Many Many Jerky Persians

King Trumpednezzar was feasting in his oval lair with his maga minions when suddenly an elephant swaggered through his maga-feed, tweeting out cryptic memes of antidisestablishmentinterianistic drivel to violate his whitewashed walls, to wit: Many, Many Nukey Persians Thanks for reading Carey's Snippets! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. Say what? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Suddenly, jingle jangle, now in what are we entangled? Phone calls from MAGA stalls. . . more calls from RINO halls: Persian nukers falling down, falling down! Persian nukers going down, bye, bye, Shiites! oh but!. . . Gotta look good and be a winner, oh great Trumpednezzar!

. . . meanwhile back at the oval . . . squash the Persians; make them grovel! . . . dithering in a coup-top flipflop; . . . we’ll go make a fake news bomb hop! we’ll make them Persians STOP Stop them Persians from making nukes Magas and elephants, just ignore the flukes. Proud boys and three percenters, stand by! We’ll blow them persian nukes sky high Let’s blast armageddon

into MAGA heaven! Smoke

The Common Thread

After Jesus Christ had demonstrated, by his Resurrection, the power of Life over death, he ascended into the eternal realm, leaving behind his disciples and everyone else. In the biblical account of events after his return to heaven, a description was given, in the book of Acts, of the life of his disciples as they were living, congregating and spreading the news of eternal life through Jesus Christ. In the second chapter of Acts, a description of those early Christians’ lifestyle was given: “And all those who had believed were together and had all things in common; and they began selling their property and possessions and were sharing them with all, as anyone might have need.” Thereafter, as the ages rolled by and years turned into centuries, kingdoms morphed into empires, empires generated wars. Human history is the sometimes-up and sometimes-down intersection of various human institutions, successes and failures, doctrines and debts, with some people coming out ahead in any given situation and others ending up with the short end of the stick. In some applications of human will, effort, blood, sweat and tours, groups of people get conquered by other groups. There were slaves serving masters; workers serving bosses, poor serving rich and, as modernity crept into history, a so-called middle class, such as I am. About 1800 years after Jesus’ ascension to heaven, another well-informed Jewish person came along with a notable theory pertaining to this notion of all things being held in common. Karl Marx proposed that society should be reconstructed in a manner that would put the working people, which he called the proletariat, in charge of all the machinery of production and the management of society. As Marx’s theory were later applied in various nations, most notably the Soviet Union during the 20th century, communism was demonstrated to be a way of doing things that did not actually fill the bill of what human peace and progress requires. So the idea that all things ought to be held in common sort of fell into disrepute. Now it is seen as an unworkable basis upon which to build a society, or even, perhaps, a community. As. for the original Christian practice of holding all things in common. . .it has withered and disappeared amongst the various stages of Church history. It seems that mankind, even the Russians and the Chinese, have given up on the sometimes great notion of communal living and communal property. In American history, a trend toward commonality was initiated by Franklin Roosevelt . . .with his New Deal, designed to help us common folk get by during the Depression. When the second World War erupted, everything got damaged, ditched, rearranged or reconfigured. In America, and the so-called “West” free market policies cranked up prosperity that was unprecedented in world history.

In recent years, there was a faction of the christian religion that broke ranks with those “liberals” who wanted to share the wealth, prosperity and productivity of free society. These secessionists wanted to make us great again by following the dictates of a self-obsessed president who understands nothing except how to make money, which was not the occupation of our original Messiah, or his most fervent followers. All that to say. . . I pecked out these thoughts after reading, this morning, those words from the original guide to Christian living: “And all those who had believed were together and had all things in common.” Just sayin’. Glass half-Full

All Along the Rough Ridge Trail

There must be some path out of Now There must be some way to know How I tell myself again. traipsing now beyond the spin. . . There’s too much diffusion I’m feeling only this confusion So I think I’ll take some time . . . maybe traipse out along a rhyme

Now and then I walk this trail. Rocks may come and feet may flail. Here and there along the line I’m waiting for some kind of sign I can’t sort out what is happening I find no relief in this lapping the the joker he keeps exciting as Dems and magas now keep fighting There are many here among us Who feel they must make Life a fuss But America has seen the many and the few and this is not the best that we can do So let us not talk falsely now Let us strive to find out how our Faith degenerates to Fate while donkeys do and foxes hate each other. Stride along the trail where you’ll discern some detail

Confusion has its cost. We are won and we are lost. All along our Watchtower the WorldNet casts its spin streaming in the web again, again while the Eagle cries in sorrow yesterday, today, tomorrow. But what’s it to me; what’s it you? Are our remaining days but few? Up high along the trail We catch a snippet of email the Eagle cries in sorrow What do we find tomorrow? Two parties tweet and try as foxes run and doves fly Pundits maintain their scowl. The wind begins to howl. Good night and good luck. Let us hope we don’t get stuck. Glass half-Full

When We Slow Down

A few months ago, Pat and I visited New York City. On a day when we happened to be down on the lower East Side, we decided to conclude our day by taking a subway up the 5th Ave line, so we would be closer to the Port Authority station to get back to our New Jersey overnight place. We got off at 59th Street, where I was expecting to see a bridge over the East River, or a lampost that might have inspired a Paul Simon rhyme from my memory.After walking several blocks toward midtown, we arrived at the entrance to Central Park, where I caught sight of the lampost. . . the one that, I had supposed, inspired Paul Simon to compose his 59th Street Bridge Song.  "Hello lampost. What ya knowing? Time to watch your flowers growing. A'int ya got not rhymes for me. . . dit didda, feeling groovy. . . La di da da." Reminiscing now. . . time warp backward. . . Back in the day, long about 1967, my high school civics class made a video that ostensibly depicted the feeling of being a happy-go-lucky teen during those revolutionary (or so we thought) curious 1960's. Wandering through those unprecedented, unduplicated times of peace-obsession and protest, and believing we could change the world. . . we clipped our collection of home-made film footage together to make a movie that would express. . . well, we weren't so sure what it would express. But it felt good just doing such a creative thing. Our civics teacher helped us put together a sound track for our little movie. We leaned upon a songster hero of those times, Paul Simon, for the sound track during that scene. The song was "59th Street Bridge Song." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-xhJcQEfD5s Now fast forward. . . and then back again, just a couple of weeks ago. . . this time inBoston. . . There we were, my wife of 45 years and me, one small part of a generation, as Don McLean had mentioned somewhere along the line, "lost in space", (so to speak). . . we were sitting in some grand old theatre in Boston, listening to Paul Simon sing his songs. Accompanied by a multiplicity of musicians in the background, Paul did what I suppose all great songwriters and performing musicians do after they've achieved the heights of success and then lived to tell about it. I'm sure that Paul understood everything about what was going on in our minds. . . what we were thinking and feeling about those halcyon days of long ago. . . and surely he know what songs we were expecting to hear.

