A Call For Enhanced Optimism

We all read Flowers For Algernon in school.  Daniel Keyes’s story of a man and his beloved mouse enhanced to genius, then reduced by the same drug to a descent into imbecility, is pathetic, horrific, and emotional.  It makes an impact.

Thomas M. Disch wrote Camp Concentration in the following decade, the Seventies.  In it, men are in a camp on drugs that boost their intelligence at the expense of their life-spans.  They burn brightly but briefly.  They’re used to crack codes and do other military mental work.

Same basic idea.

It must have been prevalent then, in the 1960s and 1970s.  Certainly, performance-enhanced soldiers had been around since the 1940s, when benzedrine and dexedrine were given to SBS, SAS, and others, notably long-range bomber and spy-plane pilots.  It’s even in DR. NO, the James Bond 007 movie, when Connery takes pills for a night SCUBA mission.

In the 1980s, Frederick Pohl wrote Man-Plus, about physiologically-altered people designed to survive extreme environments.  Deep under the sea, in orbit, or even on Mars. His novel was straight-line Delphic extrapolation from known research. It was considered feasible, and exciting.  It would open up new worlds for us to inhabit, new frontiers to explore.

Had we retained such optimism we’d be designing people to survive the changes global warming is bringing, at least survive long enough to get us out of the one-basket of Earth.  A runaway greenhouse effect, as on Venus, means temperatures approaching or exceeding a thousand degrees Fahrenheit.  No high life forms can survive such conditions.

Maybe machine intelligence could, but are robots a good enough answer to humanity’s plight?

Resisting despair is a key factor in all survival.  Fact is, we can fight back, we can lessen, maybe reverse, the degradation and loss of our water, soil, and air.  We can defy, even deny, the effects of psychopathic capitalism.

We’d have to change life-style entirely to accomplish such things.

That’s a catch most can’t see past, and our visionaries, the science fiction writers and the so-called futurists, are now producing mostly easy, cheesy dystopia to feed chronic depressives.

This sapping of will seems to be an orchestrated effect of culture war.  What we might call the cancer of fascism, unfettered capitalism, the alt-right, the GOP, use what term you prefer, has gotten into the signal, degrading it from a cocky, confident competence and optimism to a shell-shocked, disaster capitalized, monitized, commodified mess of cowering despair.

Remember how ridiculed and demonized Al Gore was for his book, then movie An Inconvenient Truth, in which he discussed the calamitous effects of global warming’s exponential worsening?  Big Energy could not let that message of change stick.  It thwarted warnings of doom by out-spending and being louder and lying unconscionably.

Same happened, systematically, to Earth Day, barely remembered and hardly observed these days.  I was there as a school kid picking up road-side trash all day, into the night, in 1970.  We were fired up, proud to help, inspired not only to clean things but change wasteful habits.  What had been trash-strewn roads and highways became sponsored, and more or less stayed clean.  Those not old enough would not believe what a garbage dump roads were back before Earth Day 1970, the first one.  We broke the general, thoughtless habit of just tossing shit out the window.

Big Energy hated that.  In came the drumbeat lie:  “People can’t possibly affect a system as big as Earth’s ecosphere, which is self-correcting.  Any change we see is natural, nothing to do with us.”  This allowed them to pull the Tobacco Company ploy of attacking arbitrary detail in order to smokescreen the larger, more obvious facts.

Remember the Natural Gas ads about how clean it was?  We grew up seeing them, those of my generation.  (I was born in the International Geophysical Year, I’m not a boomer, I’m an IGY.)  Well, that ‘clean’ natural gas was anything but either.  Fracking made it feasible.  We were lied to all those years so we’d think choosing natural gas meant choosing a green energy source.



America was tanked by greed and lies.  By the deceptive psychopaths, by their capitalism, we as a species enriched a handful of people while rendering mankind redundant and soon to be extinct.

Psychopaths don’t care.  THEY had a good ride.  That’s all that counts for them.

So we know the enemy.  We weren’t in need of space aliens invading.  Our true worst enemy, our Nemesis as myth warned, as Jung’s Shadow promised, was the people-shaped things among us, passing as us, predators killing us for their profit.


We understand how to identify them.  We know their methods.  We can trace the arc of destruction they’ve led us on for their benefit.  Their contrail ends here, now, with us facing extinction, but it traces back to civilization’s founding.  That was one of the con jobs, the others being politics and religion.  Any of the control factors — politics, law, superstition, patriotism, all the pretending we are indoctrinated into — lead to death, to extinction, so a few can benefit from the pyramid schemes, the fake wars, the looting, and the endless lies.

Knowing all this, the best of us could analyze, discuss, and design a workable HUMAN society and system of governance.  We could base it on the International Declaration of Human Rights of 1944, a document ranking with the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights as vital to a humane world.

If the evil greedy autocrats, martinets, bullies, thugs, depots, strongmen, and tyrants, all the dictators, all those psychopaths and malignant narcissists, if those such as the Koch Brothers or Richard Mellon Scaife or the others described so well in Dark Money by Jane Mayer — if those people-shaped predators can do it, then the best minds among us human beings can do it better to defeat their greed-based nihilism.

Join humanity and defeat the invaders.

RUN ON  – Rise Up Now, Or Never.

