The rush to Political Correct…

Yeah it is offensive.  But it is there right to be ignorant.   Yeah I get it.  But rather find obtuse angles at attacking President Trump,  do something but whine.  Whining doesn’t feed children.   Whining doesn’t win anything.

On CNN, Don Lemon was chatting with Morgan Freeman.  Don asked Freeman about racism and Morgan said, “stop talking about it”.  When we impower any kind of bigotry, the bigot wins.   I remmber on Mayor in D.C.

The racism we ignore

“Marion Barry’s mouth set him up. The disgraced former mayor of Washington, DC, who was caught on tape in a 1987 crack cocaine sting, made an even bigger disgrace of himself and his city on Tuesday. Celebrating a Democratic primary victory, the city councilman attacked small businesses owned by “Asians” in his district. Then the race-baiting clown doubled down”.

Barry told supporters in DC’s Ward 8: “We got to do something about these Asians coming in and opening up businesses and dirty shops. They ought to go.” Once pushed out, Barry promised, he would replace the foreign invaders with “African-American business people.”

He then took to Twitter to expound on the perils of “dirty” Asian shops in his neighborhood. Barry posted photos of supposedly hazardous stores — including Chinese restaurants surrounded not by trash or toxic waste, but by Plexiglas barriers and reinforced doors.

He explained that Asian-owned businesses that had the audacity to protect themselves from crime were “lowering standards” in his constituents’ communities.

Crazy Barry doesn’t just need another round of rehab. He needs a reality check.

As a commenter on DCist.com noted, 2010 Census data showed that “Asians made up 0.4 percent of the Ward 8 population. . . If anything, Asians are moving out, not in — the Asian population decreased 13.6 percent . . . between 2000 and 2010.”

Most of us remember Martin Luther King and that tragic day.  MLK day is great, but we only pay lip service to that day.  In many cities statues and MLK Blvd are situated in blighted neighbor hoods.  PC people get real.  Former-President Obama payed lip service to helping people feel better.    Rather than focus on idiots, we prefer to sticks and Stones.

In Burkburnette Texas, I often played with blacks (Across the steet from blacks).  We played and got dirty ane one day this black kid call me a #Peckerwood.   A kid who was playing with us in an ash pile told that kid to leave me alone.   Kids I think get it. My own mom lived in a vacuum,  but that was rectified.   I have a  two black nephews.

One day my own mother seen that ‘those people” are us. She got presents for the one nephew and she had to be fair to him.   He loves my  mother and always wants to stay overnight with her.   My niece married a black guy.   That is their baby.  We live to learn.  So what’s up with people? Right.

My Aunt and Uncle adopted a kid (who was black).   Joel Stephens was an 5-star recuit at Syracuse.   A reporter asked about  his “black brother”.  Joel said,  “he is not my  black brother, he is my brother”.    Unity matters.  Faith Matters.  Cancer sucks.

 

Joel Stephens.

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One night our dad was dropping the F-word at supper and all five of us went off on him. We lived in upstate NY.  A side note, Joel died at 22 with a rare form of Cancer.  Joel was a Christian.  He thanked God for his cancer! Huh? Great faith there. The owner of the Baltimore Orioles told the the Stephens family medical bills.  He even has a Joel Stephens Day.  But back to the event with our dad.  No one instilled us with bigotry.   We respected our friends and we did appreciate that bigots are going to do what they do.  My preference is to avoid such stupidity. And like Morgan Freeman said to stop talking about it.  Lemon was shocked.

We do NOT empower bigots. We politely consider the source.  Fighting over this,  just sustains the offending party, but ignoring them enough, they just go away.  That is not the take-away point. We need to respect each other.  See each other as friends, not hyphenating names but realizing the great potential of all of us.   Character Matters.

 

 

Feeling Like a Rock!

I am feeling like an avalanche coming.    The smallest tremor to set me off.  Don’t get me wrong,  I am not considering any self-harm, to me or to others.  The shadows are coming again,  slowly,  but steadily.  One or two  of these are in ‘living color’.  Shadows of doubt,  panic attacks, like a Tsunami.   I hear the roar,  waters that creep and fill me,  with pains of high and Low Tides.

