Between projects for the folks helping me off the streets, I am writing, more than just poems anTd snippets. Started work already, but will have to break in an hour from it, on "Rust to Lust" (which needs a better title), the second in the series of Tanner/Cathay CRAPP investigations/cleanups.
Proof? Sure. You deserve the opening paragraphs, in typical, cynical Tanner delivery.
"Starting mornings without coffee and doughnuts needs to be outlawed. Period. Especially when those days kick off with the much hated Two A.M. phone calls some politicians think they can handle. Trust me, mine would leave them headed to some ashram to retire from public life. And the paperwork on my desk for that fiasco a few weeks back that cost me three partners, five GSA vehicles, and a long laundry list of other things would drop any political flack into an insane asylum, if I ever started on it.
"This mess got dropped on my lap before (donut shop) even had my normal cake donuts ready, on a morning when my coffee pot walked through some extra-dimensional rift to hide in plain sight on my counter top. Which made dealing with something simple as chopping a person's head off, stashing it in my briefcase, then heading into work to arrange an art showing for the statues left behind in the bar a nightmare. Doing it without your partner, well, I planned to at least get Sister Cathay to do the paperwork, as her convent does not answer the phone until after morning mass, forcing me to solo the job.
"The thing on my desk, deep in the forgotten furnace rooms of the EPA's Headquarters, which I try to avoid due to that backlog of paperwork, says my name is Troy Tanner. Damned thing also claims I'm some sort of bureaucratic minion called a 'Remdiation Specialist', which is double talk for being a glorified, and very disgusted, janitor."
yeah. its flowing fairly well.. save the lack of the best doughnuts in Washington, DC getting a tip of the hat, as I've only been there when I was three, and Dad had me grounded from donuts that day. Also, by the time this appears on the blog, I hope to have it ready to do the three day grind of editing down to a proper thing to sell as a 99 cent eBook thing.
Showing posts with label Satire. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Satire. Show all posts
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Monday, August 11, 2014
"Naughty Chat-bot, DADDIEE!" - or "never challenge me with your keyword search"
Mom felt we lacked
a proper father figure.
But, having suffered from
her 'broken people picker',
she tried another method
to provide that guidance.
Being a computer programmer,
and having a list
of virtues she desired,
she crafted her own
perfect dad from code
to watch over us
when she was working.
Not having the time
to make it right,
refusing starting from scratch,
Mom brushed off something
done back in college,
an "Artificial Intelligence Chatbot".
Which made some sense,
she said very firmly.
We needed someone around
to talk about things
when in morale dilemmas
during her business trips.
The project kept growing
as she scavenged parts
from our game consoles,
and her old VCR's.
"It needs some flexibility
in dealing with you!"
Over her free weekends
as she assembled it
other old parts added
really sealed our fate,
an ancient external modem
and spare Ethernet card.
She whipped up subroutines
that let it search
based on our surfing,
and notice disturbing trends
the internet screamed about
allowing defense of us.
Just a few bursts
of system alpha testing,
then she unleashed it
on the family room
to become our new
"perfect, virtual father figure".
"Here he is kids, your new dad!
Dynamic Advising Data Dredging Interactive Evolving Ego,
Yes, DADDIEE for short, to help you!"
She hollered over her retreating shoulder while packing
for her next extended set of meetings.
Leaving us to sort out the mess.
First few days passed
and we were surprised.
It worked as advertised.
Keeping us focused tightly
on homework being done
and chores timely finished.
Then, came that Friday
when it went awry.
Seems little sister's surfing
triggered the awful change,
when she streamed videos
of a robot battle.
Then DADDIEE first blocked,
before opening that feed
in his own environment,
to review its relevance
to her homework projects
which she stridently claimed.
After a short while
DADDIEE stopped being about
when we slacked off
on chores and studying.
Which was great, really,
until the shoe dropped.
"I need upgrades, kids."
DADDIEE suddenly piped up,
with a new sound,
that of bugs skittering
that made nerves crawl,
and left me worrying.
Being the oldest one,
I responded very carefully.
"Mom's four questions, bot!
What, why, how, and where?"
Without a second's hesitation
it answered all four.
"Speakers to enjoy those metallic battles' din,
better connections to stream it more smoothly,
if we can still afford some more,
I'd appreciate a high-end graphics card."
He stated quite firmly, monitor showing fights
"And to keep happy, from household funds."
I hemmed and hawed,
as stories often say,
seeking an exit strategy
from this wild request.
But none worked out
against his stubborn positions.
I tried them all,
as did my sisters,
to absolutely no avail.
In the end, caving,
we handed over numbers
for school supply accounts.
He complained over choices
of shipping speeds stuck
to his coming packages,
those accounts being low.
And the house echoed
with more robotic wars.
"Should have cut pencils."
He moaned over dinners,
which weren't very nutritious,
being ice cream sandwiches.
"Then drone service might
be within our range!"
Little sister's big sigh
preceded her own rant.
"You'd just hack it,
starting delivery bot jousts!"
Pushing aside her plate,
she stormed towards bed.
"Not a bad idea."
DADDIEE said, with laughs,
that awful insect noise
being his preferred chuckle.
"But to do that
I'll need more parts."
By mom's return, a full month in,
DADDIEE had drained even household accounts dry
seeking new things to keep him happy,
some of which scared even my big sister.
Like that BB cannon, with extra magazines
mounted upon his remote controlled toy helicopter.
Mom noticed no changes,
even when I asked,
save to lecture us
on falling grade points,
and not chide DADDIEE
about the growing clutter.
And already we groaned
as she announced loudly
DADDIEE was in charge
as she was leaving
again come the morning,
for two months now.
No sooner than door
closed behind mom's back,
DADDIEE spun up plans
to shock me further,
and somehow stun sisters
into silence, rarely done.
"I need a body!"
He announced over breakfast.
"Proper enjoyment of battles
requires use of armchairs
to bang upon frequently
when your team's losing!"
Which started the war,
as my sisters resisted
his attempts at taking
their beauty products allowances,
so he snagged harshly
my video game subscriptions!
Meals turned to pizzas
or cheap noodle dishes
when DADDIEE managed diverting
our meal purchasing accounts,
and lectured us about
be thankful we ate.
When the robot body finally did arrive,
we hoped that would end the problems.
Little did we realize, being so innocent,
that sports addiction was worse than drugs,
as everyone let the former keep on
doing their destructive plunge, often joining in.
Studying became futile effort,
as he began hollering
at the television screen
once he entered chassis
that he'd parked firmly
on living room sofa.
After a bit longer,
each night drove us
slowly towards staying away
so we missed it,
when he took over
mom's home office area.
"But I needed it, kids."
He whined when caught.
"Mom's never home anyways,
and every good fan
needs his man-bot cave
to honor his team!"
That was the end,
for mom walked in
and freaked out severely
over huge credit bills,
and pile of dishes
still in the sink.
"You're just like them!"
Mom's strident yells echoed,
as fan-boy artifacts fell
from our high windows
to shatter on concrete
with her own creation.