/ Old 815

/ photograph courtesy of SLE, all rights reserved.

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Writers Write

Graham Greene wrote 1500 words a day, each morning, then played the rest of the day. Wrote them in a leather journal using a fountain pen.
Hemingway squeezed out words by the tens and hundreds, using a pencil in a Tom Brown note book, usually standing at a podium.
Hammett and his protégé Hellman hammered on manual typewriters, as did John D. and others of the hard-boiled school.
Georges Simenon dictated several novels at once, going down the line of typists.
Updike claims to have had five rooms in sequence down a hallway, each with its own IBM Selectric, each with its own novel for him to work on.
Neil Gaiman uses a fountain pen, as do I, and others, before moving to computer for second and subsequent drafts.
Samuel Beckett, an Irish writer remember, wrote everything in French first, by hand, then translated it, still by hand, into English, and only then typed it up.
Does not matter how many or how you snag them, just get the words down in fixed form somehow. It’s not a race. It’s not a competition to pile words. Writers write. What that means varies with each writer and work.
/ Samael Gyre
Drawing courtesy of SLE, all rights reserved by SLE
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Cixin Liu, (The Three-Body Problem and other novels), caused racist controversy among the alt-right sick puppies — they refer to themselves as sad but the are sick fucks — who proceeded to ruin the Hugo Awards by gaming the voting system into a list of ONLY their crew.  The idea was to strike a blow against what they called leftwing east-coast academic liberal bias, in which only people of other cultures were awarded.  Non-white males, is what they were “defending”, along with non GOP war pigs.

Their work is universally bad. It’s written poorly and tends to be juvenile in content, with scenes of pointless violence, macho strutting, and stupid speeches.  We’ve all seen the type and know of certain publishing houses that made a living from it, such as Baen.

Generally speaking, their stuff is propaganda promoting alt-right pro-war rah-RAH militarism, sexism, and bigotry.

Their simplistic crap deserves no award and when faced with only such choices, NO AWARD is the choice that won all categories, leaving many worthy works out of the running and unable to qualify in a later year.

Unfair, ugly, and typical GOP bullshit.

So imagine this year’s Hugo Awards, given out at the World Con in Helsinki, Finland:  Virtually all the winners were women.

What ugly backlash will the uncultured alt-right culture-war goons unleash now?

Its the same kind of swelling bigotry Obama’s election uncaged from the GOP bigots.  Not just racism but President Obama’s tax stance, his animosity toward unfettered capitalism, trade, and rape of resources, and his suave, sophisticated manner of unruffled competence drove the GOP madder.  And Obama, in many views, was actually a centrist with right wing tendencies, compared to what policies democratic socialists would prefer.

Culture war includes all this, which most of the public doesn’t hear or take note of, as well as Alex Jones, Bill O’Reilly, Sean Hannity, and the other spewers of mindless fear, crazy conspiracy, and unmitigated hate.  All of FOX News is but propagandistic lies.  Talk radio, where it was fomented, is heard by few of the people in this country but is almost a sole source of attitudes for practically all trumpers.

It’s no longer their bloc vote driving our politics, either.  With Putin’s cyber war victory and successful stealing of what was otherwise an overwhelming landslide win for Hillary Clinton —or against Trump, really — we moved beyond our old electoral system of voting. This second-largest margin of victory on record did not matter given the slick cheating from the treasonous GOP and Trump campaign, and we cannot return to the system that gave us the debacle of Trump.

Nothing new has been proposed, no new system is being designed or discussed.  No protocol exists even if we manage to oust Trump and the GOP from our politics.

This means the Koch Plan will prevail and big money will continue to call the shots in an oligarch of increasing fascist ugliness.  It literally doesn’t matter how high we hang Trump and the GOP for treason now.

If more race riots are planned by Bannon and the alt-right Breitbart Nazi gang, we’ll see increasing chaos.  No less than an excuse for a Kristallnacht crack-down is being cobbled up out of this pathetic show of weakness.  That’s what the quislings and traitors want.  Of course we can confidently predict more race riots will be staged, since the Charlottesville, VA event worked so well to upset the entire nation.

People are seething with hatred for Trump, and with good reason but he’s largely an irrelevant symptom.  The GOP has for decades used the ploy of shoving everything it can as far to the right as possible so the “correction” will never us back where we started.  This inches us incrementally further right until the likes of Obama seems almost liberal to many.

Trump is the same ploy.  The GOP will let him go as crazy as possible so any correction — Imam Pence’s cherished dreams of imposing an evangelical theocracy, for example — will seem reasonable.

Except that an American Taliban is NOT reasonable.

That is where we’re headed unless Mueller’s investigation takes down the GOP along with Trump and his crime family for treason.  That’s what should happen, we all know it, but there is no guarantee, and even if it goes down that way, there is no protocol for what happens then.  Will we see a strongman arise, or a military coup, or a corporate triumvirate?

We need a purge but we need a plan for what happens after it.

We need to ensure no one at any level of government linked in any way to Trump or the GOP that enabled him is tolerated.  Period.  All his appointees, all quislings who went along to get along, all Trumpers and republicants must be purged.  Government must be cleansed of them.  Eradicating the cancer is the only way to stop it.  It won’t stop itself, it must BE stopped, by being cut out of the body politic.