So. . . Paul did his thing. . . whatever he chooses to do during this late season of our baby boomer lives. It was all good. But . . . funny thing happened on the way to the 21st century. . . Paul saved the greatest songs. . . some of those that he knew we most wanted to hear . . . for the end. "The Boxer" was an encore, and the original greatest Simon song of all, "Sounds of Silence," was the second encore. It was all good, but. . . My one, small disappointment came when Paul did not sing his song that best expresses what we are facing in America today, An American Tune. It's the song with the line:  ". . . and I dreamed I was flying: high up above. . . my eyes could clearly see . . . the statue of Liberty, sailing away to sea. . ." King of Soul

Ode to an Ancient Urn

While strolling through the Harvard museum, I came upon this relic of times past:  Inspired by John Keats' Ode to a Grecian Urn,

I began scribbling out a few stanzas of verse. The outpouring of such inspiration streamed a poem which developed, as it unfolded, in a re-working of Emma Lazarus' hallowed verse, carved into the base of our Statue of Liberty :

Oh you regal monument of American glory Oh, fastened-icon in silence and slow time, Immigrant enlightener, who can tell our story? with American verse more welcoming than your shine? What flame-fired legends ascend around your glory from immigrants and travellers in Time? What immigrant pursuit? What struggles to escape? What cultures and traditions? What foreign experience? Seasoned citizens are sweet, but those unbound are fresher; therefore, ye winds of change, blow on; Not to the sensual ear, but to the more profound Enlighten still the nations, challenges unknown. Oh Liberty Lady, amidst the waves, you must not snuff out your torch above our golden door! You must not fade; though foxes rave and magas pout! For Freedom you shall stand on our American door! Who are these at your Enlightened stand? To what carved altar, oh Liberating lady, Do you welcome those fair immigrants who land with their baggage and burdens so weighty? What faraway clan from adversity's shore, from mountain slope or valley glen, is destined by their hopeful and hallowed lore, to be transported to our new world den? Oh hallowed lady! poised on Liberty's shore in sculpted stone, with torch so bright! Greet your huddled masses, rich and poor Lead them with your liberating light! As huddled masses yearning to be free sail through their their troubled plight Hold high your torch, Lady Liberty! Smoke</i>

Other Side

I don't know but I but I been shown . . . this old note, found in the dark corner of a closet in the US Capitol, to whit:

I can see by your hat, my friend, You're from the other side There's just one thing I'd like to know: Can you tell me please, who won?

Four years and several months ago, our citizens brought forth to this Capitol, a new election, conducted in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that whichever candidate gets the most Electoral votes would become President.

Now we are engaged in a futile cultural war, testing whether this nation, or any other nation so conceived, can long endure. We are met on an unlikely battlefield of this contention, the democratic republic of the United States of America. Now we are online, to commemorate an appropriate part of our national memory for all men and women who, in years past, have given their lives, that this nation might live, and prosper, and remain free and protected by our Constitution and all subsequent laws that have provided, since our inception, a nation of the people, governed by the people, for all the people. It is altogether fitting and necessary that we do this. But in a larger sense, we cannot resolve - we cannot mend - the divisions that now threaten to blow our Union and our Rule of Law to smithereens. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we post here . . . in the awesome swirl of social media and the boogling blingly gobblydgook that occupies our attention so relentlessly on a windswept web that has entangled our attention in X-raided tweeter storms of outrageous fortune, and lobotomized our comprehension of profoundly complicated national issues, even as it stultifies and arrests our appreciation of democracy. . . it hath rendered us mere bronco-busters on the storms of outrageous fortune in this. . . our great, four-century-long grand rodeo. I mean, this ain't our first rodeo, if you know what I mean; we been around the 20th-century fox block a century or two, or three, or maybe even four if we don't get too plucky with our cultural contentions and our newfangled internet and our Make America Go Awry civil war that started on January sixth, back in the day. . . whenever that was. But I do feel it in my bones that this nation, under God, must have a new birth of goodwill toward all Americans, be they red or blue, be they many or few, be they old or new, be they immigrants new or citizens old, because back in the day when we used to pray we caught a glimpse of some lady standing at the golden door out there in the harbour with the torch of Liberty in her hand.

and she said send me your tired, your weary, your huddled masses yearning to be free, and I think it's time we raise Emma Lazarus' plea from the dead letters, and bring them back into the interstecies of twitterous time and googlish glob and wacky web confusion and contusions of contentious social mediocrity. There's a time for war and a time for peace! Lastly, as I once heard a little Byrd sing. . .I swear it's not too late.  Glass half-Full

We Won't Forget!

. . ." for my mind misgives some conseqence, yet hanging in the stars . . . shall bitterly begin with this night's revels. . ." Romeo Montague, in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet Contemporary version: . . . for our nation suspects some consequence, yet hanging in our stars and stripes . . . did bitterly begin, in that day's rebellion, January 6, 2021. Now the magamaniacs and the foxes who did strive to steal the vines of our American governance may insist, with irrelevant nitpicking, that the Capitol guards did, during the Jan6 insurrection (wait for it) . . . "let the rioters in." But this American citizens responds: So what? if they let 'em in! What would you do if a gang of violent attackers had you surrounded while they were wielding, in overpowering mobs, weapons, riotous destruction and nooses hanging outside? If I had been one of our Capitol police on that day, I do believe I would have stepped aside while my life was being threatened by an angry, violent mob, rather than offer myself as a victim of their violent rage.