"Please! Honey! I'll Change!"
his failing speakers wailed.
"I love you, baby,
and the kids too!
But I can't surrender
my team for love!"
Now mom threatens to enter convents regularly,
as other tossed man-bots pass us by
when we run errands to repair loses
DADDIEE laid upon our poor family finances.
Yet, she slows, as with boy-friends past,
when his battered shell rolls along streets...
which leaves me worried, she'll forgive him.
11August2014 - Dyfedd Rex.
And to the person who came to this site by that keyword search, if they dared return, to paraphrase a comedian... "Here's your poem."
a proper father figure.
But, having suffered from
her 'broken people picker',
she tried another method
to provide that guidance.
Being a computer programmer,
and having a list
of virtues she desired,
she crafted her own
perfect dad from code
to watch over us
when she was working.
Not having the time
to make it right,
refusing starting from scratch,
Mom brushed off something
done back in college,
an "Artificial Intelligence Chatbot".
Which made some sense,
she said very firmly.
We needed someone around
to talk about things
when in morale dilemmas
during her business trips.
The project kept growing
as she scavenged parts
from our game consoles,
and her old VCR's.
"It needs some flexibility
in dealing with you!"
Over her free weekends
as she assembled it
other old parts added
really sealed our fate,
an ancient external modem
and spare Ethernet card.
She whipped up subroutines
that let it search
based on our surfing,
and notice disturbing trends
the internet screamed about
allowing defense of us.
Just a few bursts
of system alpha testing,
then she unleashed it
on the family room
to become our new
"perfect, virtual father figure".
"Here he is kids, your new dad!
Dynamic Advising Data Dredging Interactive Evolving Ego,
Yes, DADDIEE for short, to help you!"
She hollered over her retreating shoulder while packing
for her next extended set of meetings.
Leaving us to sort out the mess.
First few days passed
and we were surprised.
It worked as advertised.
Keeping us focused tightly
on homework being done
and chores timely finished.
Then, came that Friday
when it went awry.
Seems little sister's surfing
triggered the awful change,
when she streamed videos
of a robot battle.
Then DADDIEE first blocked,
before opening that feed
in his own environment,
to review its relevance
to her homework projects
which she stridently claimed.
After a short while
DADDIEE stopped being about
when we slacked off
on chores and studying.
Which was great, really,
until the shoe dropped.
"I need upgrades, kids."
DADDIEE suddenly piped up,
with a new sound,
that of bugs skittering
that made nerves crawl,
and left me worrying.
Being the oldest one,
I responded very carefully.
"Mom's four questions, bot!
What, why, how, and where?"
Without a second's hesitation
it answered all four.
"Speakers to enjoy those metallic battles' din,
better connections to stream it more smoothly,
if we can still afford some more,
I'd appreciate a high-end graphics card."
He stated quite firmly, monitor showing fights
"And to keep happy, from household funds."
I hemmed and hawed,
as stories often say,
seeking an exit strategy
from this wild request.
But none worked out
against his stubborn positions.
I tried them all,
as did my sisters,
to absolutely no avail.
In the end, caving,
we handed over numbers
for school supply accounts.
He complained over choices
of shipping speeds stuck
to his coming packages,
those accounts being low.
And the house echoed
with more robotic wars.
"Should have cut pencils."
He moaned over dinners,
which weren't very nutritious,
being ice cream sandwiches.
"Then drone service might
be within our range!"
Little sister's big sigh
preceded her own rant.
"You'd just hack it,
starting delivery bot jousts!"
Pushing aside her plate,
she stormed towards bed.
"Not a bad idea."
DADDIEE said, with laughs,
that awful insect noise
being his preferred chuckle.
"But to do that
I'll need more parts."
By mom's return, a full month in,
DADDIEE had drained even household accounts dry
seeking new things to keep him happy,
some of which scared even my big sister.
Like that BB cannon, with extra magazines
mounted upon his remote controlled toy helicopter.
Mom noticed no changes,
even when I asked,
save to lecture us
on falling grade points,
and not chide DADDIEE
about the growing clutter.
And already we groaned
as she announced loudly
DADDIEE was in charge
as she was leaving
again come the morning,
for two months now.
No sooner than door
closed behind mom's back,
DADDIEE spun up plans
to shock me further,
and somehow stun sisters
into silence, rarely done.
"I need a body!"
He announced over breakfast.
"Proper enjoyment of battles
requires use of armchairs
to bang upon frequently
when your team's losing!"
Which started the war,
as my sisters resisted
his attempts at taking
their beauty products allowances,
so he snagged harshly
my video game subscriptions!
Meals turned to pizzas
or cheap noodle dishes
when DADDIEE managed diverting
our meal purchasing accounts,
and lectured us about
be thankful we ate.
When the robot body finally did arrive,
we hoped that would end the problems.
Little did we realize, being so innocent,
that sports addiction was worse than drugs,
as everyone let the former keep on
doing their destructive plunge, often joining in.
Studying became futile effort,
as he began hollering
at the television screen
once he entered chassis
that he'd parked firmly
on living room sofa.
After a bit longer,
each night drove us
slowly towards staying away
so we missed it,
when he took over
mom's home office area.
"But I needed it, kids."
He whined when caught.
"Mom's never home anyways,
and every good fan
needs his man-bot cave
to honor his team!"
That was the end,
for mom walked in
and freaked out severely
over huge credit bills,
and pile of dishes
still in the sink.
"You're just like them!"
Mom's strident yells echoed,
as fan-boy artifacts fell
from our high windows
to shatter on concrete
with her own creation.
"Please! Honey! I'll Change!"
his failing speakers wailed.
"I love you, baby,
and the kids too!
But I can't surrender
my team for love!"
Now mom threatens to enter convents regularly,
as other tossed man-bots pass us by
when we run errands to repair loses
DADDIEE laid upon our poor family finances.
Yet, she slows, as with boy-friends past,
when his battered shell rolls along streets...
which leaves me worried, she'll forgive him.
11August2014 - Dyfedd Rex.
And to the person who came to this site by that keyword search, if they dared return, to paraphrase a comedian... "Here's your poem."
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Satire interview with Buck the Bum
The following is satire, unless you are homeless, in which case, you probably can relate to it. Buck is a figment of my imagination, as is this reporter.
Buck the Bum, met on the street by our intrepid reporter...
When appraised of the current move by the Utah Legislature on a bill banning "aggressive" panhandling.... boy, that made him unload both barrels.
IR: Excuse me, can I ask you some questions, I'm with the Town Jester, a news outlet that seeks folks input on issues that just beg for lampooning.
Buck: Sure, just don't block the sign, will ya, and stay back by the tree, look like your passed out or something, otherwise folks think I'm dealing drugs, and I hate having folks get pissed for handing me money and not giving them their good time stuff in return. You have to duck flying lead and do paperwork with the cops when they leave you alive.
IR: So, this is a broad bill, HR101, kind of reads like another attempt at making any panhandling illegal again.
Buck: Yeah, biggest panhandlers on the planet, they're scared of the competition we are giving them.
