Trump has no actual principles or convictions. He's a Hindenburg full of poison gas, that's all. |
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Tuesday, January 29, 2019
Saturday, January 26, 2019
Donald Trump, Cave Man
And Trump caves on the government
shutdown, just as I anticipated.
A) I knew that the moment the
shutdown began to seriously interfere with air traffic, and thus inconvenience
the rich and the corporations, it would end,
B) Trump desperately needed a
distraction from the damning Stone indictment.
C) Trump was also desperate to
feed his pathetic, needy ego with the State of the Union address. Therefore,
the signs pointed to Trump folding.
You know, Trump has no actual
principles or convictions. He’s just a Hindenburg full of poison gas, that’s
all.
Sunday, January 20, 2019
Be a Lion
Friday, January 18, 2019
Archaic Torso of Apollo, by Rilke
We cannot know his legendary head
with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso is still suffused with brilliance from inside, like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low, gleams in all its power. Otherwise the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could a smile run through the placid hips and thighs to that dark center where procreation flared. Otherwise this stone would seem defaced beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders and would not glisten like a wild beast’s fur: would not, from all the borders of itself, burst like a star: for here there is no place that does not see you. You must change your life.
Walling Off Sanity
Thursday, January 17, 2019
The Battle of the Boney Bone
George with his pet snake. You'd better not touch that, either. |
Every night, when Larry gives
George Hilton Beagle the small rawhide treat we have so cleverly named the
“boney bone,” George trots off to find me, drops it at my feet and growls
softly. Then he barks.
This is his way of saying that this
particular boney bone is HIS, and that I’d better not try to get it or there
will be
HELL.
TO.
PAY.
George seems to think that the
treats we give him — so foolishly — are things we will immediately want back,
once we regret the error of our ways.
Thus challenged, I naturally have
to make a grab for it, but he snatches it up and dashes off to another room.
We run, we feint, we stop and
stare at each other like The Good, the
Bad and the Ugly.
“Drop it, bitch,” I tell him, and
he drops the boney bone, tauntingly. At my slightest motion, he grabs it up
again and dashes room to room to room.
“Tonight is the night I’m GETTING
that boney bone!” I tell him, hot in pursuit. “Say goodbye to it!”
I feel, strangely, a little like
Wile E. Coyote.
Sometimes I hide behind a door,
which worries him. A ridge of hair on his back rises like the spines of a
stegosaurus, and he barks with mad, abandoned joy when I jump out from my
hiding place. And we’re off again!
This kind of thing continues until
I slow down and collapse on the sofa, muttering, “Okay, okay. Enough, enough.”
Then George settles down happily
to eat his boney bone, reassured that he is a streak of tri-colored lightning,
much faster than any pokey old human.
George chews his treat with great
satisfaction, knowing that I have once again been put in my place. And I rest
gratefully until he finishes the boney bone, and it is time for us to go
outside and pooty.
Monday, January 14, 2019
Whom to Blame for America's Fall
Sunday, January 13, 2019
'I Was a Racketeer, a Gangster for Capitalism'
“War is just a racket. A racket is
best described, I believe, as something that is not what it seems to the
majority of people. Only a small inside group knows what it is about. It is
conducted for the benefit of the very few at the expense of the masses.
“I believe in adequate defense at
the coastline and nothing else. If a nation comes over here to fight, then
we'll fight. The trouble with America is that when the dollar only earns 6
percent over here, then it gets restless and goes overseas to get 100 percent.
Then the flag follows the dollar and the soldiers follow the flag.
“I wouldn'’t go to war again as I
have done to protect some lousy investment of the bankers. There are only two
things we should fight for. One is the defense of our homes and the other is
the Bill of Rights. War for any other reason is simply a racket.
“There isn’t a trick in the
racketeering bag that the military gang is blind to. It has its ‘finger men’ to
point out enemies, its ‘muscle men’ to destroy enemies, its ‘brain men’ to plan
war preparations, and a ‘Big Boss’ Super-Nationalistic-Capitalism.
“It may seem odd for me, a
military man to adopt such a comparison. Truthfulness compels me to. I spent
thirty- three years and four months in active military service as a member of
this country's most agile military force, the Marine Corps. I served in all
commissioned ranks from Second Lieutenant to Major-General. And during that
period, I spent most of my time being a high class muscle-man for Big Business,
for Wall Street and for the Bankers. In short, I was a racketeer, a gangster
for capitalism.
“I suspected I was just part of a
racket at the time. Now I am sure of it. Like all the members of the military
profession, I never had a thought of my own until I left the service. My mental
faculties remained in suspended animation while I obeyed the orders of
higher-ups. This is typical with everyone in the military service.
“I helped make Mexico, especially
Tampico, safe for American oil interests in 1914. I helped make Haiti and Cuba
a decent place for the National City Bank boys to collect revenues in. I helped
in the raping of half a dozen Central American republics for the benefits of
Wall Street. The record of racketeering is long. I helped purify Nicaragua for
the international banking house of Brown Brothers in 1909-1912 (where have I
heard that name before?). I brought light to the Dominican Republic for
American sugar interests in 1916. In China I helped to see to it that Standard
Oil went its way unmolested.
“During those years, I had, as the boys in the back room
would say, a swell racket. Looking back on it, I feel that I could have given
Al Capone a few hints. The best he could do was to operate his racket in three
districts. I operated on three continents.
— Excerpt from a speech delivered in 1933 by Major General
Smedley Butler, USMC.