But whether the gangsters were allowed in, or not, is not the point! The point is, . . . We have a Constitution, in which the process of electing a President is laid out in plain English, in Article 2: "Each state shall appoint, in such manner as the Legislature may direct, a number of Electors. . . The President of the Senate (Vice President of the United States) shall, in the presence of the Senate and House of Representatives, open all the (States') certificates, and the votes shall be counted." It was this Constitutionally ordained process that our founding fathers had laid out for the selection of our President. Thus did they establish what we refer to as a "Rule of Law." This Rule of Law is the Law of the land. Mob rule is not!

What the Jan6 insurrectionists were trying to provoke was an overthrow of the government of the United States, instigated by the chief insurrectionist, who happened to be sitting in the oval eating a cheesburger at about that same time.  Now you may ask, why can't you just forget about all that stuff? Here's my response. I was raised as a child in the Deep South, back in the day, where we would see, every now and then, a license plate image of an old southern soldier proclaiming, "Hell no!! I won't ever forget!" And now that the chief instigator of the Jan6 insurrection is, like it or not, in the Oval, the word on the street among us law-abiding citizens, be they democrats or republicans, is this: We are watching you! and. . . remembering the riot that you instigated on January 6, 2021. That law-despising insurrection is not dust that you can just sweep under the rug. We will not let the chief insurrectionist of that fateful day get away with stealing our Rule of Law, even if he is sitting in the Oval, and even if he has the richest men in the world to scatter his power around with.

Now, at long last, this good ole deep-south boy ( me, at age 73) can identify with that old rebel on the license plate. 

Bottom line: We are watching you, donald, and we will not allow our Constitution-mandated Rule of Law to be obliterated by the chief insurrectionist! Glass half-Full

Microscopic World

In chapter 13 of my novel, Glass Chimera, the reader is transported into an imaginary microcosmic world, inside of a human cell, where we catch a glimpse of a dutiful driver in the circulatory system, Luke O'cite. His job is to deliver red blood cells to a specified location inside the cell. Arriving at CircCentral , Luke catches site of the sign that directs him to his next destination:

Neuropsin II Convention passengers, take Tram B to Sector 23. 16S-type RNA delegates take Tram C to Sector 18. When Henry arrived, five minutes later, Vena Cava gate, he had a few minutes to chill out. He sat on the floor, gazing out the membrane, beyond the crowded concourses of Mitey Kindria, at an ocean of cytoplasm stretching as far as the eye could see. On the horizon, barely visible in the distance were the Golgi Islands. And far beyond that, Henry knew, was the great Continent of Nucleus, the deep interior of which drew the brightest chromatins and the most talented sugars, movers and shakers who climbed that great double-spiraled ladder of success, making decisions, wonking policies that extended far beyond the nucleopolis itself, to every reticulum in the great hinterland and every centriole between here and the next universe. He aspired to go there himself one day. But not today, just another day in the life of a specialized protein. He did like his job though. Henry considered himself fortunate to be a guide, and he usually enjoyed the commutes between all his assignments and CircCentral. But as he watched the great open cytoplasm, his heart was pierced with a pang of desire, for looming up from the horizon was a magnificent sailing ship, with brilliant sails rippling in the breeze, and azure-white sprays jettisoning from both sides of its bow.  Henry couldn't keep his eyes off it. He stood and watched it for a long time, until it came quite close, and he forgot where he was, and he missed the next Vena Cava push. When at last the golden galleon passed straightway in front of him, he saw the RiboNucleic flag flapping atop the mast, royal blue background with a red orb in the center, and white border. And he saw written upon the bow in gold letters the name of the ship: HMS RuNAbout.

Oh, that he were on that great ship! Oh, that he might climb to its apex, and survey from its crow's nest cytoplasmic grandeur and the boisterous cellular wind in his wings! Such adventure! Such freedom! Where is it going?

Read Glass Chimera to discover his destination.

Just Deportees

In the wake of the dishrag Supreme Court’s capitulation with trump’s mass deportations, which deprive immigrants of their human rights and their Constitutional rights. . . consider this old Woody Guthrie song from the 1960’s, sung here by his son Arlo: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVwp1NTacpo&list=RD_zWgfzGq5g0&index=7

Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria; You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees" Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted,
Our work contract's out and we have to move on;
Six hundred miles to that Mexican border,
They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves. Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards? 
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit? 
To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoil
And be called by no name except "deportees"? King of Soul

Harmony and Invention

But the contest of harmony and invention was playing out far beyond the scripted staffs of musical history, and presenting consequences more grave than the mere listening pleasure of audiences. Still to be found in the world today was the ongoing contest of order against chaos. Here's the ever-present duel between right and wrong; there's the Establishment beating back dissidents, with frequent sightings of the powers that be as they take advantage of the powerless who want to be. And we shan't neglect to mention the plight of them who think they should be running the show, being perpetually put down by them that are in charge of it. And here we learn we do have words that must be said; yet we have words that should never be spoken; but someone will pronounce those words sooner or later. Yes, we do encounter in this life lines in the sand that daren't be crossed, and prohibitions that beg to be violated; we find rules that must be broken, and sometimes we encounter the terrible contests of convention vs. contention.

(Excerpt from chapter 19 novel of King of Soul) King of Soul

Memorial

excerpt from final chapter of novel, Smoke "How could this place have been a battlefield for a world war?" The old Frenchman cast his eyes on the passing landscape, and seemed to join Philip in this musing. He answered slowly, "War is a terrible thing, an ugly thing. I did not fight in the war; I had already served my military duty, long before the Archduke was assassinated in Sarajevo and the whole damn world flew apart, like shrapnel. But I had many friends who fought here, and back there, where we just came from in my France, back there at the Somme, the Marne, Amiens. Our soldiers drove the Germans back across their fortified lines, the Hindenberg line they called it. By summer of 1918 the Germans were in full retreat, although it took them a hell of a long time, and rivers of spilt blood, to admit it. And so it all ended here. Those trenches, over there in France, that had been held and occupied for two hellish years by both armies, those muddy hellholes were finally left behind, vacated, and afterward . . . filled up again with the soil of France and Flanders and Belgium, and green grass was planted where warfare had formerly blasted its way out of the dark human soul and the dark humus of lowland dirt and now we see that grass, trimmed, manicured and growing so tidily around those rows of white crosses out there, most of them with some soldier's name carved on them, many just unknown, anonymous, and how could this have happened? You might as well ask how could. . . a grain of sand get stuck in an oyster? And how could that oyster, in retaliation against that rough, alien irritant, then generate a pearl - such a beautiful thing, lustrous and white - coming forth in response to a small, alien presence that had taken up unwelcomed residence inside the creature's own domain? The answer, my friend, is floating in the sea, blowing in the wind, growing green and strong from soil that once ran red with men's blood."