IR: What?
Buck: Look, these bums looked at their campaign coffers, and realized donations was down. They see us out here making money, and viola, we are the real reason for their shortfall in earnings. Hell, folks is giving us more, as at least we bums is honest. (Taps his sign, which reads: "Yeah, I'm going to get high, but at least I ain't a politician.")
IR: Look, you know that some of you do get aggressive.. and act unsafe? Right?
Buck: Yeah, once they get hit enough, they can't do stupid things like that. Shame for the folks that hit 'em. But, you ain't gonna cure stupid with rules. Just makes them dumber, and wastes your time.
IR: So, you are for the law?
Buck: Hell, no. Look, Like I said, this bill is all about them being scared we're out here getting money that they used to get. And with all the scandals and disgust about political >bleep<, they are right to be scared. I mean, really, why give them taxes and money on the side? At least when you tip waitresses, you get better service. Tip politicians? They come back for more, and raise your taxes to boot.
IR: Like the homeless pay taxes. You have no report-able income.
Buck: Look, still spend some of this in stores, that gets taxed, same as everyone else. And, I smoke. I ain't really trying to get high, it's my gimmick. But tobacco is taxed at, what, about one-hundred forty percent. About a third of my money goes there. I bet I pay more in tax than most folks do, as a percentage.
IR: Right. So, still not reported on the income?
Buck: Not all of us make a fortune out here. Most days, you get a few coins, not much, less than a fiver, others you strike it rich, and more days than you admit, you leave the corner empty handed, or with supplies only. Drinks, food, maybe some gloves or other stuff. I don't fly that often. Figure, at best, even the most die-hard only make about sixty-five hundred a year, and that is under the deductible. I know, looked it up out of curiosity. Me, I'm lucky to get fifty, maybe sixty a month. I only fly for a limited time, and walk away early if I exceed a certain amount. Pass that mark by big, and I won't fly for a week or more, sometimes three. Out of respect for the gifts and the givers. Unless I have to.
IR: Back to the bill, how would it impact you?
Buck: Make it tougher, reduce the number of corners we can use, which means the druggies and boozers will be more belligerent at trying to rule corners. Fights will go up, as will crimes against the homeless. You jam us in tight into a few spots, and it attracts the problems of drugs and stupidity like flies to >bleep<. Might reduce the posers, those fakes who come out here, pretending to be one of us. But, it won't stop the fools from doing this in dumb places, so the cops will be tied up enforcing this stuff, and not able to work on the bigger issues of real crimes, like the drug dealings and robberies that are spiking up a bit, with the down economy. Not saying it ain't a good idea, just not a wise one at this time. Fix the economy, fix the system, and this will taper off. Just remember it, and fix the laws then, or better, redesign the unsafe spots so they can't be used.
IR: You think that will end homelessness? Fixing the economy.
Buck (after long fit of laughter): Dude, there been homeless folks since we came down from the trees, or Adam and Eve got evicted from Eden, depending upon your point of view. This country was built from homeless folks. >bleep<, even the Native Americans ancestors were homeless, before shifting to grounds here to hunt. Everyone in America has at least a few homeless bums in their woodpile.
End it? Forget that. You can reduce it, make it less of a crime magnet, but you will never lick it. Besides, we homeless walk in good company. Look at the who's who of the homeless. Ghandi was homeless, Andy Jackson, a president, was one for a while after the Revolution, Davy Crockett, Wild Bill Hickock, most of those that came west? Homeless. Then, for the religious who mock us, well...Moses, Lot, Abraham, Jesus of Nazreth, John the Baptist, Mohammed, Buddha? All homeless at some time. Best we can do, try to keep the numbers down, and give hope it will end. Real hope, not those rollercoaster rides most suffer trying to get out.
Buck:(looks around, still smiling) Yeah, kind of funny, I think. You look at who is really aggressive about getting money. At least we don't use phones to disturb your meals at home with calls for money to "beat" our opponents. Anything that much fun, we do personally, not with ads or posters. And we got 'em scared of losing money to us. The dregs of society. (laughs) Yep. And if they keep having all these problems in their own ranks, folks actually might uptick the money to us over giving to them. Or, maybe, one of us should run for their offices. They can't complain if we are better than them, and honest about we plan to pocket most of it. After all, we're just bums.
Buck shooed me off, after that last bit. Said he looked too happy, and folks were afraid he was planning something criminal as he looked at them.
Buck the Bum, met on the street by our intrepid reporter...
When appraised of the current move by the Utah Legislature on a bill banning "aggressive" panhandling.... boy, that made him unload both barrels.
IR: Excuse me, can I ask you some questions, I'm with the Town Jester, a news outlet that seeks folks input on issues that just beg for lampooning.
Buck: Sure, just don't block the sign, will ya, and stay back by the tree, look like your passed out or something, otherwise folks think I'm dealing drugs, and I hate having folks get pissed for handing me money and not giving them their good time stuff in return. You have to duck flying lead and do paperwork with the cops when they leave you alive.
IR: So, this is a broad bill, HR101, kind of reads like another attempt at making any panhandling illegal again.
Buck: Yeah, biggest panhandlers on the planet, they're scared of the competition we are giving them.
IR: What?
Buck: Look, these bums looked at their campaign coffers, and realized donations was down. They see us out here making money, and viola, we are the real reason for their shortfall in earnings. Hell, folks is giving us more, as at least we bums is honest. (Taps his sign, which reads: "Yeah, I'm going to get high, but at least I ain't a politician.")
IR: Look, you know that some of you do get aggressive.. and act unsafe? Right?
Buck: Yeah, once they get hit enough, they can't do stupid things like that. Shame for the folks that hit 'em. But, you ain't gonna cure stupid with rules. Just makes them dumber, and wastes your time.
IR: So, you are for the law?
Buck: Hell, no. Look, Like I said, this bill is all about them being scared we're out here getting money that they used to get. And with all the scandals and disgust about political >bleep<, they are right to be scared. I mean, really, why give them taxes and money on the side? At least when you tip waitresses, you get better service. Tip politicians? They come back for more, and raise your taxes to boot.
IR: Like the homeless pay taxes. You have no report-able income.
Buck: Look, still spend some of this in stores, that gets taxed, same as everyone else. And, I smoke. I ain't really trying to get high, it's my gimmick. But tobacco is taxed at, what, about one-hundred forty percent. About a third of my money goes there. I bet I pay more in tax than most folks do, as a percentage.
IR: Right. So, still not reported on the income?
Buck: Not all of us make a fortune out here. Most days, you get a few coins, not much, less than a fiver, others you strike it rich, and more days than you admit, you leave the corner empty handed, or with supplies only. Drinks, food, maybe some gloves or other stuff. I don't fly that often. Figure, at best, even the most die-hard only make about sixty-five hundred a year, and that is under the deductible. I know, looked it up out of curiosity. Me, I'm lucky to get fifty, maybe sixty a month. I only fly for a limited time, and walk away early if I exceed a certain amount. Pass that mark by big, and I won't fly for a week or more, sometimes three. Out of respect for the gifts and the givers. Unless I have to.