Identifying psychopaths using the 44-point inventory of psychopathy should lead to isolating them from society, and certainly should mean keeping them out of all positions of power over anyone in any way at any level, high and low, governmental and civic.  Only this will thwart Charles Koch’s plan implemented with his brother David and many other super-rich psychopaths, a plan to eliminate government and to install an oligarchy of very few very rich rulers benefitting from everything.  Total control, no restrictions, regulations, or laws, is what Charles Koch’s plan calls for, to benefit only him and his chosen few ilk.

Call it big money, call it treason, call it insane; it’s all that and more, but it’s also real, and the greatest existential threat to mankind in history.

Which side will you stand on?  Guess what?  You don’t have that fucking choice; you’re not one of the chosen winners.

/ Old 815, “Night Screed”


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Another Day at the Vatican

“Another Day at the Vatican”


Gene Stewart

She approached him as he stood gazing at one of the fountains in a smaller piazza off the main tourist route.  He’d gone exploring, as he often did.  This statue of a nude Venus featured an intricately-carved necklace with a bee-and-flower motif.  He had just taken some pictures when she gazed at him from a passageway, blinked, then wobbled toward him on high heels.

She wore a silk sundress of splashed watercolor palette.  It moved on her like seaweed on a sleek, new yacht, newly sunken.  Her dark hair caught flashes of sunlight in rippling streaks.  Her eyes, once she removed her Sixties style windshield-sized sunglasses, were nothing like Audrey Hepburn’s, but as expressive, in a liquid, languid way.

“Excuse me.”  Her voice burbled, a contralto artesian stream from depths unguessed.  It was cool, soothing.

“Yes?”  He let her gaze at him despite being aware of her scrutiny from the passageway.  “How may I assist you?”

“I seem to have gotten separated from my tour.”

“A small matter.”  He raised an arm.

Her fingers perched on it.

He led her from the fountain, noticing that she let her hip bump his.  Not only a beauty, but a seductive one, sending signals willing and perhaps eager.  They entered the passageway, the ambient temperature falling thirty degrees, it seemed.

Mid-way through he guided her with a gentle lean under an archway, into an alcove where an over-sized statue had once and would again stand.  Shadows made it almost entirely dark.

He pressed her against the wall, kissing her.

She melded against him.

He stepped back.  “Raise your skirt.”

As she did so, he snapped a latex glove onto one hand, then placed a dollop of goo on it.

“Won’t need lube.”  She spoke in a breathless rush.  She slipped off her underwear, which fell around her ankles.  She stepped out of them to let her spread her legs wider.

They could barely see each other.  No one passing would notice them at all, unless they made noise.

He took a hand full of her fur, then curled first his middle finger, then both middle fingers up into her.

Her sigh into his neck told him he’d found her.

They barely moved.  He kissed her hair, her eyelids, her hungry lips as he pressed his erection against her thigh and kept his fingers moving, probing, and caressing.

She trembled, her knees giving way with a tiny sound from deep in her throat.  Her eyes rolled up.

He eased her so she sat on the ground, propped against the wall.  She looked like a tourist passed out from heat or dehydration.

He snapped off the glove and turned it inside out, so it contained the poisoned lubricant.  He put it into a plastic bag, then pocketed it.  Before he left her, he gave one last kick to her hip.

It toppled her.

He walked away, going to the far end of the passage, where he joined a tour group passing by.

Back at the fountain a hooded monk retrieved the package the well-dressed tourist had left.

In air-conditioned suites, important men awaited the information that packet contained, so they could decide how best to deal with this or that global emergency.

///  ///  ///

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Seamless, Invisible

“Seamless, Invisible”
Gene Stewart

Serious men sat around a conference table. They all wore the uniform of power, a business suit. All were over 40, most over 50. A couple had surpassed 70 years but looked 30 years younger.
A man stood at the head of the table. “It is agreed.”
All nodded.
“We know what must be done.”
“No grand gestures.”
“Of course not. Seamless. Invisible.”
They all stood, gazed at each other for an instant, then blinked off. Virtual presence had become for them a rudimentary security precaution, even though holograms were considered passé.
An instant after they vanished the room itself flickered and became an empty warehouse with empty walls.
These men routinely used technology decades in advance of what was available to the public or even to the top secret military of the world’s countries. They lived on dark money skimmed from all nations, never using money themselves, being beyond capitalism. It made a useful cow, though, and allowed them real world developments in labs hidden in plain sight. Most of the regular people who worked for them did not even know it. No one knew they existed and the occasional conspiracy suspicion only hid them the better. They lived intermingled with everyone else.
They had access to things, places, and abilities most never thought of, and it was that making them different. Power flowed through them.
Their decision would be implemented seamlessly, as if by natural events, and invisibly, by agents who did not even realize they were serving a larger cause.
That cause was survival of the human species past the next hundred years, the ploy a gambit intended to make it more probable that humanity would survive, not to ensure it. Nothing could make survival a foregone conclusion. Change was the only permanence.
Extinction, ravenous, prowled close now as bottlenecks swarmed.
A shove off the curb into the path of a compatriot’s speeding car provided the first hit-and-run checklist item.
A drowning in choppy seas at a vacation resort, a stroke, a heart attack, a sleep apnea death, meds mixed up with alcohol, and several car accidents added to a house fire or two and the list was completed in a month.
The world remained as those with the power to change it wished it to be, with no one suspecting charade, shadow play, or theater of simulation.