King of Soul

Time

Looking back, way, way back, in time . . . way, way back. . . we find words written that unfold a very long history; it that began in the Middle East, in Mesopotamia, Babylonia, India, Egypt. Hebrew scribes and prophets preserved their long story in a volume that we call the Bible. Therein we read about the travels of a man named Abraham, who left the land of his birth and found a better place to live.  The history of the world has trudged through Time. . . across the earth, eastward to China, India and beyond; westward to Egypt, Ethiopia, Canaan, Israel, Greece, Rome, Europe, Britain, America and back around again, west so far that it became east again.

In 1968, Judy Collins wrote and recorded a song that posed the question that no man nor women can truly answer: "Who knows where the Time goes?" The Bible book of Ecclesiastes declares: "There is an appointed Time for everything, and there is a Time for every event under heaven." What does that imply about destiny, or fate, or predestination? I don't know. So continuing my quest, I recall that In 1972 or thereabouts, Jackson Browne sang a song that included these words: "The future hides and the past just slides, and England lies between, floating in a silver mist, so cold and so clean." Songwriter Browne followed up that lyric with a bold leap across time and space, across an ocean and a continent: . . . and California's crying, like an angry child will, who has asked for love, and is unanswered still." All along the way, perhaps there is some wise man who is keeping an eye on the Time, as we pass through it. . .  whatever and whenever it is.

But I digress. . . Meanwhile, back at the ranch, in '72 I think it was, in California. . . a folk-rock group there, the Byrds, released their first big hit song, Turn Turn Turn, which borrowed words from that ancient source, the Book of Ecclesiastes in the Bible: "There is a time for every event under heaven. . ." a time to throw stones, and a time to gather stones together. . . a time to love, a time to hate; a time for war and a time for peace" And then the Byrds added, referring to our war in Vietnam, " " a time for peace; I swear it's not too late!" Eventually that message got through to our people running the show in Washington. So we pulled out of Vietnam. But, looking back on all of it, in my life, I think Jim Croce's musing on Time was the most profound. In that fateful year 1972, Jim Croce wrote and sang these thoughts about time, and love, into his song, "Time in a Bottle": If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I'd like to do, is save every day 'til eternity passes away, just to spend them with you." . . . because Love is, after all is said and done, and even before it's all said and done, the most important - the most potent -  entity in this mystery that we call Life, as it unfurls through the pages of Time. Love is the real deal; it's the best; it makes all difference in the world. The Beatles really nailed it, back in the day, when they sang: "Love is all you need" Bottom line: LOVE is the greatest, the most important, the most potent element you will find in this Life. . . far more relevant, far more precious than Time. So, while we still can, make the best of your TIME on this earth and LOVE your family, your friends, your neighbors, your. . . everyone you meet or encounter in this LIFE, which only goes so far in Time. The End.  Glass half-Full

Boomer's Choice

Well, the boys came marching home from Germany and France and the bomb had made a blast in in Hiroshima. (‘50’s) We were driving brand new cars; we were waving stars and bars and everywhere was another factory. Back in 1953, cruising with Dwight E., Elvis sang the white-boy blues, McCarthy looking under every bush. In the home of the brave and the free, rolling on prosperity and all the kids were going off to school. (‘60’s) Ten years down the road, another dream had come and gone and the power of one gun had made itself known. Back in 1964 big Lyndon opened the door for civil rights and a bloody Asian war. young men on porkchop hill, young women on the pill. At home they said don’t kill; get a psychedelic thrill.

(70’s) But the dreams of a woodstock nation were just an imagination when the boys came trudging home in ’73. So it’s hey hey ho is there anybody home and its hie hie hey, seeking light in the night of day: the dreams of a woodstock nation were just an imagination when the boys came trudging home in ’73. Well, it just don’t pay to sob; guess I’ll get myself a job selling leisure suits, maybe real estate. I’m not moving very fast, just waiting in line for gas and Johnny Carson gives me all my news. Back in 1976, overcoming dirty tricks, some were moving back to the sticks; some were looking for a fix. (‘80’s)Ayatollahs on the rise, sulfur dioxide in the skies and the system makes the man that’s got his own. They say an elephant won’t forget; let’s play another set. There’s always another ghost on pac-man’s tail. Don’t let this boom go stale. Let’s find an airline for sale or pop another tape in the VCR. Back in 1989, we’re living on borrowed time getting lost in subtle sin eating oat bran at the gym. But there’s an empty place inside, and I was wondering why these vanities don’t suit. I’m going back to the gospel truth. And it’s hey hey ho is there anybody home and it’s hie hie hey, seeking light in the night of day; There’s an empty place inside and I was wondering why. These vanities don’t suit; I’m going back to the gospel truth. (Y2K)Put on your Sarejevo, Mogadishu, Kalishnikov and Columbine shoes, for the way is treacherous with ruts and rocks. Yeah, we figured our digits out before that Y2K could spoil our rout, but that 9/11 call was in the cards. Did you consider the question of heaven before the wreck of ’07? Will you hear the trumpet call from the Ancient of Days. Our way is littered with freaks and fads from Baghdad through our mouse pads as the reaper swings his steely scythe across our wicked ways. And it’s hey hey ho; is there anybody home? And it’s hie hie hey, seeking light of day? It’s a dangerous place outside and I was wondering why. This world don’t give a hoot; I’m going back to the gospel truth. Listen to Boomer’s Choice copyright 2008, to be continued. . . King of Soul

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, in the time of one person’s life. . . mine, I stumbled around and found that I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. So I took a drive, and when I arrived, I had landed in a place that I had expected to find, but in a circumstance that challenged me beyond the mere comprehension o my mind. There is far more to this life than what meets the eye, although the eyes, when directed to any particular event or circumstance, may expose a spectrum of existence that is not normally available to the sensibility of a mere man . . .