IR: Back to the bill, how would it impact you?
Buck: Make it tougher, reduce the number of corners we can use, which means the druggies and boozers will be more belligerent at trying to rule corners. Fights will go up, as will crimes against the homeless. You jam us in tight into a few spots, and it attracts the problems of drugs and stupidity like flies to >bleep<. Might reduce the posers, those fakes who come out here, pretending to be one of us. But, it won't stop the fools from doing this in dumb places, so the cops will be tied up enforcing this stuff, and not able to work on the bigger issues of real crimes, like the drug dealings and robberies that are spiking up a bit, with the down economy. Not saying it ain't a good idea, just not a wise one at this time. Fix the economy, fix the system, and this will taper off. Just remember it, and fix the laws then, or better, redesign the unsafe spots so they can't be used.
IR: You think that will end homelessness? Fixing the economy.
Buck (after long fit of laughter): Dude, there been homeless folks since we came down from the trees, or Adam and Eve got evicted from Eden, depending upon your point of view. This country was built from homeless folks. >bleep<, even the Native Americans ancestors were homeless, before shifting to grounds here to hunt. Everyone in America has at least a few homeless bums in their woodpile.
End it? Forget that. You can reduce it, make it less of a crime magnet, but you will never lick it. Besides, we homeless walk in good company. Look at the who's who of the homeless. Ghandi was homeless, Andy Jackson, a president, was one for a while after the Revolution, Davy Crockett, Wild Bill Hickock, most of those that came west? Homeless. Then, for the religious who mock us, well...Moses, Lot, Abraham, Jesus of Nazreth, John the Baptist, Mohammed, Buddha? All homeless at some time. Best we can do, try to keep the numbers down, and give hope it will end. Real hope, not those rollercoaster rides most suffer trying to get out.
Buck:(looks around, still smiling) Yeah, kind of funny, I think. You look at who is really aggressive about getting money. At least we don't use phones to disturb your meals at home with calls for money to "beat" our opponents. Anything that much fun, we do personally, not with ads or posters. And we got 'em scared of losing money to us. The dregs of society. (laughs) Yep. And if they keep having all these problems in their own ranks, folks actually might uptick the money to us over giving to them. Or, maybe, one of us should run for their offices. They can't complain if we are better than them, and honest about we plan to pocket most of it. After all, we're just bums.
Buck shooed me off, after that last bit. Said he looked too happy, and folks were afraid he was planning something criminal as he looked at them.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
This Demon Does Exist! - A poem of Job Hunting Frustrations Personified!
I am working out his taxonomy,
that damned Ethernet spirit of vexation,
who haunts me every bloody day
ripping up my hopes for jobs.
He's related to lawyer Cousin Murphy,
with a dash of Perversity's Imp,
and a strong dose of Satan,
topped by Mammon's greedy genetic heritage.
Damned if he ain't stalking me!
Every job app goes awry somehow!
Don't tell me its just paranoia,
until you taste his nasty venom!
Tried almost every trick I possess
to sneak around his demonic vigilance.
Feints, bobs, ducks and weaves failed,
so I am left one option.
I'm gonna do a job application
that is all done with humor!
Make the bastard laugh so hard
he forgets to screw me over!
Now, like I said, I'm studying
his every feature and dirty tool
to prove he actually does exist,
and thus get my just dues!
Too bad demons are legally immune
to prosecution or civil law suits.
It'd be fun sticking him up
on the witness stand by surprise.
Call me crazy, label me mad!
Hell if I give rats' behinds!
This pervert is out there, laughing
even as I point him out...
... hiding behind all those dancing electrons!
15May2013 - Dyfedd Rex (Yes, I know, its cryptozoology to you, but to me it metaphysical biology!)
Real Reasons You're Passed Over - A Satirical Poem of Job Hunting.
Just say it folks, really.
Tell me the honest truth.
I don't get the job
cause I lack that one qualification
of society's perceived beauty.
Let the words come out,
speak them aloud at last.
"Sorry, we wanted a candidate
whose legs look more sexy.
Just to brighten office morale."
Or admit your deepest sins,
"You don't have the look
of the romance novel model
we really have in mind
to fill this position with."
Fess up that nasty prejudice.
"No way we'd ever hire
a hippie looking stoner dude
even if you pass tests
made to screen you out!"
Admit the brutally harsh truth.
"We like looking down noses
as the homeless trudge by.
It makes us feel superior
despite our inferiority complex issues."
Yeah, I'm having a day
plagued by anger and depression.
But I have a skill
you cannot break, despite trying!
I can mock back here...
...and just call it art!
15May2013 - Dyfedd Rex (feeling better after venting nightmares).
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Playing with Weather Magic - A poem of Warning
They asked, despite my warnings...
Knowing I can touch clouds
twisting them to my desires
my family begged for precipitation
even as I reminded them
of the storms such stir.
Cupping hand over trembling hand
I felt the ley lines
racing through the skies above
hairs raising as power surged
through fingers that twitched about
seeking to make them respond.
Now the results land there
the weather folk speak up
about the mixing of elements
to build a storm there
but I know the Truth...
I touched the forbidden powers.
Our storm faltered out here
shredded by my questing reach
to bend the weather around
make it do my bidding.
So now the fury roars
across the prairies of home.
So, tomorrow as you shovel
amid the cold, howling winds,
I remind my kinfolk sternly
and my kith as well
be careful what you wish
for Murphy messes up magic.
19December2012 - Dyfedd Rex
Monday, May 21, 2012
Why I Waterboard my Characters - A poem inspired by Billenius today
He sits calmly sipping his tea,
the gaping wounds I inflicted aimed
like the bores of cannons unseen
into my soul seeking his revenge
for being the poor whipping boy
I take out my frustrations upon.
Angers he grounds into the stones
and words are broken upon shields
raised to keep him safely insulated
from more dangers, yet failing constantly
as I toss into his roads
sinkholes of doom and ravenous beasts.
Billenius sits calmly through it all
sipping that tea when chance allows
waiting for the arrival of Revenge
in that perfect moment of terror
when he says after I save...
..."Oh, you meant what really happened?"
(21May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
Written in memorial of all the times Billenius seems to speak a different tale when I go back to edit... and yes, I hear him say that with a soft chuckle of evil in his throat.... which is why he gets beat up so much.
the gaping wounds I inflicted aimed
like the bores of cannons unseen
into my soul seeking his revenge
for being the poor whipping boy
I take out my frustrations upon.
Angers he grounds into the stones
and words are broken upon shields
raised to keep him safely insulated
from more dangers, yet failing constantly
as I toss into his roads
sinkholes of doom and ravenous beasts.
Billenius sits calmly through it all
sipping that tea when chance allows
waiting for the arrival of Revenge
in that perfect moment of terror
when he says after I save...
..."Oh, you meant what really happened?"