/// /// ///

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“Good Enough For Police Work” as by Art Wester


“Good Enough For Police Work”

as by

Art Wester

A woman walked into a chaotic police squad room late in the afternoon.  She stood waiting until someone, it happened to be a homicide detective, noticed her.  She was then guided to a chair beside an unattended desk.  There she waited patiently for 47 minutes.

Finally another detective, this one assigned to robbery, sat at the desk, filled in a form, then glanced up to notice her.  “Yes?  May I help you?”

She gave her name as Mona Abromski, her age as 38, her address in a decent apartment building on the hill overlooking the commercial district, and told him she worked for R. V. Sloan & Company, an architecture and design firm, as a secretary.  She had seven years experience and was respected at work.  She was not married, having had no time, as she put it.

Prior to working at Sloan, she had held various jobs such as waitress, barista, and even school janitor for a time.  Her relatives lived one city to the east.

“So, Ms. Abromski, how can I help you?”

She sighed.  “You won’t believe this.”

“Try me, ma’am.  Something brought you into this hornet’s nest.”  He gestured to the hubbub surrounding them, people walking, talking, gesturing, yelling, crying, fighting, and generally being processed through the city’s law enforcement system.

“I’m not sure there’s a crime involved.”

“You let us decide that, ma’am.”  The detective kept his voice soothing for now, not wishing to spook her.  He suspected she’d been raped.  Rape victims often hemmed and hawed and couldn’t face up to the point until they relaxed enough.  He let her tell him in her own time and way.

She dived right in, to his surprise.

She told him she’d gone in to work as usual at eight.  She’d been at her desk from eight until ten, sifting through papers, answering emails, and checking referents.  She’d been generally doing her daily tasks.

At eleven, she found herself at her desk, as if she’d blinked, or nodded off.  She noticed what she described as light particles around her, glittering but fading.  Puzzled, she pushed back slightly from her keyboard; the particles seemed familiar somehow.

She thought a moment and remembered they’d come to her before, around ten, but had brightened.  “That’s when it happened, I guess.”

The detective waited.  Here it comes, he thought; boss or co-worker jumped her.

Instead, she told of recalling an entirely different kind of assault.  She said she felt herself, at ten in the morning, rising.


“No, floating.”  She said she’d gone up through the ceiling and roof, upward in the sky until she entered a metallic sphere.  “It could only be a space ship, I guess.”  She said this as if ashamed, glancing shyly at the detective.

He kept a straight face.  Humoring her might reveal the point of telling such a ridiculous story in a busy day at the police station.

She claimed what happened in the metal sphere was a blur but felt a sinking feeling then, and more light particles, and she came down through the sky, the roof, and the ceiling, back into her chair, where she’d awakened.  Or come to.  Or… “I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Oh-kay.”  The detective, Mark Peters, had no idea what to write down on the note pad.  He doodled a flying saucer beaming someone up.  Then an idea struck him.  “Wait, does your office have security cams?”

“Yes, it does.  There are valuable papers and some of the equipment is expensive.”

He decided a field trip might be in order, and after he could grab lunch.

On the drive over to Sloan, she said little.  She bit her fingernails.  She was not a bad-looking woman, the detective noticed, once her nervousness passed.  That harried look on her face bothered him.

At Sloan, the detective met head of security and managed to get a look at the CCTV video for the general office floor, where Ms. Abromski worked along with a couple dozen others in a scene not unlike the controlled chaos behind the bull pen at the station, the detective thought.  He cued it to 10 AM and watched her.  She seemed to glow for one frame, as if a sunbeam had found her.  By the next frame she was gone.

He scanned the room for her.  No way she could have gotten out-of-frame that fast.  He checked the view from another camera in the opposite corner, to see if she’d fallen in a swoon behind her desk.  She had not; the floor was empty beside her chair.

He fast-forwarded to 11 AM and sure enough, the sunbeam came and, inside one frame, she appeared.  Her head nodded, she jerked awake, then pushed back from her keyboard, exactly as she’d described.

“Well I’ll be a zebra’s ass-stripe.”  The detective could not believe what he was seeing.

She had not stepped out for a smoke or tryst.  She had not fainted.  She had not sat gaping in a hallucination.  No one had raped her or molested her, at least not in the office.  She had, according to the video, vanished.

Stranger, those around her gave no sign of noticing.  A sunbeam appearing from a solid ceiling should draw attention, no matter how busy those around her might be.  No one glanced, stared, or pointed.  No one seemed to remark to anyone else about the strange interior weather they were having.  Nothing showed but her disappearing.

Detective Peters seized the video on a thumb drive.  He drove Ms. Abromski back to the station to give a more detailed statement.  He’d write it down this time. He wanted his superiors in on this.

Seating her beside his desk, he found the proper form and plugged in the basics.  Routine, standard procedure, nothing to worry about, he told her.

She nodded, meekly.

He waved at someone across the room, then stood and gestured.  Come over here now, was the message.

His direct boss, Detective Sergeant Gamelli, scowled, set down a stack of file folders on someone’s desk, and marched over.