And so, having been given the opportunity to respond to an encounter with the Eternal One, the burning bush, the One who Is, Was and Will always be, the One who submitted himself to death so that He could demonstrate that life goes on beyond death. . .

. . . while driving through Colorado in 1977, in my travel along the mountain road, I stopped to take a break. Wandering a little ways up the mountainside, I paused to set my hand to the guitar that was slung upon my back, and this is what came out of the sound hole of the guitar, and out of the soul of this human being. Follow me, for a few minutes, into that sound hole, into that vortex of Time that ultimately leads to Eternity. . . Listen to this: http://www.micahrowland.com/carey/Follow the Way.mp3 King of Soul

The Times and Rhymes

All along the American towers in these tariff-tangled hours from the yawky-talky Big Apple Times, All the News gets print in lines: Out beneath the prairie stars tariffs put the hurt on Tony’s used cars.

Tariffs inflate cost of parts a lot out in Oklahoma used car lot the hardest time in 25 years of fixin’ engines and their gears cuz Tony’s used-car dealership is suffering trumpy tariff hardship with inventory getting low as tariffs rise and engines blow, while MAGAs come and rule of Law doth go driveling out the moxy Foxy show. Now along comes the Times today: with Timesly report on trumpy tariffs’ play As the reporter lays out his Times’y drama: update version of old Okie trauma as parts break down and engines blow; still cars must come while drivers go cuz in the great wide Western prairie wheels that roll do make life merry Yeah, trucks and tractors must go to seed and feed the American show. As folks with credit bad and savings small struggle to keep that car on the road at all Meanwhile back in GOPpy wonder tariffs cast auto/truck parts asunder. “My life falls apart if I can’t drive!” Trucks must roll so crops arrive. “We’ll get you rolling as fast as we can” said Tony to the Okie man. It’s the great American story of capital gains trumping glory just for show dont’cha know. Expect “some pain” before tariff gains trump had said to sooth the tariff pains. Meanwhile back at the ranch: there’s fallout from the maga tranche, as tariffs reign and supply chains break rich get rich with all they can take. But a business with no margin for options, now takes ole junkers as adoptions. In an update version of old ’30’s tales, Okie driver comes in Austin’s auto sales. “My life falls apart if I can’t drive.” It’s the American way, as we survive. Now I don’t know but I been told highways in Oklahoma littered with old truck parts, y’all. That’s the margin call I guess. What a mess! Meanwhile back at the MAGA ranch traders mount for another tranche while reporters write in Big Apple Times and little FOXes steal the vines. Glass half-Full

Figs Boson

As we strive to gather the produce of this life, as we search the universe to catch a glimpse of some Higgs-boson spark of creation. . . while we struggle to defeat the deteriorations of death, the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or heaven’s gate or hell’s bells and/or whatever else is out there to spoil our well-intended plans of mice and men. . . while toiling, as we traipse along these ancient paths of destiny and chance, we find ourselves blessed in the gathering of the figs that fall from trees that line our chosen paths of chance, dealing with stumbled-upon happenstances and destinies formerly traveled by the patriarchs and matriarchs of long, long ago, dog-paddling to outdo the undertow of high tides, low tides and the ides of March, April and now May, let us not forget those departed souls who, long ago, traipsed these paths and blazed out our trails for us, long before we were a gleam in daddy’s eye or a swelling in mommy’s belly. Yea, I say unto thee, ’tis not for us to wonder why, but rather to do or die. If we do well, we skip past hell; if we do wrong, we get gonged between the clattering cimbals of percussion, discussion, obfuscation and condemnation. And yea, I say unto thee: He and She who are faithful in the little things, the small change and the twists and turns that rearrange this life that we thought we had figured out. . . as the Lord was sayin’, He and She who are faithful in the little stuff turn out to be faithful in the stuff that really matters. . . when push comes to shove, when eagle meets dove and hate is conquered by love, when the drosses of mankind conspire to nail the greatest man of all Time to a cross. . . but then the Great Programmer who wrote the code, who structured the DNA, who turned night into day, when that Prime Designer used circumstances—whatever whits hit the fan— to demonstrate that fallen figs along the paths of life. . . and the boson-higgs that we may discern along the orbits of man’s great experimental whirligig—that those fallen figs and zippidy-doo boson higgs are nothing more than the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that cousin Will dramatized back in the day. What goes around, y’all, comes around. . . in this great mandela, as Nelson Mandela had said . . . or some brave pioneering person in the land of the free and the home of the brave, who had been to the mountaintop and had seen the promised scene. . . when that person comes to mind, remember then, summer birds with wings of fire, come to witness spring’s new hope, born of leaves decaying; now push “Save.”

Glass half-Full

Daniel Eleven

“Those who have insight among the people will give understanding to many, yet they will fall by the sword and by flame, by captivity and by plunder for many days. Now when they fall they will be granted some help, and many who are not sincere will join with them in hypocrisy. Some of those who have insight will, in order to refine, purge and make them pure until the end time, because it is still to come at the appointed time. Then the king will do as he pleases, and he will exalt and magnify himself above every god and will speak monstrous things about God; and he will prosper until the indignation is finished, for that which is decreed will be done. He will show no regard for the gods of his fathers or for what women desire; nor will he show regard for any other good; for he will magnify himself above them all. But instead, he will honor a god of forces, or fortresses, a god whom his fathers did not know; he will honor his deity with gold, silver, costly stones and treasure” (which, in updated lingo we might call assets.)