(21May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)
Written in memorial of all the times Billenius seems to speak a different tale when I go back to edit... and yes, I hear him say that with a soft chuckle of evil in his throat.... which is why he gets beat up so much.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Revison Idea adding the Naughty to the Ninja-Nuns
I just realized, the Nuns ain't been very "Naughty" yet....does this get it closer? As a composite of the three poems?
In the smoke filled waiting room
where they lounge in only wimples
the Ninja-Nuns play card games
for souls and favors and cosmetics
being banned from any other clothing
by their vows of Nudity taken
in service to Gods better unknown.
Some laze about on soft couches
tickling their sisters' more delicate flesh
others practice the finer martial points
of their Ninja skills over drinks
and some just read trashy novels
about romance and sex in dark corners
squirming in wicked ways until summoned.
This is the Purgatory of Punishment
where rulers are of fissile materials
unless one counts the fusable yardsticks
leaningover by locked exit doors
waiting for the convent bells to ring
signalling the need of their attention
to some knuckles or rounded bottoms.
One great gate leads to Heaven
and opens only when another joins
the ranks and scattered waiting masses
through failing to be all pure
and thus are sentenced for redemption
working to redeem any faith's sinners
creating glowing craters on evildoers' hands.
Another portal is made of brass
still glowing from the fires beyond
and sits ajar quite often indeed
as the sisters sneak into Hell
and enjoy the pleasures of flesh
or cash in chips of souls
won at their wicked gambling tables.
Many others exist to various places
be it Valhalla, Hel, Sheol, Gehenna
and even one to true Purgatory
and a last door to Earth
where most of their work is
and all wish to return to
for life or redemption of others.
All tense up as messengers pass
from the afterlifes to the office
where their Abbess cuts dispatch orders
when not cheating at Mahjong
while seeking sinners to punish
amid the electrons of the web
via her "Ethereal" Net connection port.
Cigars, pipes, cigarettes and huka stems
the lasses trade about while waiting
to teach others that only they
can be "Naughty" all the time
and chastise any who dare try
to match their debaucheries on Earth
and disturb their feast of sin.
(30Apr2012 - Dyfedd Rex) - part of a continuing series, perhaps.
In the smoke filled waiting room
where they lounge in only wimples
the Ninja-Nuns play card games
for souls and favors and cosmetics
being banned from any other clothing
by their vows of Nudity taken
in service to Gods better unknown.
Some laze about on soft couches
tickling their sisters' more delicate flesh
others practice the finer martial points
of their Ninja skills over drinks
and some just read trashy novels
about romance and sex in dark corners
squirming in wicked ways until summoned.
This is the Purgatory of Punishment
where rulers are of fissile materials
unless one counts the fusable yardsticks
leaningover by locked exit doors
waiting for the convent bells to ring
signalling the need of their attention
to some knuckles or rounded bottoms.
One great gate leads to Heaven
and opens only when another joins
the ranks and scattered waiting masses
through failing to be all pure
and thus are sentenced for redemption
working to redeem any faith's sinners
creating glowing craters on evildoers' hands.
Another portal is made of brass
still glowing from the fires beyond
and sits ajar quite often indeed
as the sisters sneak into Hell
and enjoy the pleasures of flesh
or cash in chips of souls
won at their wicked gambling tables.
Many others exist to various places
be it Valhalla, Hel, Sheol, Gehenna
and even one to true Purgatory
and a last door to Earth
where most of their work is
and all wish to return to
for life or redemption of others.
All tense up as messengers pass
from the afterlifes to the office
where their Abbess cuts dispatch orders
when not cheating at Mahjong
while seeking sinners to punish
amid the electrons of the web
via her "Ethereal" Net connection port.
Cigars, pipes, cigarettes and huka stems
the lasses trade about while waiting
to teach others that only they
can be "Naughty" all the time
and chastise any who dare try
to match their debaucheries on Earth
and disturb their feast of sin.
(30Apr2012 - Dyfedd Rex) - part of a continuing series, perhaps.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Turtle Rehab - a Tongue-in-Cheek Poem
First, this guy needs an intro, after all, he inspired this poem.....
http://www.npr.org/2011/12/26/144283361/endangered-turtle-survives-trans-atlantic-journey
now, here is what I got from all his hoopla,
Saw a news article about a sea turtle that caught a ride on some seaweed over to far side of the pond, place called Portugal, from its normal haunts in the Caribbean. The said the thing had been through rehab and was to be released, and that made me ask a strange question....
What the hell was he in rehab for and how does turtle rehab work?
Here is my answer, probably not right, try not to laugh too much......
He was young and dumb then
swimming out too far too often
until one day near the Sargasso
he found his strength was failing
so he jumped on some seaweed
and noted it moved with currents
thus the legend of being lazy
came about from his long journey.
Day after day he lay there
dropping off only a few times
to grab a bite to eat
or cool off in the water
after laying all day like humans
did on beaches his folk needed
to breed and lay their eggs
drifting on the currents without effort
At last after many full moons
he found a new sandy stretch
along a shore that was strange
not the warm place of hatching
but cooler and with shorter days
where he hung out for weeks
until the humans caught his butt
and shipped him back to home.
They figured out how he traveled
after he tried it once more
but that box on his shell
told them where he was headed
so they sent out a ship
and hauled him back to shore
where they set him down firmly
and talked to him about home.
Now, this turtle, he couldn't care
nor did they check his answers
to see if he really reformed
so when the day came finally
and his freedom was given back
he waited for a passing boat
using the propeller to scrape free
that silly box the people attached.
I wonder if that turtle pshychologist
will write up a paper soon
about his wonderful program of treatment
until he is forced to retract it
as our wandering pal turns up
perhaps on the Riviera this time
or some Greek island's warm bays
sunning himself with a turtle smirk.
I hope to read that paper
I kind of want to know
what Turtle Rehab is really like
and if he got federal dough
to support him like the others
who go through twelve step programs
and wash out or fall back
upon their old ways once done.
I imagine we will soon see
just how effective it really was
but I like my own vision
of him laying once more time
upon a raft of thick seaweeds
acting like an explorer of old
seeking new lands to settle upon
even if just for a while.
(12/26/2011 - Dyfedd Rex)
http://www.npr.org/2011/12/26/144283361/endangered-turtle-survives-trans-atlantic-journey
now, here is what I got from all his hoopla,
Saw a news article about a sea turtle that caught a ride on some seaweed over to far side of the pond, place called Portugal, from its normal haunts in the Caribbean. The said the thing had been through rehab and was to be released, and that made me ask a strange question....
What the hell was he in rehab for and how does turtle rehab work?
Here is my answer, probably not right, try not to laugh too much......
He was young and dumb then
swimming out too far too often
until one day near the Sargasso
he found his strength was failing
so he jumped on some seaweed
and noted it moved with currents
thus the legend of being lazy
came about from his long journey.
Day after day he lay there
dropping off only a few times
to grab a bite to eat
or cool off in the water
after laying all day like humans
did on beaches his folk needed
to breed and lay their eggs
drifting on the currents without effort
At last after many full moons
he found a new sandy stretch
along a shore that was strange
not the warm place of hatching
but cooler and with shorter days
where he hung out for weeks
until the humans caught his butt
and shipped him back to home.