I have thought of my new name.  Do you like it? It was pretty racist to behold.  I have shanks of poetry,  misplaced grammar and enough hubris to weigh me down.  But rather I wish to find a copper coin.  I wish to elucidate,  on a lily pad called destiny.  I want to pick away the burrs.  To the Longfellow chaps.   I want to find a nuance and let it work for all of us.  Not a twenty and definitely not a line for ghouls.  I want to make mince meat into pies.  Not lines of craters nor lines of white.  I wish to find… and destroy it.  I wish for them to grow.  Not in some rusty hole.  I pray that these come to pass.

It is the dawn of anxiety,  I see my head floating downstream.  Portable Sinkholes,  elaborating,  roiling downward,  and making life ‘like a buoy’, a respite from the darkest downs.

A song, a note,   reveries with plumb lines,  like spider webs twisted.  Sometimes the emotions are overwrought, with their own insanity, glossed over but not forgotten.  Let us play harpsichords and twing a violin.  Let’s stop the wrong kind of thing.  Planting history with falling leaves.

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The Things that Really Matter

In the next few months,  we will be embarking on a quest to house homeless Veterans.  This will be no easy feat,  but it is achievable.  The biggest and best hope is an informed people, who lay aside political hyperbole and false narratives.  But what are these narratives?  What are the options?

Feeding our own poor,  who truly do need our help.  Not senseless rioting, raping women and girls.  Money that goes to the various social dichotomies,  SAIN kits and policies that help victims of those heinous crimes.  It is the women who suffer the vagaries by deed, police interviews and the court.

Ex-President Obama,  was big on campaign promises (immigration) and short on real initiatives.  The choke point was the Sequester. Well what about it?  Nestled in these obtuse proclamations,  was money that was diverted to (illegals, healthcare reform and the fish that saved Pittsburgh).   None of these were Republican issues per se, but they are real.

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The bargaining chip was the suspension of military pay and benefits.   Paring away needed support and doing an end run.  Two billion dollars which were earmarked for Veterans and to the VA , to pay for illegals.  Americans are watching us.  What are doing,  what is being done?  Nadda and more of that nada.

The people that matter and the funds to get this done.   Not five hundred dollar handshakes, the release sensitive documents and rapes that go unpunished.

More is going is to be said and done. Coming very soon.

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Moribund< out of touch.

There is a false dichotomy spreading across this nation.  Rather than bridging the abyss, the ravine grows colder,  deeper and in disrepair.  Mountains rumble, at  loss.  Time is suspended.   The cloudy white milk pours from deciduous pine trees, while hawks lurk high above in their rarefied air,  sending out notice, to prey.

Fear not the rain, nor the  poles, nor the mighty storms at sea.  They drain and sustain creating rivulets and rivers, of disparaging diversity.    Conditional causes, which do not change matter, but subverts it.  Hollowing trees, scattering bees and bees being boarders in their own land.  baby102

We walk a tight rope and swing from literal AND LIBERAL vines.  We have no time for childish dreams, yet we are the epitome of games and rancor.  We flourish with pens,  inks and blotters, we stutter with jurisprudence.

My own odyssey was  Quixotic.  It started out with being sequestered in a Mental Hospital in Raleigh,  NC.   That lasted about eight days.  The reason for the visit to the ER was a Major Seizure Attack.  The adventure had morphed into a kind of confinement,  a suggestion of mental entanglement.  Upon release, I contacted the hospital and with swift hyperbole,  I mounted their unilateral conjecture,  into a scathing injunction to repartee with a patient.   I MADE MY POINT.  Essentially  saying, “do not condescend to me and patients alike”.

 

I may again at some time during the next couple of weeks.  For right now,  more terrible blogs,   for you to enjoy and me to destroy.   Peace.

 

 

Conundrums!