I lifted these words from an ancient book, written by a wise man who had been captured and compelled to serve an ancient emperor. Any resemblance to persons or circumstances of our present era is, although intentional on my part, still a matter of interpertating the times in which we live. Any congruity between our present day and whatever was happening in the slings and arrows of history’s outrageous fortune is, we discern, duly noted. History does not repeat, but is does, as we poet types say, “rhyme.” Just sayin’. King of Soul

Bishop of Rome

“When I was a child, I spoke like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things.” The first evangelist of our Christian faith, Paul, wrote those words in his letter to the church in Corinth. The church in Corinth was thriving and growing in leaps and bounds. Up in Athens, not so much. When Paul had ventured to the Aereopagus, where people gathered to illuminate the issues of the times, Paul’s message was received, but the response was small change compared to what happened in Corinth. Those apostolic journeys of Paul and other early evangelists planted the seeds of Christian faith. As time passed, those seeds were spread around the entire world. Through different stages of history, the “Church” of Jesus Christ assumed many different forms, within an historically constant expansion that manifested in Europe during the middle ages as the Catholic church. When I was a child, living in Jackson, Mississippi, I attended a Catholic child, because my mother, a Catholic, made provision for me and my siblings by sending us to Catholic school, in our Catholic parish. As for my father, he was not religious. He had rejected religion, but he did love my mother and he allowed her all the decisions regarding the youthful life of me, my two sisters and my brother. The true development of my Christian faith began in 1978 when my life’s goals disintegrated into shards of failure and disappointment. I hopped into my VW, drove about 500 miles, took a rest stop in Texas, which, as it turned out, became the starting point of my new life in Christ, as I was born again, just as Jesus had said I—or any man—must be. That was a long time ago. Many, many waters have passed beneath the bridges of this life. I think it was 2013. . . when our son and daughter happened to be in Rome when a new pope was being selected. They were there at the Vatican, being tourists, when the white smoke ascended from the chimney.

I notice, in the background, Michelangelo’s artwork on the walls of that room. . . the Sistine Chapel I think it is. Pat and I had visited the place, back in ‘03. when our daughter had been studying in Florence, through the auspices of UNC study abroad. Now in 2025, that Catholic world that I had been baptized into as an infant, is now keeping eyes on the Vatican as the cardinals gather, although I do observe, with mild curiosity, from a theological and geographical distance. Curiously enough, as life panned out for our son, our grand-daughter attends a Catholic school, even though our three young’uns attended Christian school and public high school. Catholic school was good enough for me, back in the ‘50’s-60’s, as well as for my wife, and now for our grand-daughter. All’s well that educates well. And, as a Christian, I can heartily wish and hope that the Catholics choose their best man for the proclamation of Christian faith, throughout the world, in this hour of Faith and fate in the history of the Christian religion, and in the fate of our world, which seems to totter on the edges of apocalyptic insecurity. May the Lord be with you. May the Lord bless you and keep you, and make His face to shine upon you. King of Soul

Ancient Words

Woe to those who scheme iniquity, who work evil on their beds. . . They covet fields and then seize them, and houses, and take them away. . . Now hear this, all ye movers and shakers, ye who abhor justice, and twist everything that is straight, who build a nation with bloodshed, and an administration with violent injustice, with leaders who pronounce judgment for a bribe. . . and yet they lean on God, saying, “Isn’t God on our side? Calamity will not fall on us? Later, much later, when the Creator of the Universe showed up as a man, he continued his discourse: “Come and take authority over what I have provided for you, for I was hungry and you gave me something to eat; I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink; I was a stranger and you invited me in.” And his followers said; “Say what? When did we see you hungry, and feed you? or thirsty, and did give you something to drink? When did we see you as a stranger, or an immigrant, and invite you in? I mean, when did we see you sick, or in prison, and come and visit you” And the prime minister or president or whatever will follow up with a question . . . When did we, like, see you as a stranger or an immigrant or hungry or whatever and give you stuff? And the Teacher, the true Lord of Estate, replied: To whatever extent you provided these assets to the people out there on the fringes, the. . .you know, the immigrants and the foreigners and those people who don’t speak English very well and they don’t dress like you and usually they’re a little darker than you. . .but even so, whenever you’ve provided assistance to them, you have done it unto me. . .yes me, the One who walked from Galilee to Jerusalem, only to be imprisoned, tried and found guilty of some trumpedup charges and then executed roman style. . .yes, me. . . that guy that you’ve been hearing about all these years, and centuries. But it all happened so that Jesus could demonstrate to everyone in the world, rich and poor, black and white, smart and stupid, educated or not, whether foxy or mulish or foolish or even ghoulish. . . all of ‘em. . . could follow a crucified Messiah past death into eternal life.

And if you believe that, we’ve got real estate in heaven to share with you. King of Soul

Capitolburg Redress

Twelve score and four years ago, our forefathers ratified a Constitution, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all Americans are subject to, and are beneficiaries of, a Rule of legitimate and duly-promulgated Laws, and that every citizen is entitled to the protection of that Law, having Lawful Rights as a Citizen of the Republic. Not long ago, we found ourselves engaged in a confrontation, to repel and dispel a reprobate attack upon our Congress upon and our Capitol. . .

Such was their conscious and deliberate attempt to obstruct the Congressional reception and tabulation of Electoral Votes that had already been duly tabulated by the respective State Legislatures, as determined by their respective elections in the individual States. Now we are engaged in a magamaniacal cultural war, as foxes strive to chomp on the grapes of wrath and to spoil the vines of Constitutional Law . . . a Constitutional war, no less, testing whether this nation, or any nation so conceived, and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a regrettable battlefield of that war, the US Capitol itself. We have come to dedicate a monument on these, our Capitol grounds, as a commemoration of those Capitol Police and duly-appointed Officers of the Law who gave their lives in the wake of the January 6, 2021 insurrection: Brian Sicknick, Howard C. Liebengood, Jeffrey Smith, Gunther Hashida. It is altogether fitting and proper that we acknowledge these officers who, having given their last full measure of devotion, succumbed to the tragedy of death. Furthermore, in this season of national confusion, in the wake of magamaniacal insurrection, we find it necessary—and even imperative— that our Rule of Constitutional Law and Congressional due process might be, recognized and strengthened, so that our Rule of Constitutional Law and the Congressional due process thereof will be reinforced, protected and preserved. It is altogether fitting and proper that we do this. But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground that was previously hallowed for lo, these many years. The brave men, living and dead, who defended this Capitol and our Congress, have consecrated it, far and above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we blog here, but we must never forget what they did here. It is rather for us, the living, to be dedicated here to the great task remaining before us, that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave their last full measure of devotion: Therefore, we here highly resolve that these men shall not have died in vain, that this nation, under God, shall reaffirm our long-held respect for the Rule of Law, and a reaffirmation of the sanctity and necessary functionality of our Congress, our duly elected Representatives and Senators, and that government of the people, by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth. Glass half-Full Glass half-Full