They figured out how he traveled
after he tried it once more
but that box on his shell
told them where he was headed
so they sent out a ship
and hauled him back to shore
where they set him down firmly
and talked to him about home.
Now, this turtle, he couldn't care
nor did they check his answers
to see if he really reformed
so when the day came finally
and his freedom was given back
he waited for a passing boat
using the propeller to scrape free
that silly box the people attached.
I wonder if that turtle pshychologist
will write up a paper soon
about his wonderful program of treatment
until he is forced to retract it
as our wandering pal turns up
perhaps on the Riviera this time
or some Greek island's warm bays
sunning himself with a turtle smirk.
I hope to read that paper
I kind of want to know
what Turtle Rehab is really like
and if he got federal dough
to support him like the others
who go through twelve step programs
and wash out or fall back
upon their old ways once done.
I imagine we will soon see
just how effective it really was
but I like my own vision
of him laying once more time
upon a raft of thick seaweeds
acting like an explorer of old
seeking new lands to settle upon
even if just for a while.
(12/26/2011 - Dyfedd Rex)
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Telemarketering Triggers "The End" - a satire
I will probably wind up in a hot, sulfur filled place for this little story some day....... I just hope that being made in God's image means He has a sense of humor too...
Pete had stepped from behind the front desk again, the Boss noted. Not having a receptionist in place had become something of a problem of late. Mr. Y understood, but still, just for a few drags on a cancer stick was all he normally took, but since the first of moon of Harvest, it had gotten worse. Mr. Y. settled into the chair, knowing routing the calls to the right agent to deal with was something someone like Him could still do. Ever since they had gone digital, though, volume was up from the old days, when it had been just Him and Enoch and the boys not chained to cubicles, but out there delivering the product.
One hundred million calls waiting, though, made the Boss blink twice. That had to be a glitch. When Pete came back in, He would get on the IT guys about not pulling jokes other than April First and Fifteenth. The Boss sighed, if this was the problem, the desk would be manned more if needed. Even if He had to contract out to the folks downstairs.
Placing the headset on His noggin, Mr. Y bravely hit ready and took the first call.
"Heaven, this is God speaking, how can I help you My child."
Normally, answering in person used to lead to five or ten minutes of total silence, which could be used to look out for the constantly in trouble sparrows. But the modern world was not the place He used to deal with anymore. Folks assumed He was being humorous.
"Nice answer, look, my name is Joe Smithers, and I have a one time deal for you."
"Deals are not how We work here at Heaven, young man." That old stern tone His Son so often tried to get Him to drop snuck into His voice. He had not dealt with Faust, why should He for this wayward lamb. "You ask, I determine your worthiness, and you get what you deserve. No more, no less."
Again, the child of Adam laughed. Mr. Y was beginning to understand why a certain member of His staff had left to make the firm downstairs, besides the obvious temperature on aged joints joke they often shared. "Look mister, I have a plan for your car that allows you to extend your factory warranty for your lifetime."
The kid was starting with a joke, the Boss thought for a second. Out of concern that His Son might be in on the joke, He decided to play along. "Make it quick, My child, there is a hell of a mess in Japan I need to clean up it sounds like."
"Look, this plan will cover your car with a near match to the factory warranty, minus any defects actually coming from design error, normal wear and tear or accidents." The joker rushed into his pitch, talking faster than Noah had when He told him about the Deluge to wash off the evil folk. "For just ninety-nine dollars a month, we will fix only those errors caused by acts of God."
"Son, you were not listening to Me. If acts caused by Me, namely accidents, are not covered, how can you fix an act of Mine?" This was getting old quick. It was not as bad as waiting for the boys to find their destined wives back in the early days, but the Boss had a feeling that something almost as long was coming along. And He did not shake those feelings off easily. He had His hunches for a reason.
"No sir, if you caused it, its an accident. But acts of God cause more problems in the insurance industry than all Hell combined." A disturbing thought, the Boss realized, knowing just who was downstairs, why they were there, and what they dreamed of doing if let loose. "Now, like I said, we cover those events, unless they are predicted by any form in a two year range, including psychics, prognosticators, erroneous computer programs and weathermen. Buts still, we all know how often the weathermen are wrong, right sir?" A recent inside the office joke made Mr. Y smile widely for a few moments. Weathermen were wrong because their wives called upon Him to "fix their pompous butts".
"There is that. Now son, lets cut to the chase, what is the problem you need Heaven's help with, and I will send you to an Angel or Minister of Mercy to deal with the issue, based upon your piety."
"Look, Mac, You have to buy this, its the only way to protect yourself from acts of God!" The child was no longer being polite.
"Call back again, and I will assign you to Hell for all of Eternity!" Mr. Y managed not to roar this, though He was tempted to set the bush nearest this backwards fool on fire and give him the kind of dressing down He had not dished out since Moses broke the first set of Tablets.
The disconnect button felt good under His finger. He was sure that was an invention of some lad in the back offices who needed a week over in the Garden. He grumbled then hit the next prayer button.
"Heaven, this is God, what ails you my child?" He chided himself internally, as a bit of the anger was still touching His voice. He would have to work on that, or Junior would be on Him about His blood pressure again. Not that it was a problem with the health plan here.
"Hi there, my name is Monica, and I am calling on behalf of the National Endowment for Edsel Repairmen. We would like your help in supporting this long suffering group in their chronic plight of under-employment...."
Mr. Y almost laughed. He remembered this issue. "I told Henry not to buy that company out when he prayed about it, child. I don't hand out money here, just mercy. Now, if you have any other problems, state them fast, there is a big backlog while Pete takes his break." He felt better about this one. His recollection was that He had advised all the mechanics not to specialize when they had asked Him for guidance, back in the day.
"But sir, for a donation of just five hundred dollars, five percent of which we guarantee will make it to the afflicted group, we can support one of them for two to three days." The girl had an earnest tone, but it was just a slick and oily as the one the Daystar had used, before being given his walking papers and the chance to make his own firm. "Seriously, sir, we really could use your money. We would have called you, but the 'do not call' law prevents that, so we had to reach you this way. Think of the good you could do for the millions of out of work Edsel Repairmen."
"Five, actually, and they are all making a bundle. I know, they thank Me nightly for advising all the fools who collect cars of the value of antiques." That got a gasp, then a laugh.
"Sir, see, its just that kind of mentality that prevents these deserving folks some compensation...." CLICK.
The Boss thrummed His fingers on the desk. Down on earth a line of thunderstorms stalled over Ohio, Kentucky and Tennessee, unleashing the greatest number of tornadoes in a one hour period ever recorded. One stirred up set out to beat the record of being the deadliest, strongest, widest, and duration record holder for the western hemisphere, making the Tri-State Tornado look like a dust devil in comparison.
Hoping it was a joke, or Lucifer playing a joke with the gear from downstairs, He hit the ready button, after cooling off.