Peters shrugged, as if to ask what else he could do but consult his higher-ups.

“What is it, Peters?  You find Amelia Earhart?”

“No, sir.  Uh.  This is a strange one, but we have corroborating evidence.  Surveillance video confirms the story but, boy, it’s a doozy.”

“What story, Peters?  I’ve got about three minutes before I get myself a new asshole from the commissioner over that ball-up mess downtown and—“

Peters nodded, all-too-familiar with his boss’s litany of pressures, troubles, and hassles.  He sat, plugged in the thumb drive, and pulled up the video.  “This little lady,” he said, gesturing to…

…the empty chair beside his desk.  “Fuck.”

“What’s the joke, Peters?”

He stood and scanned the busy room, not spotting her.  He described Ms. Abromski and told his boss her story, showing him the video as he did so.

“Movie tricks.  Kids do ‘em.  Photo-Store or what ever it’s called.  Fuck’s sake, Peters, you going stupid on us?”

“No, sir.”  Peters blushed and shut up as his boss stormed off.  He did not blame her for absconding.  They’d call her crazy and treat her worse, video or no video.

It bothered him, though.  How fast she’d vanished.  He wondered.  He wondered enough that, late that night, after he’d caught up his paperwork for the week prior, he could not help himself.  He had to check.

He went to the electronics closet, as they called it.  More a room.  He fiddled with things until he found the surveillance video for the time Ms. Abromski would have walked out on him.  He found an image of her sitting primly beside his desk as he pecked and hammered his keyboard, filling in the forms.  He saw himself stand and wave his boss over.

He saw the sunbeam find her, blink her out.

“Oh fuck, no.”  He ran to his desk, got the thumb drive, and put what he’d found on it, following the original.  It had happened again to her at the police station, exactly as it had at Sloan.  He could not believe his eyes, and watched it many times.  Finally, eyes gritty, he called it quits and went home to grab a few hours shut-eye.

His wife tried to feed him a warmed-over supper.  She tried to acquaint him with their son’s latest antics, their daughter’s most recent contretemps, and gave up on him the third time he nodded off in his easy chair as LAW AND ORDER:  SVU snarled on the TV.

He went up to bed when she asked him if he wanted to, and lay down to instant sleep, exhausted.

Next morning, Detective Mark Peters woke in a pleasantly-dim room.  His wife’s bustling in the adjoining bathroom had brought him up from a dream about a gunfight, dead bad guys, and him getting a medal.

As he lolled, his wife Anne came out of the bathroom.  She was wearing a towel, on her head.  She began walking across the room toward her closet when Peters sat upright and yelled, “Stop.  Don’t move.”

He’d noticed a sunbeam slanting down from between venetian blind slats.  She’d almost walked through it.

He did not want to take chances.

“What is wrong with you?”  She continued to her closet, walking through the beam of light without effect.

“Nothing, nothing.”  He shuddered.  “Bad dream, I guess.”

He tried for a week to track down Mona Abromski but her apartment was unoccupied, Sloan reported she’d not been in since a week, and her relatives, once he found them by phone, hadn’t heard a thing.

He handed it over to missing persons but decided to keep the thumb drive in his locked drawer at work, where the throw-away revolver and half-full bottle of Chivas Regal waited.

As far as he heard, she was never found, and as far as Detective Mark Peters admitted to his closest friends, usually after having had a few too many at their watering hole, he did not really want to find out the facts of her disappearance.

“There are some things our owners don’t want us to know.”

That’s how he put it, never explaining who the owners might be, and letting his pals figure he meant city hall or corporate.

For cops, that sufficed.

///  ///  ///

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RUN: Rise Up Now – Fight the Fascists

Watched NBC News inadvertently on Sunday and discovered it is rife with right wing attitude and ‘lesson’ stories. Reminded me strongly of how brainwashed we were when I was growing up. Obviously the 1% is afraid of us now and is reverting to what worked before. Trouble is, there’s an internet and instant global communication.
We can check, now, their assertions, and all they have left is spin, which doesn’t work nearly as well as it did once. Oh, it works fine for the trumpers, sure, but they’re 19% and of no consequence, IF we rational human beings kick in with our majority view.
Big if.
We have the tools, but the fascists have desperation. They go beyond spin into gibberish, trying to fog everything. They vituperate anything they don’t like as ‘fake news’. They lie outright, even when the contradictory facts are right in front of everyone. They deny reality and turn away from it, and the trumpers follow.
What the 1% fear and desperately want to control is the 99%. They want us enslaved. They want us stupid and easily-led. Thus they destroy education and school meals and so on, to drag us back into third-world status, via their tool, the GOP.
Corporate media is but the surface. At the visible level, they normalize atrocity and call it business as usual. They corrupt, pollute, and degrade everything for the 1%’s benefit. Permeating society is a horrifying monster of greed, vaunted as Capitalism but really nothing but naked psychopathic greed, concentrated into the hands of fewer than 400 people.
It is a matter of RUN: Rise Up Now. If we do not, we will have run out of time, as climate change, directed by a self-appointed money elite that thinks it will easily survive the collapse of civilization, (of the Enlightenment, which is what they really loathe and target), destroys our habitat and makes it impossible for all but a few of us slaves, us Morlocks, to survive and serve our owners, the Eloi.
It’s the same fucking struggle as ever between aristocracy and the rest of us. The vampires are having a feast and slaughtering us to gain it. Yet if the herd turns, it can trample them almost overnight. Hunt them down; we know who they are. They exist at arm’s length. Will we reach out and stop them? Or will we passively allow our own slaughter, cattle and sheep led by the judas goat of media, the bread and circuses of consumerism?
/ Dr. Kyler
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Now or Never