Now and Theb

The good news is that this baby boomer has survived 73 years, so far. As for how many more years on this earth are ahead for me, only the Lord knows. One thing I’ve noticed is that times change. As Bro Bob had pointed out to us back in the day, the times they are a-changin’. They always were; they always will. As the ancient King Solomon put it, there’s “nothing new under the sun.” While that is true, insofar as we consider the human person, what his/her inclinations are. . . self-preservation, producing offspring, courting, cultivating prosperity and security. . . All of that is good, y’all, and its all as old as the hills. But of course we do notice that there are, nevertheless, some new things under the sun, y’know. . . trains, cars, planes, rockets, radios, TVs, computers, www, phones. I mean, everywhere you go nowadays, every person you see is stroking there little electronic widget gadget. It’s kind of funny, really, here in Orlando the little phone position seems to be de riguer. My g-generation has come a long way, in spite of all our identity issues. There was a time, back in the day, when we got all hung up on Haight Ashbury. As time slid on, we kinda moved our emphases down the coast. . . to Hollywood, Laurel Canyon, Anaheim and the Disney thing. Then, thanks to Uncle Walt and his club of musketeers, and a little help from our friends, we kind gravitated from Anaheim to Orlando, which is where I am now. You can take a cross-country flight, if you’re young or if you’re old, and the Floridians will love it if ya do, if ya do now. While tooling around here yesterday, we crossed over into the U-verse. In our trek around there, I noticed some changes that have been bred and bled into our g-generation. We’ve gone from Mickey and Minnie to Harry and Hogwarts. I noticed, also, that King King had survived his wrestling match with the Empire State building, because he’s alive and well in Orlando, as vicious and furious as ever, striving so viciously to destroy us all. But he didn’t get us! But seriously, y’all, as I was sayin’. . .We’ve gone from Donald and Daisie, through Luke Skywalker’s time warp, with a little help from Obie wan Konobi, to gain victory over darth vader and his weirdo companions, who seemed to be even worse than the harpies who made so much trouble for Dorothy, back in Oz. If I remember right, I think we entered the Twilight Zone unexpectedly. . . about 1961 or so. Things got weird after that, beginning on November 22, 1963, degenerating into our confrontation with the Viet Cong and then all that other stuff. . . right up to the worst dam 9/11 call thnt anyone could ever imagine. But I digress. I mean, we got through all that. The ’70’s had slidden in and we coasted through, with a little help from our friends, and time rolled on by. And then late, We got through the 9/11 ordeal. But I digress. So yesterday I was noticing some of these developments and devolutions as we strolled through the Orlando U-verse. Our newfound curiosity and capacity for entertainment seems to have enabled a theme park obsession with traipsing through vast structures that appear, for the life of me . . . to be ancient, like way back in England or Europe or some antiquated place like that, with Gothic windows and archaic-themed innuendos. I guess Americans have, from the beginning, been so new-world and newfangled that . . .we satisfy our need for tradition and feeling planted in ancient roots by traipsing the the theme parks, where new stuff is elaborately—and so incredibly—fashioned, as to present for our touristing experience. . . Harry and Hogwarts, London King Cross station and Islands of Adventure, Volcano Bay. I mean, we’ve come a long way since 1969! . . . back in time. Gone, gone, gone with the wind are Howdy Doody an Deputy Dawg. Gone are Lassie, Flicka, Beaver and Wally. Gone, gone are Ed Sullivan, Ted Mack, Dick Clark, Johnny Carson. It must be that King Kong grabbed them all and flung them into the Hollywood deepfate, or the magafied deepstate, whichever came first. After our traipse through Hogwart’s yesterday, methinks that some foul spirit hath gotten hold of our boomer fold, and hath sentenced us to the pseudo-ancient burial grounds of American pop culture. Maybe the curse was pronounced when the joker leaped cross the stage in a coat he borrowed from James Dean, hynotizing his audience, expressing sympathy for something, or someone, not on the level, or whomever/ whatever that is. But I think the real downhill slide began happened on the upper west side of the Big Apple. The Beatles, after their long run of revolutionizing the rock-world, finally had their Now and Then bitter end, shot down by a madman in that big apple where the New Yawk Thymes had said God is Dead, or some crazy, pseudo-revolutionary thing. As it all turned out. . . Paul never was dead, but then John was. . . and later George and so. . . I guess they met BBKing and Buddy Holly and Elvis and the Everly Brothers in that great culture Collaboration in the sky. We shall know, by ’n by . . . how it all pans out. I can say that, because I follow the One who died on a cross two thousand years ago but then demonstrated everlasting Life by walking out the tomb. I’m quite sure no wogworts spell had a hold on Him! Now you can pick a cherry off the tree, like George Washington did; and you can pick an apple off the tree, like Johnny Appleseed did. But if you come across a worldweb tree. . .

. . . and there’s some sneaky critter slithering around, who’s offering you you a megabyte of something shiny and sweet— walk softly and carry a big Book. Matthew, Mark, Luke and John will do just fine, any time, for evaluating what is going on and who’s presenting this, that or the other thing, message or massage. . . to you. All the rest is just sound and fury signifying nothing. That’s the conclusion this baby boomer came to, in my encounter with Lord of the (rings) Universe, back in 1978. King of Soul

Resurrection

Back in the early days of the Lord’s activity among his people, the Lord appointed a prophet, Jonah to call to the people a great city, Ninevah, to tell them about Lord, Creator of the Universe. Jonah was instructed to notify those people about their need for repentance and the Lord’s expectation that they would turn to the Lord for help and salvation. But Jonah was not into it, so he got on a boat and sailed westward with a crew of merchant seamen. Thanks for reading Carey's Snippets! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. But a big storm arose and the ship was about to go down. The captain convened the crew and the passengers; his chosen strategy to save the ship was to lighten its load by throwing stuff overboard. Meanwhile, back at the back of his mind, Jonah was realizing that it was because of his disobedience that all this peril was enveloping these other guys. So he wised up and he told the captain that the storm was the Lord’s judgement against his own damn self, and that if they just tossed him overboard, all would be well with them. And so it happened.