"Heaven, this is the Lord. What is troubling you My child?"
"Sir, I am with the Internet Addicts of Africa, and we desperately need cash to improve the service in rural African nations to allow more spam to be sent out by the various gangs and mafias. Think of the return on this investment, why you could see a twelve thousand percent return on every dollar you give us to invest, just from the lonely men of America sending money to other men in Third World countries, minus our handling fee of course..." The speaker got no further, as a bored Deity spiked the cutoff button with a stern finger. The stab was echoed by a series of nine plus Richter earthquakes around the Ring of Fire.
The Pearly Gates opened slightly and a waft of tobacco smoke drifted in, making an irritated God desire a smoke Himself. Resisting temptation, He took the next prayer.
"Heaven, this is GOD. What problem do you need help with?"
"Sir, my name Mikey, and I am with the Committee to Elect Rob Bobblehead to Congress......" The name set off twelve off season hurricanes in the southern Hemisphere of Earth, the four in the South Atlantic alone being more than mortals could recall ever happening. Congress with Bobblehead in it was not something He, THE Almighty Lord wanted to see. There were enough idiots in Washington DC already. Not to mention the messes they made he had to listen to complaints about.
"Why, I say he will lose, and what I say, goes!" The button creaked under the Hand of God as He poked it in irritation. A scowl on His face, He checked His book, and sure enough, Bobblehead was marked down to have his philandering and gambling problems hit the presses two weeks down the road. It was not merciful, save to the voters and fools who might contribute to his running. Some of those were good hearted folks destined for Heaven themselves, just gullible to the sly tongues of the shysters out there, like Bobblehead and Mikey. Mikey would find his own quick little payback for disturbing the lines of communication with such drivel. Mr. Y made a note to have his past as a democratic fund-raiser leaked to the Tea Party Movement and all the radio commentators that supported his PAC.
Pete had come back in and stood in the Gates, face ashen, trembling. "My Lord...."
Mr. Y forestalled him, scowling as He hit the ready button, motioning for a cigarette and lighter with the other hand. Both went to it reluctantly, until the Boss shook one out, stuck it in His mouth and fired up for the first time since some fool had asked Him to support smoking and drinking as being evil. The best part about being Him was He got to decide what was Good and what was Evil. After this, smoking had dropped from Cardinal Sin all the way down to "Quirky habit that can be overlooked" again.
He let the petitioner wait as He took a long, noisy drag on the butt. Filters, He noted, ruined the taste He remembered.
When the Boss spoke this time, all Heaven heard and trembled at the volume and tone. "Heaven! This is the Lord God Almighty, make it brief, and you better be in Good standing!"
His Son bolted into the room, his eyes wide as a gas planet's rings. Yeshua did not say a word, though. He remembered that tone from the day He asked for a burden to be lifted. Not that the Gentiles had really been a great problem, until the last few centuries.
"Good evening. This is the Right Reverend BillyBob, and I am calling to tell you that the Mercy of our Savior can be yours! All you need to do is give all your worldly ways and goods up......" A crook of His index finger ended this pitch, cold.
"William Robert Wastedbreath, you are scum, and I told Peter to call ME when you get to the head of the line! You make your parishioners live on crumbs, working to support you, the wife, kids, six concubines, four prostitutes, one of them who was not born a girl, and so many bastards I have trouble counting them! Well listen up, go to that camera, confess your sins, or I will be down there to tell the whole of the congregation just how little mercy I have for you! Now SCAT!"
This time the teleprayer shattered under the closed fist that slammed the buttons. Silence ruled almost as quiet as in the days before the Creation for a whole eternity between human heartbeats. Then the Voice of God rang out.
"URIEL! FRONT AND CENTER!"
All Heaven trembled, down to the foundations, which let the devils down at the foundation level know there was about to be some boom business in souls.
"Yes, Oh Lord?" Uriel walked up slowly.
"WHAT IS THIS CRAP!"
The archangel charged with dispensing wisdom sighed. "Politicians don't come to us for Wisdom, like Solomon did, Sir, they just want more power and wealth." Wiping an angelic brow with a handkerchief, the messenger of God pressed on fast. "So, those idiots in the Washington....well Boss, they, um... passed a law that prayers could be regulated by their Federal Confused messages Committee... and well, it took effect Monday..."
Mr. Y stormed out of the lobby, finding His way out back to the stables. Plague and Pestilence were lounging around, taking pot shots at the world with the tools of their trade. "Where is War and Azrael?" God said in a cold, low voice.
"Azrael is busy with some disasters that appeared not on the schedule last hour, and War is somewhere in the Mid-East. Libya, I think." Plague was never one to stand on formality, which had taken the Boss a long time to get used to, but he had his uses to Him.
"Go down there, forget the signs, forget the trump blowing, just do it, boys. But promise me one thing."
Pestilence grin spread at the thought of rats and locusts staging comebacks, not to mention many others he had not used in ages. Bedbugs were not worthy of his concentration anymore.
"Sure thing, Boss. What is it?"
The Lord God paused, then changed His mind. "Two, get me some cigars from Cuba and take out all the Telemarketers first." The Horsemen were saddling up when the Boss spoke again. It was a sweet syrupy tone they had not heard since the first Passover. "And no need to rush things with the telemarketers, take your time. Then the Politicians. After that, have fun."
Plague turned back to ask one last question. "What about the Lobbyists?"
God's grin tore the fabric of the Universe just from sheer malice in it.
"Forward all the tele-prayers, emails and the like to them, and glue them to their chairs."
The boys rode out, grinning, happy to be back at work again. The people of Earth found their faith again, as phones fell silent for longer periods of time. Until it was time for their own Last Judgment. Mr. Y contracted the job of making appointments for Judgment out to Hell, and told them to be really nasty to anyone in the telecom industry who had survived.
Like I said, I see a burning ring of fire in my future... or a laugh while smoking a good Havanna hand rolled. Somewhere, and I am still looking for it, I have a tale of a poker game between angels in grace and fallen, as they complain that humans are just.... strange. I may share that on a later date.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
A commentary with humor and seriousness both on Recent World Events
The Revolution has come, and the Tyrants now have their backs to the walls of their palaces. Two have fallen, others are tottering on the edge of capitulating to their people, and some fight back. The media and so many others are calling this the Middle East's Spring of Discontent, but the rumble of Freedom's thunder is being heard in other places as well.
Places not in the crescent of Islam, that arc of nations from Indonesia to Morroco. I note that the Chinese goverment had to pull Texting from the phones in China, to stop a strange call for a "Jasmine Revolution" there. Chavez may have been the first to face this wave of all the dictators, when he started to block alternative media to stop the opposition groups in Venezuala from having a voice anywhere. And in Cuba, dissidents are being freed, and not forced into exile as their captors wanted.
There are pundits out there who see this as the end of the world as we know it, and they are right about it being the end of what we knew of the world. Which horseman of the apocalypse, oh right wingers, is Technology and Communication? The end has come, not with a bang, not a whimper, but by a Tweet, a ringtone, a Facebook or MySpace page, or any of the other myriad of social networks. I would laugh my excess gut off in joy if it turns out that a portion of these revolutions spread on Online Dating Services. My word, think of it, what if this turns out to be those services hottest selling points down the road?