Recently bought unabridged copies of The Three Musketeers and Twenty Years After by Alexander Dumas, per, the first two of the four Musketeer books.  It struck me that we need fiction of that sort today.  Instead of the now-standard dystopias, why not the adventures of people fighting oppression for what’s right?  Where are our defiant heroes?

A Spanish writer of international best-sellers, Arturo Perez-Reverte, has a recurring hero, Captain Alatriste, who is a Cavalier booted from the military and forced to make a living with his sword skills.  He has something of a code but rules are made to be broken, and a man must eat.  Interesting character, shaded and nuanced, a hero opposing corruption even as he pursues a mercenary sword-for-hire life, his plight echoes today because corruption is eternal in humanity.

Most writers of serial characters are content to create detectives.  Few dig deeper or wider, such as focusing on, say, an investigative journalist.  Consider the movie PARALLAX VIEW; in that we see how effective a journalist can be as an alternative to the typical detective.

Or what about those books from the Sixties and Seventies about power and malfeasance?  Seven Days In May; The President’s Plane Is Missing; The Manchurian Candidate, and so on.  In such work we find a host of different types leading the charge, from White House staffers to lawyers and even elected officials caught in webs of deceit and betrayal.  A special prosecutor and his team would be perfect for such fiction, a compelling focal character with links both high and low.

Vigilante action works to drive plots; most comic book heroes have at least a touch of vigilantism.  Batman is full-on vigilante, and is hunted by the cops for it.

Playing with genre tropes for serious purposes is tricky.  One tends to sink into genre mire.

One wonders what Pynchon will write about this trumpery currently gagging us.  Or Philip Roth.  Or other serious, genuine writers.  If alive, Mailer and Vidal would be in a froth.  Gore Vidal tried to warn us, as did Vonnegut.  Mailer would’ve had a trumper fist-fight already.

If true and/or the GOP manage to hide enough evidence of their treason and other high crimes and somehow prevail, we will need a Solzhenitsyn.  There isn’t one on our horizon.

Then again, the world outside our cereal box may not care if any of the atrocities and crimes against humanity are chronicled.  I recall when The Gulag Archipelago came out, each succeeding volume extending the indictment, the condemnation of Russia’s Stalinist legacy.  The world stood appalled at what it had so blithely ignored precisely because Alexander Solzhenitsyn made it specific and human.

On the TV show BULL, a recent episode presented an impassioned defense of the right to privacy even while demonstrating the complexities today’s advanced technology and antiquated laws present as they clash.  It reminded me of a Dick Wolf script for LAW AND ORDER filtered through the Dr. Phil Mary Sue show BULL.

Dick Wolf is fairly rich and relatively conservative, to employ the term in the old sense of seeking to preserve traditional institutions, but he is no neocon, no trumper, no fascist capitalist thug.  He seems to be what we’d today call a centrist; he upholds a Rule of Law and defends the principles of Constitutional democracy.

Some of Wolf’s episodes are preachy-ish.  Few are obnoxious about it.  They are famous for twists and ambiguous endings.  Criminals often prevail, sometimes due to tiny flaws in the law or missteps by the prosecutors or police.  Technicality is a legitimate reason in the world of LAW AND ORDER franchises.  Always, though, they speak to the need for a rule of law, for a social order based on rational compassion.

Other shows, such as the notorious ’24’ on FOX, which promoted the efficacy of torture to elicit timely intel, cleave to the oblivious neocon mindset.  Not surprising, certainly galling, such delusional rant is actually agitation propaganda or agitprop from the alt-right, or extremist right wing.

Steve “race-ist” Bannon and his fellow alt-right sick fucks would call Dick Wolf’s shows neoliberal yap.  Thing is, Wolf’s stance refelects the ideals of our nation’s foundation.  Bannon seeks to demolish the whole country, and world, if possible.  Essentially, Wolf is positive and conservative, Bannon is negative and destructive, a terroristic howling loon, the sworn enemy of stable democracy and the entire Western Canon of ideals, from freedom, liberty, and equality under the law to taking care of each other and maintaining a healthy, clean environment.  He hates it all, needs to see it burn.  President Bannon is a nihilist bent on annihilation.

Have any trumpers begun the suicide diving contest yet?  Seems inevitable.  Guilt and fear of exposure, dread of prison, or of possible execution as traitors, will drive some to take what is euphemistically called the easy, or coward’s, way out.  You wait.

Turning state’s evidence, as the saying has it, is more a trumper’s style, perhaps.  Spilling guts, selling out, and squealing like a whiny baby suits trumpers, and accusations and testimony in exchange for rough-cut deals is the sewer rat’s way.  Some wont have useful information, though.  Some will feel cornered.  They should, and they’ll crack.  Suicides are unavoidable among this crowd of incompetent losers as the heat closes in on them.

