Digital file 042309 54, by Sloan Nota
If you are of an age you remember the searchlights which used to cross in the skies signifying Hollywood! Excitement! The glare that was to draw us palpitating moths to the Ultimate Experience.
Now the world appraises what’s in a ring of searchlights focused down and in. Two world leaders equally crazed are threatening death to enemies. We stare, unable to affect either tantrum. One’s as motherfucking gonzo as his opposite. Mine’s bigger! No, mine is! Men in government is just what we’d be safer without.
Prithee, read history. Who makes peace? Who makes war? Who wants to keep potential equals down?
Would Hillary (or Mabel) be handling missiles as if they were body parts? Ultimately we’re deciding who’s the alpha male. They understand it, so do we. Though it’s impolite for us girl-types to mention it before they (righteously!) blow us off the map.
To my readers: This site has been having trouble with font size. This is my work-around to avoid an unreadable 30 words per line.
To my readers
America is poised between just another sunny day and living forever with radioactive fallout. Blame it on the Confederacy that hadn’t the decency to admit defeat — tho their generals did. Their heroes. If we’d squashed out racism long ago it would be hard to stir up hate today. Without hate, no Trump. Well, with Putin’s help. And the gormless Electoral Collage. So America is in a pickle steeped in its own piss and vinegar. Out-maneuvered by our most poisonous enemy. And in possession of our most scandalous President, whom no-one can be sure is sane.
Someone likened him to Nero. Destructively mad, remembered through all of history. Maybe that is who Trump fancies himself tilting at like Quixote. That memory, that spectacularly mad.
One needn’t be genius caliber to know Trump has been in the White House X amount of days and done away with Y amount of science to know Kim Jong Un needn’t fear Trump’s saber-rattling. Our Nero is a self-deluded fool who imagines he can rattle swords he hasn’t yet made. He’s a doofus. A comic pet who assumes poses to make the humans pay attention for a while.
Why bluff a madman? Why bluff an enraged bull? Don’t you have any sense?
Dear Trolls of the Trumpforce, don’t you know radiation blows? You think our Nero will stand with upraised fist to save your children, to turn nuclear radiation back from our shores?
Are you that nuts? That sure that you must hang on to your hate, even now? You’d rather someone got blown to smithereens? Even you?
Than you would let a black man walk down the street without fear?
We’ve all heard about the little man who wasn’t there but now we have the fatsy man who couldn’t mean.
What do you mean he couldn’t mean?
He would say ‘high’ and he’d mean ‘pink.’ He would mean ‘dog’ but he would say ‘star.’ When he kinda sorta saw a ‘bear cub’ in his color-changing thoughts he’d wrap his mouth around ‘cockadoodle.’ Because he didn’t mean anything he said. And he didn’t mean everything he said. And whatsoever his whim was, was. And if you wondered about it one whipstitch later he’d be miles ahead of you. ‘Creamy ranch.’
What do you mean he couldn’t mean?
I mean if he felt ‘yes’ it would be about something you’d think wide of the subject. And if he said ‘damed no!’ it would be about something you and he had yet to consider. Like plum pies. Like mud pies. Like gingham aprons.
Do you mean he couldn’t signify?
Yes but only if you understand that words were whatever came out of his mighty mouth, words were the blather stream, words were sounds going through him – his impulse, his bla, his vocal chords — which were Presidential vocal chords — his sounds which were like the sounds of frightened deer when gunshots rang out, were like the sound of industrial effluvia chuffing into the sky, were like the screeching of brakes when its too too late.
Do you mean he couldn’t give a damn whatever he might say aloud?
I mean he couldn’t even remember whatever he had said.
Landmarks aroud the world light up green in protest over Donald Trump pulling out of Paris accord. via the Telegraph.
Buildings around the world lighted in green. What does the ego that stomped the US out of the Paris Accords make of all the greening-up? Or Mr-Heartbeat-from-Being-President who says lefties are making a ruckus out of a molehill. There is such a vast territory of knowledge that this man has not a clue about, to traverse it you’d need camels, dogsleds and an Oz-bound balloon.
Pope Francis stated firmly that “God does not have a magic wand.” Nor do the backward peoples of the Republican Party. They anoint themselves in damn-fool proclamations writ by people waving sparklers as if Gandalf’s staff. When facts disprove them they attack the facts and leave their opinions walled into the cellars of their self-servingness like fine wines.