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Archive for the ‘regret’ Category

Two things come to mind, Rump used the same tactics as Adolf Hitler to get elected; prey on the ignorance of the people, feed their hatred and fear and then tell them that you’re the only one that understands, the only one that can save them, use that heightened sense of fear to raise an anger that grows and consumes any wisdom. This is how facism works.  
The other thing is an enormous fear over the future as i watch a delusional bully with a limited intellect and the compassion of a dead lizard, I picture him drooling at the thought of being in the oval office with his fingers on the launch codes. 

I am dead fucking angry and I’m scared more than ever. This jackass has just put a target on every free-thinking american everywhere. The assumption will be that we support his racist hate. Well, I, for one, refuse to. Fuck him and his hate. I refuse to be a part of his hate group. ( perhaps other than hating him). 
I don’t care who you are. Be it family or friend, if you voted for this sonofabitch  then you are no friend of mine and you are not welcome in my life. Unfriend me immediately!! Take your brown shirts, your swastikas and your hate and get the fuck out of my life!!!!

Rump thinks he’ll have it easy. We will organize. We will fight. We will burn it down if need be!! 

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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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1.
Where have they gone
The young and the proud?

Will we say their names again?
Will we sing their praises on Sundays in church?
Will their photographs hang in Willies’ barbershop windows
Alongside the heroes of World War 2,
The Norman Rockwell prints
And his autographed photos of Ted Williams and Rocky Marciano?

Will there be a celebration of their sacrifices in the town square
The mayor making a speech and mounting a plaque?
The mothers and sisters and wives crying inconsolably?

Or will their fathers hide their grief in bottles of moonshine
The bitterness growing with every drop
Their mothers asking themselves in secrecy what they’ve done wrong
Sisters feeling unprotected without big brother
Little brothers lacking a role model, what chance do they have?
Will no one waltz in the street when their names are mentioned
Or will they merely turn their grief away?

Who will lead us into the future?
Who will install that first traffic light?
Their photos in the Sunday paper big smiles all around
Where will our smiles come from without our boys as heroes?

There will be no continuity here
A generation is lost
Our sons have been ripped from their future
Johnny will not come marching home again.

Where have you gone, my heroes my heroes,
Why have you left our lives?
Where have you gone, my heroes my heroes,
And what will become of us?

2.
Where have they gone
The young and proud?

Where is Gus?
He who could run like the wind
Down the field to victory on homecoming night

Where is Eddie with the cannon right arm?
He who threw the winning touchdown pass to Gus?

Where is Lawrence?
He who made his grandmother so proud
Her slave life stories were so vivid in his mind
The first one in the family to finish school

Where are Gunvald and Bengt?
The town’s only immigrant sons,
Those two new Sons of the Town who worked so much harder,
Just to fit in,

Where is Tom?
He who always drove too fast
Son of the local sheriff,
Racing in the streets on Saturday nights?

Will their parents mourn their loss?
Will we notice their absence?

Greg, he whose Diner has already closed down,
Crippled after his hip surgery failed, and now
Gus is not there to take his place
Irene, his wife, she who couldn’t deal with the loss
The towns first civilian casualty
Of a war so far away

The 5 and Dime store won’t last long either,
Mr. Nichols, he who is getting older by the day,
Never stands outside the shop door anymore, greeting everyone,
His health is failing and Eddie isn’t coming back to take over
It’s a matter of time now they say.

Pete he who can’t climb the trees anymore to trim them,
Says he’ll have to sell his orchards and land to pay his mortgage
Gunvald and Bengt will be trimming trees only in Pete’s memories

Where have you gone, my heroes my heroes,
Why have you left our lives,
Where have you gone, my heroes my heroes,
And what will become of us?

 

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My last night at home was
The last night of my home.
I ran down scarlet streets
To the cacophony of death
As shell after shell ripped the earth.
My mothers eyes ran red
As her body watched me leave.
My fathers entrails,
All that was left behind
To wave me off.

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The poets wrote of deaths,

Not their own, nor anyone they knew.

Hardly a new feat,

“Timor mortis conturbat me” was the mantra,

But instead of warmth, I grimaced in pain.

Somehow the clang hurt the ear,

Like a broken mokugyo.

Nothing rang true to the depths of the loss.

Their tears barely reached the withered grass under their feet.

 

The mourning families were there,

The lilies of the valley were there, nicely laid out

Next to the choirs, who were sadly out of tune, and

The priest with his ridiculous clothes

(We all knew what was under his robe).

 

But where was the heart?

Their laments were as meaningless as

Wool sweaters in June,

Ezra, Kenneth, Walt, Oh captain, my captain,

Have we forever lost our way?

Where are the souls of these poets?

 

While they were dining in imaginary

Uptown restaurants, with imaginary

Steak and lobster and wine, robustly

Congratulating themselves on the latest quatrain,

Oh so perfectly executed in form, a marvel of engineering,

Our heroes’ hearts were dying a little at a time

And no one noticed

 

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I will see nothing
But the children of peace
Their hair spread against the wind
Like the wings of angels

I will hear nothing
From the tombs of your dead
But the voices from my own thoughts
Like the salve of the ages

I will not open my door
To you as a visitor
Bringing your unrepentant anger
To my thirsty soul

I will no longer dance
With you parents of war
Your darkness blots out
The light from my feet

I will not see your world
Nor read your newspaper
Not hear your symphony
I will not say your prayers
But those which I make myself
The words of empowerment
The songs of unison

I will not drink at your table
I will not eat of your meat
You have no nourishment
To offer such a one as I

The end of the world
As you know it
Will be our only salvation

I will not die
Until we, all of us,
Can die under peaceful skies
Our souls drifting quietly across the sunset
Like a shroud of the finest linen

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Imagine my horror when what I thought was…

 

Actually turned out to be THIS!!

ARRRRGHHHHHH!!!

 

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