Watergate comes to mind and has been mentioned even in high-piled places.  What if the never-uncovered depths of dark secrets of Watergate dealt with Nixon planning to sell out America to China or Russia?  What if the trump treason is merely a fulfillment of a long-term GOP plot to stage a slow, piecemeal coup?

It is feasible.

The GOP is the worst threat to not only American democracy but to mankind in history.  How’s that for trumping trump’s hyperbole?  The GOP is an ideological cult of nihilistic greed stuck in a zero sum mentality.  If they can’t have it all, none will be left or allowed for anyone.  They will smash what they can’t grab.  They’re crazy millennialists driven by an evangelical zeal to kick in an end game.  They are extremists bent on a scorched-earth gambit to bring about Armageddon and the return of their imaginary super-duper hero, jebus.  They lust for the promised thousand years of the chosen ones, them of course, getting ring-side seats to watch us left-behinds suffering hellish torture here in post-Armageddon Earth’s ruins.

Imam Mike Pence buys into this.  All the C Street Dominionists and Promise Keepers swallow this whole.  You thought Scientology or Mormonism is a threat, try the GOP’s sick C3 religion of blind faith Conservatism, Capitalism, and Christianity of the extreme fundamentalist stripe.  Their Prosperity Christianity is greed and racist white entitlement rampant.  They depict their magical super-duper hero jebus as a blond, blue-eyed body-builder of the romance novel cover varietal wearing twin bandoliers and carrying twin .30 machine guns for mowing down the infidel.  They pretend wealth equates with a god’s blessing and poverty, a god’s curse.

This mentality is why the GOP can be so callous and sadistic to women, children, and the poor.  They think in terms of those groups being downtrodden because their god disapproves of those groups.  It old you it was sick fuck shit.

Their insanity makes Charles Manson’s wild delusions about Helter Skelter race war a realty; they wear suits and ties and act like human beings in public as they strut and preen in Congressional hubris, barking orders, arrogantly passing sadistic laws to punish everyone but themselves.  They uphold the rape culture enthusiastically, viewing women and children, the weak and the poor, as monetized commodities to keep in the useful leverage of debt.  They commit incest, spouse abuse, and worse so regularly it’s barely worth reporting any longer; a GOP pervert caught again?  Ho hum.

Our rational move is to use trump for leverage to eliminate the GOP and eradicate their twisted ideology in a way similar to how Germany handled Hitler and Nazism.

It is not advised to hold one’s breath waiting for this to happen.  Inertia and apathy define the silent majority of sheep and cattle we call American citizens.  They’re actually not citizens at all when they don’t participate in democracy, they are by-standers and corporate property.

My expectation and fear is the media eagerly pursuing the course of normalizing things as quickly as possible, as it did with the JFK assassination, post Warren Commission white-wash.  Once trump falls, they’ll try for everything going back to business as usual, as if by blinking they can revert to the corrupt system that gave us trump in the first place.  No one will want to do the hard, tedious, and complicated work of constructing a new system that will function well while excluding big money, lobbying, featherbedding, gerrymandering, the Electoral College, and so much else brought to us by the 1% rich white old males.

This normalizing will be a huge, obscene lie, yet again, and yet again the rot will fester even as it is being mythologized again, probably lying dormant but growing for another 44 – 50 years before another trampish pustule bursts to poison everything and everyone.

We probably don’t have that long, given climate change and plague, so it is now or never.

/ Old 815



As changes grow more violent we’ll see people adapt.  Look at Holland or Venice. Look at the Inuit or the jungle tribes, the runners of the Serengeti or the high-altitude Andean mountain people; we adapt to some amazingly varied conditions.

Increasingly, we’ll see habitat shrink.  We’ll see desperate measures, from underground enclaves to undersea bubble cities, probably attempts to lodge self-sustaining colonies on The Moon or Mars or at the LaGrange points, maybe cities floating on oceans or in the air.

Fuck, maybe we’ll make it.  As Ian Anderson sang, “Don’t think I’d make it but I bet I might.

Being optimistic and trusting change, adapting to it, are the best ways to face up to what’s here and what’s coming.

Green power will become basic; necessity itself will kill big oil and probably big energy as a whole.  Question is, will it do the necessary deed soon enough to give us a fighting chance?

/ ers

///  ///  ///

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Did you realize trump is treated worse and more unfairly than any politician in history?

Neither did historians.

Many thought of those who’d been held in prison for most of their lives; tortured until they went mad; assassinated.  Surely those fared worse, but no, apparently not.  They thought fistfights on the Congressional floor, knife fights, bullets whizzing by, mob scenes with tar, feathers, and poles were bad, but no, trump asserts.  That was nothing.  Pitchforks and torches to burn down palaces, Monsieur Guillotine, and Mussolini and his whore hung on meat hooks?  Pish-tosh, of no consequence compared to how poorly poor trump’s been treated.  In all history, his treatment has been the worst ever.


Poor widdle twump had it worse, in his own super-duper expert opinion, believe you him.

What a whining infant.

His debacle is coming along nicely for Imam Mike, Sycophant Ryan, Sleazer McConnell, and Shifty Hatch.  All second-phase GOP treason plans included a dump-trump clause and an abandon trump proviso, we are now sure.