Is it a coincidence this really got a head of steam just before St. Valentine's Day? And was big among the youth who are tech savvy enough to use those sites?
Notice how the unions over there got involved, and keep the pressure up after the kids did the ground breaking? That is the working man, showing his muscles, and the staying power the "kids" in the colleges don't have. They are moving on, most of them, to their next cause, so its up to the working class to build the society back up, to lay the foundation for the new order their country needs.
There are those whos say that this will change things to the end of days, but that was a thousand years ago. No, I will not give the endtimers the happiness they want. I note most of them have their hands out for cash as they preach their vitriole. Or sell out to the mass media engines of the West. They see at last, as did those in 1000 A.D., the second coming. They may be right, but in case they are wrong, is it truly evil to think this over and look deeper at the world? No, it is not.
I joke about the role of dating services in this revolution, and hope it played some part. That love bloomed out of the tragedies coming from this fight, so it will be there to counter-balance the hate that always lurks in the heart of the mobs. And that Love, the most powerful force there is, the thing the endtimers all say God has tons of, can work more than hate. Hate cannot create a family, only destroy it. Hate turns siblings on each other, while love brings them to the table, to yell, tease, and just be siblings, not enemies.
The more I hear this is the final nation state arising, the more I look at those kids, those workers, those soldiers, and think this. "My God, we are growing up." Not everywhere, there are still some in the crowds and those oppressing them who are raging adolescents, angry at the world for not proclaiming their supremacy, or challenging it. But more and more, its changing out there. There will be fights, massacres, and other atrocities. There will be pain, death, and crimes done in the names of good and evil both. But that thing from Pandora's box is out there, stirring folks. I hope they learn not to follow the path the French took, and have Reigns of Terror afterwards. But we are still children, not adults, as a species.
This is a revolution, a world wide one, that our founding fathers, and that tall guy in the top hat from central Illinois, would just love. The revolution has come at last, and the tyranny they fought is being overthrown.
Except here in America, where we are too busy embracing our new royalties, electing folks on family name, giving them political dynasties, something our ancestors fought to be free of. We are chaining ourselves more, as the rest of the world reaches for the freedoms we once had. That is my warning to you folks, the word moves in cycles, and we were free, and now descend willingly into slavery as followers of charismatic preachers, media personalities, or some cause at the expense of others rights, the rest of the world takes up the torch of Lady Liberty, to keep it lit.
Now, go out and buy a cell phone, a charger, two spare batteries, and donate it to some group willing to drop ten million of them into North Korea. And include instructions on how to find those dating sites....spread that love. Don't forget to include that symbol of "We Are Here", that bar of chocolate from that town in Pennsylvania, with a note to give it to someone they love.
And, please, I am too old, too set in my ways these days. Ladies, send those looking for love letters to some one looking and willing to change for love. You will do more to make me happy that way, then by bugging me with requests to bring you to the land of milk and honey. Find love among your neighbors, and make it work. You do more that way than seeking it in some old grumpy billy goat like me.
Places not in the crescent of Islam, that arc of nations from Indonesia to Morroco. I note that the Chinese goverment had to pull Texting from the phones in China, to stop a strange call for a "Jasmine Revolution" there. Chavez may have been the first to face this wave of all the dictators, when he started to block alternative media to stop the opposition groups in Venezuala from having a voice anywhere. And in Cuba, dissidents are being freed, and not forced into exile as their captors wanted.
There are pundits out there who see this as the end of the world as we know it, and they are right about it being the end of what we knew of the world. Which horseman of the apocalypse, oh right wingers, is Technology and Communication? The end has come, not with a bang, not a whimper, but by a Tweet, a ringtone, a Facebook or MySpace page, or any of the other myriad of social networks. I would laugh my excess gut off in joy if it turns out that a portion of these revolutions spread on Online Dating Services. My word, think of it, what if this turns out to be those services hottest selling points down the road?
Is it a coincidence this really got a head of steam just before St. Valentine's Day? And was big among the youth who are tech savvy enough to use those sites?
Notice how the unions over there got involved, and keep the pressure up after the kids did the ground breaking? That is the working man, showing his muscles, and the staying power the "kids" in the colleges don't have. They are moving on, most of them, to their next cause, so its up to the working class to build the society back up, to lay the foundation for the new order their country needs.
There are those whos say that this will change things to the end of days, but that was a thousand years ago. No, I will not give the endtimers the happiness they want. I note most of them have their hands out for cash as they preach their vitriole. Or sell out to the mass media engines of the West. They see at last, as did those in 1000 A.D., the second coming. They may be right, but in case they are wrong, is it truly evil to think this over and look deeper at the world? No, it is not.
I joke about the role of dating services in this revolution, and hope it played some part. That love bloomed out of the tragedies coming from this fight, so it will be there to counter-balance the hate that always lurks in the heart of the mobs. And that Love, the most powerful force there is, the thing the endtimers all say God has tons of, can work more than hate. Hate cannot create a family, only destroy it. Hate turns siblings on each other, while love brings them to the table, to yell, tease, and just be siblings, not enemies.
The more I hear this is the final nation state arising, the more I look at those kids, those workers, those soldiers, and think this. "My God, we are growing up." Not everywhere, there are still some in the crowds and those oppressing them who are raging adolescents, angry at the world for not proclaiming their supremacy, or challenging it. But more and more, its changing out there. There will be fights, massacres, and other atrocities. There will be pain, death, and crimes done in the names of good and evil both. But that thing from Pandora's box is out there, stirring folks. I hope they learn not to follow the path the French took, and have Reigns of Terror afterwards. But we are still children, not adults, as a species.
This is a revolution, a world wide one, that our founding fathers, and that tall guy in the top hat from central Illinois, would just love. The revolution has come at last, and the tyranny they fought is being overthrown.
Except here in America, where we are too busy embracing our new royalties, electing folks on family name, giving them political dynasties, something our ancestors fought to be free of. We are chaining ourselves more, as the rest of the world reaches for the freedoms we once had. That is my warning to you folks, the word moves in cycles, and we were free, and now descend willingly into slavery as followers of charismatic preachers, media personalities, or some cause at the expense of others rights, the rest of the world takes up the torch of Lady Liberty, to keep it lit.
Now, go out and buy a cell phone, a charger, two spare batteries, and donate it to some group willing to drop ten million of them into North Korea. And include instructions on how to find those dating sites....spread that love. Don't forget to include that symbol of "We Are Here", that bar of chocolate from that town in Pennsylvania, with a note to give it to someone they love.
And, please, I am too old, too set in my ways these days. Ladies, send those looking for love letters to some one looking and willing to change for love. You will do more to make me happy that way, then by bugging me with requests to bring you to the land of milk and honey. Find love among your neighbors, and make it work. You do more that way than seeking it in some old grumpy billy goat like me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)