Nothing but ‘conundrums’,  tactile songs of life,  hurt and death.   Mutilated dreams.  A side ward leap (of all kinds).   Brushing our teeth,  falling hair,  and the snowfall that comes or not.    Happy with changes,  chains of our own devices and external visages.  Looking in the mirror is not a vision of validation, but a portrait of someone else.

No cat cries or the crows feet that becomes whatever we wish  them to be.   Hills and valleys with slow-leaking dreams,  that are shuttered, squared and soon forgotten.  Past lives and artist pallets smeared by the weight of philosophy and the cottony clouds of faith.  God as fast-food or a mooring point of transcendental being.  Like a train going faster downhill, and the clambering effort to find ourselves,  between tragedy and a still pond.  Heights and Success and a   Frisbee, thrown from a rooftop, like a drone with no purpose falling to the ground, eschewing the literal from autism s.

Finally the Borealis Rainbows, a taciturn goblin, shedding Peacock wings, like a cat’s meow.  I blow by stops, I raise above the ether into orbit, rising from antiquity, with a somber soliloquy and beds of finality,. with shocks and snares of frightful stares.  Epic in peace, painfulness no more.

“The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it’s indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it’s indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it’s indifference.”
Elie Wiesel

Mistakes, comas and period.  The end

Forever gone.

Larry Olson….

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Everyone keeps telling me that time heals all wounds, but no one can tell me what I’m supposed to do right now. Right now I can’t sleep. It’s right now that I can’t eat. Right now I still hear his voice and sense his presence even though I know he’s not here. Right now all I seem to do is cry. I know all about time and wounds healing, but even if I had all the time in the world, I still don’t know what to do with all this hurt right now.”
Nina Guilbeau, Too Many Sisters

Quiet Desperation. Rewards Found in Shadows.

I feel pain and many times not even my own.   As a younger man I was working as a Forecaster at McGuire AFB in New Jersey.   One evening the weather observer blew past me and basically seemed to ignore me.   About an hour later she asked me how I knew something is wrong.    Her husband was high on crack and tried to shoot her with a shotgun.

I cannot remember how many times especially with females that I sensed this desperation.   A kind of pervasive fear that riddles with the soul with uncertainty and knowing that people do not understand.   Those who think they know depression and anxiety or to get over those things.

They assume much and without any comprehension of who I am and what I do for others.  The best medicine is compassion.   A feeling heart that is vulnerable but equipped.   It comes as no surprise at the misogyny directed at women and those perceived to be weak.   Most men could not bear pregnancy and yet they carp at women as the weaker sex.   We are both the weaker and stronger and we know what the rules are for that.

We struggle to find things we can color as black and white and a way of a common ground that makes us better,  whole and deluded.   Unfortunately there are the parasites who willfully and aggressively open up scars and believe they are doing good.

To those,  we just walk away,  confidently but with humility because this is an anathema to haters.   Knowing we know where they are coming from.   Two still equal two,  yet the contrary spirit inherent in all of us,  wishes to play the devil’s advocate.

The tears of a friend spent towards a person especially a man who is trusted is almost sacred.    A girl and a friend I knew in Germany was near suicidal following a rape and resultant pregnancy.   She was lost and afraid but I just listened and told her that it is her decision,  whether to keep or abort.   She said I was the only one who treated with real respect.   Not strong opinions and judgments and love that is platonic and still sexually charged.   Without the sex.  Trust.

She decided to not abort and the baby was given to a mixed couple who the Army decided could not have kids by other channels.   Here were people who touched my heart in different ways and all where touched by some kind of angel.   I need to find her again as this was long ago.

The point is that we should listen.  Drink in the moment and appreciate the flavors of experience which if decided to be shared are a nectar so sweet,  that is permeates our brains with compassion and heart.

Give me this.  Take to a place where prying eyes dim. ‘

Give me the honesty to know the time on the clock.

Take me to the door that blesses our entrance,

to the sublime nature of harmony and the steady beat of time.

Give me the mind and the heart to hear.

To move past the shadows

and into the purple throes that fill me with wonder.

sunnude

JungA