Please note, Putin is approximately as puritanical as evangelical fundamentalists about hating his own people, gay males.  He also fears and hates women, with their magical powers of procreation and nurturing, compassion and gentleness.  He considers women a commodity, staunchly embracing rape culture and championing profiteering as only a murderous psychopathic oligarch can.  Sex slavery is fine by him, raping kids is fun, degradation by urophilia and coprophagia just costs the suckers more on his moral scale, but he cannot and will not abide women’s holes speaking defiance, as he taught the members of Pussy Riot as an object lesson.

So much for Russian rock-and-roll.

My guess:  while trump is fucked, Imam Pence will declare Murkan Taliban rule and corporate media will chime in about American democracy’s resilience.  Normalizing even treason will allow most of the complicit to skate.

At a certain point we’ll spark a vigilante press of feral investigative journalists willing to ferret out all the filth and spray it everywhere for all to examine.  We will have to force transparency on them.  X-Ray the fuckers:  X-Ray would be a good name for such a website outlet.

With trump cornered, 9/11 Jr. looms.  He’s got nothing but major diversion to hope for if he’s to duck out of the noose he’s tied for himself.  His narcissistic, delusional denials, his crazy coot lies, leave him empty.  His choices are being narrowed, limiting him to extreme violence against the country so he can pose as strongman savior, even as he rounds up and disappears any and all dissenters.

Anyone familiar with actual history knows the right usually tries these false flag ploys.  The Reichstag Fire, so Hitler could consolidate his electoral coup.  Pearl Harbor to get us into WW II despite isolationists willing to collude with fascists and Nazis making huge profit selling us out to the enemies of all human decency.  The Gulf of Tonkin, a faked incident to gin up support for a war, in Viet Nam and secretly elsewhere such as Cambodia and Laos, lost before it was waded into for war machine profits.  The Iran Student hostage crisis, arranged by Daddy Bush and faked to buck up a senile Reagan, along with crushing a spitefully-abused Carter.  On and on, political theater to stampede us into obedience and lock-step goose-marches to the grave, for the few’s profit.

Of course, trump and his off-kilter oafs would fuck up even a catastrophic tewwowist attack.  They’re nothing if not utterly incompetent.  They make Cheney’s C students look almost bright enough to be trusted with a pen knife.

I’m generally riding it out.  I heard the CBS White House reporter tell Scott Pelley this evening that news was breaking of confirmation of year-old discussions among the whole sick GOP crew concerning treason.  “Putin pays trump,” one said, meaning it.  A year ago.  He’s trying to call it a failed attempt at humor.  No one is laughing at the lamest excuse in social media being trotted out by a desperate liar.

Weakest of all Facebook excuses when someone is offended:  “Just joking.”  No, you weren’t.  You meant it, and were too stupid to grasp the gravity of what you were saying, or that someone might be keeping track, paying attention, and making records.  Like Putin, who’ll gladly give us a transcript of the “private” meeting trump had with top Russian spies, where the Russian media was welcome and the American media barred.

This is the nadir of politics, even when assessed on a global scale to include the likes of North Korea and Uganda.

It’s clear.  The GOP leadership is complicit in treason.  Oh, they’re all stepping back now and flinging shock but they were more than eager to let it ride as long as it benefitted them.  Their distancing from trump will not move them far enough away from their taint of treason; the stench clings, boys.

I began this with the nonsense word ‘troont’.  It means nothing.  Just like anything trump or the GOP say to excuse what they’ve knowingly, criminally, treasonously done.

Hold them all accountable.

/ Old 815, Midwest American Wilderness, Wednesday 17 May 2522 Athenian Democracy Calendar


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“Heated Anger Heals As It Anneals”

Interestingly, Charles Dickens, on his first visit to USA in 1842, observed precisely that same suppression of unpopular views we see now, with moronic labels of Fake News and the physical attack of opponents who dare express dissent at trump’s Nazi rallies.
Dickens, as paraphrased by his biographer Edgar Johnson: “Ruffian outcries drown the voices of decency and justice.”
In other words, you can express any opinion as long as it’s socially acceptable by the prevailing crowd, otherwise you’re shouted, even beaten down.
Dickens also wrote, in a letter from the states, “I fear the heaviest blow ever dealt at liberty will be dealt by this country (USA) in the failure of its example to the Earth.”
No more shining beacon of freedom and liberty, in short.
Dickens then added, “Americans can’t bear to be told of their faults.”
Vonnegut wrote some things about this in Slaughterhouse-5, in Mother Night, God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater, and in many other works, both fiction and nonfiction. He often cited Eugene V. Debs as a hero and championed those downtrodden for standing up for humanity.
“Know Your Rights” by The Clash offered the sardonic advice, “You have the right to free speech, as long as you’re not dumb enough to actually try it.”
None of this politically-correct bullying or fascist suppression, oppression, and tyranny is new, not even in the USA, which is largely a lie called myth by those who rely on the nonsense to maintain power.
We must speak fact clearly so we can communicate thoughts capable of untangling the Gordian Knot of deception being used to lash us to the war machine.
Think you can do that?
Go ahead, try.
/ Samael Gyre, “Heated Anger Heals As It Anneals”
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