” 

If you bow to that pressure, it will be a disaster. 

OOPS! 

If you are a mayor governor, you also need to realize that your orders themselves have zero impact on the pandemic. What does matter, but which is influenced by your orders, is actual behavior. It may seem an obvious point, but it seems to be overlooked. If for example, you have been honest and open with the public, other things being equal, you will get greater compliance and faster compliance. If you have not been honest, on the other hand, you will get  (other things being equal) less complete compliance and slower compliance. As leader, the feedback between what you do and what you see in terms of cases will take a least a week just based on the nature of the disease. But there may also be additional time lag because of the fact that people will not all comply. It would be really good to have measures in place of aggregate compliance in order to understand what is really happening. 

Sadly, COVID19 is worse — much worse — in this regard than the shower example. I don’t just mean that the outcome is potentially worse than an uncomfortable shower. It is, obviously. What I mean is that the other examples, though they had delay, were (at least till I got in the loop) basically linear systems.

Spread of contagious diseases is nothing like that! 

It is exponential growth. Exponential growth can be explosive growth. 

You may recall from your high school days, that rabbits were introduced to Australia and for a time bred for food. At some point, they began to undergo a population explosion and became serious pests for Australia. 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rabbits_in_Australia

You might find this paragraph of particular interest: 

“The population explosion was ascribed to the disappearance of native predators, but the emergence of a hardier breed by natural selection has subsequently been attributed to their spread.” — op. cit. (4/28/2020)

 

Awkwardly worded, but I take it to mean that one of the effects of exponential growth is that it can result in hardier breeds. I suppose that the hardier breeds also help foster that exponential growth. A resurgent pandemic also means an explosion — not just in the number of humans who are affected — it also means an explosion in the number of COVID19 viruses on the planet. Therefore, there is a much greater population from which adaptive mutations of various kinds can arise.

There is already evidence that COVID19 has evolved and now exists in different strains. Some strains may be more virulent than others. The degree of cross-strain immunity is as yet unknown. (Update?)

OOPS!

Imagine you live in a straw house. It’s actually pretty comfortable most of the time. But one night it gets really cold, so you decide to start a fire for warmth. Of course, you realize that your house is straw so you aim to be very very careful. And you are. And, then two sparks from your fire spew out in two different directions and set your entire house on fire. Of course, you do your best to put it out. But you don’t. It got away from you. 

OOPS!

——————————————-

Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

Trumpism is a New Religion

You Bet Your Life!

Citizen Soldiers. 

Parametric Recipes and American Democracy

Essays on America: The Game

Author Page on Amazon

Myths of the Veritas: Books

26 Sunday Apr 2020

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

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

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

snow covered mountain under blue sky

Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com

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

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

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

MythofVeritas-2-1

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

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

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

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

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

selective focus photography of octopus

Photo by Pia on Pexels.com

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

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

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

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

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

pile of stones

Photo by Mau00ebl BALLAND on Pexels.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

closeup photo of book filed on shelf

Photo by John-Mark Smith on Pexels.com

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

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

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

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

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

gray concrete building on top of hill

Photo by Suliman Sallehi on Pexels.com

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

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

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

history ancient peru south america

Photo by Amanda Kerr on Pexels.com

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

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

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

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——————————————————-

The Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

Author Page on Amazon

Essays on America: Wednesday

Essays on America: Rejecting Adulthood

Essays on America: A Lot is not a Little.

The Anti-Academic Pandemic 

The Truth Train

Essays on America: You Bet Your Life

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