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Archive for the ‘mental illness’ Category

Certainly more narcisstic and un-empathetic (is that a new word?) than most presidents or for that matter, more so than anyone i have ever met, and certainly the most unprepared, ill mannered and unpresidential of any president in my lifetime. He has the least leadership abilities of any president, the worst public speaking skills, absolutely no sense of decorum, no clue as to how a “normal” grownup male should behave and he seems totally incapable of grasping, not to mention acknowledging, his faults.

As an american living overseas, I can say that while some here may well have disagreed with his predecessors in the White House, no president has ever been such a constant source of embarrasment or ridicule across europe as him. And all of this is beside his facist-friendly politics, his economic plan, if he has one, his nepotism, his admitted illegal groping of women, or his obvious racism, or his orange skin and small hands (mutant?)

http://www.latimes.com/opinion/topoftheticket/la-na-tt-president-insane-20170828-story.html

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This is a brilliant article about how many Trump has offended by his racist misogynist fascist diatribes and totally without any apology. but then, how or why would one expect it?  To TRULY apologize, it is, as I understand it, an act based upon a sympathetic feeling and a feeling of true remorse. He isn’t capable of such feelings. That is one of the key signals for a psychotic, the total inability to understand or appreciate the consequences of one’s actions. It is also one of the characteristics for fascists as well. At any rate, do read this article,, and feel free to leave me feedback.

 

 

 

An Open Letter to Donald Trump: I Reject Your Apology. Here’s Why.

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These poets released their hearts on the world​The ones we knew and lost,

Those punk poets with ADHD and precious fits of anger,

​The ones who tore down the murals on Pine Street

The ones who brought their stolen guitars

​13 years old, playing music in the streets until dawn

​When the police stole them from their sleeping bags

​Handcuffing them into the backseat of their prowlers

​The order of a blowjob or a night in jail

Those romantic poets whose hearts were young and full of anticipation

​The ones not yet broken down by maryjane dreams in

​The back seats of adult theatres

​The quick cum meals swallowed fast and cheap for food money

​The old men with their eyes closed never cared about a name

Those dying poets who were still so very alive and independent

So much more than you and I ever were

​Not haunted by false iconic visions of future fatherly duty and the

​Idiom of an autocratic family life without questions

​Answers answers answers they never wanted and we never knew

Those spoken word poets who sold their souls on the interstate

Spouting their gospels out loud in honkytonks​

From Nashville to Memphis

Living in the back seat of a 55 Ford

​The Guardians of Race beating them in fits of fear and hate

Those crazed poets who raced down the riverbanks without shoes

​Hair flying in the breeze, eyes bulging out of their skulls

​Blanked out on crack screaming at the universe about

Eternal damnation and all the

​Virgins they’d never live to fuck

Those anaemic Goth poets who couldn’t get out of bed before 6pm

​Puking in the hallway, blood surrounding the toilets

​Building supervisors looking the other way in disgust but

​Knowing they’d pay their rent at the end of the month

​When they dropped their jeans

Those interstellar poets who flew to Europe with daddies’ money

​The ones who blew it all in a casino without windows

Losing it on broken promises and

​A thousand and one forgotten explanations

Those intellectual poets who fell to their knees in philosophical orgasms

​Espousing a faith to the almighty Kafka. Trotsky or Camus in

​Coffeehouses filled with clove smoke thick as lies

Clueless fools awaiting verbal ejaculations

​Still debating just what the fuck they meant

 

Does it fucking matter at all?

 

These poets released their hearts on the world

​The ones no one knew

Those hipster poets their pockets filled with Hegel

​The ones who argued that life is a fucked up poem of its own

“Ecstasy is the natural form of live” tattooed across their foreheads as they killed themselves

​In taxis sneaking their poems out of East Berlin in the 1970s

​The last stanzas of the Internationale and top secret words,

Words of revolution slipping out of their consciousness.

Those fashionista poets with the berets,

​Dizzy and Bird and Mingus, oh bop kabala, oh piano riffs of Monk

​Twisting the head around until it falls into the Hudson

​Only to be born again in these lines

.

I too want to be born again in these lines. Oh holy oh holy

Oh Mother of Invention and Creationism dead and dying.

Lying in a supermarket aisle with the scars of unfaithful husbands

Cocks swallowed whole in hasty retreats

Notes in pockets of winter coats left behind hastily and forever regretted

Let me cum on your breasts.

Let me fill your vessels in three quarter time.

Frantic frantic these words cannot give me peace that’s not their intent

These are the poets’ cries, the ones no one hears

Bulldozers running 24/7, poetic cities of metal built and rebuilt on the same stones

Stoned poets running in the Bowery,

Running in Harlem,

Running in Seattle and San Francisco bath houses

Running from gin joint to bop united strip joints to gay bars with big screen tvs

Blasting Eurovision and Berlusconis porn for the masses, but I digress

 

These poets released their hearts on the world

Those shy poets tripping over cobblestones in 60s Stockholm coffeehouses

​Out of focus permanently in every night daydreams of a better world

​Daydreams daydreams life is but a daydream

​Palmes murder ended a countries’ dream but now it’s all life as you want it

​If you want it here it is come and get it

​Swim from the city to the archipelago drown in the icy water all alone

​Your poetic dreams washed up on shores of fascist nations

Those awkward poets hiding in the public library salons built like hospital wards

Leaving notes in Martian, this I’ve seen, that no one can decipher on the large tables while flashing gorgeous legs to the staff

​Security guards keeping a vulture close watch on their every curve

​Rhymes from ancient poets calling, pushing their insanity further and further

​Their poems lost for all time with a jolt of electricity or the push of a needle.

Those poets who burned their blood with ink and notes and bong hits to Mars

​Screeching their poems across the Reed College radio wavelengths

To scholastic pulpits with drug infested dirges raining down on their

Consciousness

​Until Eric has to scream “No more, No more” across the rooftops of hell

​Campus security hoping he takes the leap

His poetry left behind on the stones of campus forever like a scar to the truth.

Those poets who burned their draft cards, chanting allegiance to Ho Chi Minh

​Who refused to follow the dictates of the ruling class,

​Sprawling their refusals across the urinals of the world

​Taking the sacramental piss on the military and thus winning

​The hearts and minds of the universal soldiers of peace

Those poets who set themselves on fire feeding the flames of the suicide contagion

Dying young and holy on the streets of Tibet, on the streets of Tunisia,

The Werther effect burned forever into the minds of rebels and sacrificial lambs as the only answer, orange robes in red flames

  

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Imagine my horror when what I thought was…

 

Actually turned out to be THIS!!

ARRRRGHHHHHH!!!

 

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a beautiful photograph by a very talented photographer, well worth sharing. I recommend following this blog and also investigating the website in the link.        Alone.

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