Then Jonah was swallowed by a great sea fish—must have been a whale—and he was in the belly of the whale for 3 days. But then a funny thing happened on the way to the rest of history. The whale coughed Jonah up onto dry land. Then, by ’n by, Jonah did what he was supposed to have done in the first place. He went to Ninevah and spoke to the people there about their need to get right with God. Many years went by. Jesus Christ of Nazareth was born of a virgin, grew up in the Galilee region of what is now the nation of Israel. Jesus made good use of His time. He maintained His relationship with His Father, the Lord of the Universe; He trekked all around the land that is now called Israel/Palestine. He walked trails and Roman roads from Dan to Beersheeba, so to speak. But then He got into trouble with some hyper-religious people who prevailed upon the powers that be—the Roman occupiers of Judea—to solve their problem of having to deal with this old-fashioned prophet troublemaker. . . and so they did. The Romans hung Him up on a cross. I believe this is where it happened;

He died; but on the third day He was raised up,

and all of his disciples and apostles were flabberghasted but they finally figured out what they were supposed to do, which is to say, to spread the gospel of the good news of Jesus’ atoning death and His Resurrection, y’all! . . . which they did, which is why we know about all of that history now in the year 2025. While Jesus had been walking on the face of the earth, he had told the people that the sign of His perfect work that would be given—and had been given— for all people to believe and to comprehend, which is. . . envelope please. . . the sign of the prophet Jonah! Three days as good as dead in the belly of a tomb and then bouncing back into Life again! And if you believe that, I’ve got some real estate in heaven that we’ll develop together. That’s a pretty good deal; don’t ya think? a Whale of a Deal! if you ask me. King of Soul

Walking in Glimpses

In brilliant Blue Ridge springtime sun, we’re walking on our local Appalachian greenway. Along the way, my mind wanders into the memory of an ole rhymin’ Simon song. I’ll take the Liberty to. appropriate our shared poetic license, borrowing Paul’s poetic framework to launch a little spring ditty. . . .

Walking in Ole Glory nation… I glean a moment of bright inspiration. On a trail of greening glee. . . and every person’s face I see reminds me of some past person who used to be.

Homeward bound; I feel like I am homeward bound. . . like I once was lost, but now I’m found. Homeward bound, with my memories fadin’. . .homeward bound. . . where eternity’s waiting eternally for me. Today I’ll peck out these words, a hymn; I’ll write them down, inspired again. And all Life’s images spring inside of me in shades of familiarity; in every person’s face I glean shades of faces we have seen.

Homeward bound; I know that we are homeward bound! We once were lost, but now we’re found. Homeward bound, with our memories wading. . . homeward bound. . . where eternity’s waiting. . . to receive me, and her, and him. . . again. . . If you can believe it! I know, cuz I have seen it, in the ancient biblio book: a backward look that history took: it lends to mere life . . . an eternal look. Every now and then we spring ourselves into eternal leanings, especially in this time of springtime gleaning. . . the cleaning of mind. . . in Time. . . whatever that is. Smoke

Mene Mene Terkel

While the ancient prophet Daniel served king Belshazzar, an unprecedented event occurred. While Bel and his sycophants and lackies and wannabees were gathered in a great feast with mucho wine and viands and goodies and dancing girls and blahblah, suddenly there appeared on the wall: MENE MENE TEKEL PHARSIN Translation: God has numbered the days of your reign, and brought it to an end. You have been weighed on the scales and been found incompetent. The Pharsi Persians are coming to get you! Later. . . exactly that happened. The Persians conquered the Babylonian kingdom. Now I don’t know but I been told, these words are very old; history doesn’t repeat itself but it does rhyme. Case in point: After Euro-Emperor Charlemagne died in 814 AD. . . his domain, in what is now western Europe, was divided between his three sons, Lothar, Louis and Pepin. As the 9th century rolled on by, kings come and kings go, vassals hassle to and fro, clerics strive to illuminate the show, as vines grow and everyone knows that what goes around comes around and we all face that inevitable fate. . . the D word. . . Long story short: the Charlemagne dynasty came, by ’n by, to a bitter end. The heavy mantle of decline could be discerned when one wise guy named Boso became head honcho after his predecessors, Louis and Carloman, died in freak accidents. So then it was that Boso the Frown dragged western Europe down, down, down. As the dregs of Carolingian empire became sediment in the Rhone and the Rhine, one Charles the Fat was assigned by the powers that be and the flying fickle finger of fate to be deposed and so he—last strongman of the Carolingian empire— abdicated in 888. As he lay dying, Charles had a dream in which these ancient Germanic words were revealed to him: Raht Radollida Nasq Enta Translated to English, we find: Abundance Diminishing. Avarice End Long story short, as centuries rolled by. . . the great legacy of Carolingian leadership was transponded, through history and human avarice, scheming, manipulations and the flying ficke finger of FATE . . . westward into Germany, the so-called Holy Roman Empire, then later, Austro-Hungarian empire, which was terminated at the demise of European royal authority, beginning with the assassination of Austrian archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo in 1914, then subsequently WW1, then the degeneration of postwar Germany into hitler’s third reich, then unprecedented historical fight and blight, and the cold hard truth that all things must end and then something else begins again. God only know who, what and why. Meanwhile, in the sweet by and by, on the other side of Atlantica, the new kid on the block, USA, emerged from the dusty destinies of world history. . . and now we have hung on to this Republic/Democracy hybrid for, lo, these 249 years, and we helped to rescue the Europeans from the krauts in 1918 and 1945, and now we have to help them again with the new badboy kid on the block, Vlad the Mad. One more little side note: iin the above cryptic words given to Charles the Fat, we notice the third word: Nasq. Now I don’t know, cuz I’m getting old. . . Nasdaq? Just sayin’ And now the question pops up: What man, woman, or beast will be the next to be confronted with the ancient challenge of Fate/Providence: MENE MENE TEKEL. ______ (fill in the blank)

Smoke

Parabolic Magaholic

Back in the day, as they say, long before the fray, the tale is told. . . from lips of old, of the parable of the president, to wit: Now when they told Dwight David, he went and stood on the top of Capitol hill , and lifted his voice and called out. Listen to me, oh men of America, , so that the God in whom we trust will listen to you. Here’s one of my officers; he’s going to tell you about the MIComplex that we need to keep an eye on. And all was well for a time, times, and half a time. But be careful: in this day of cathode rays, and power plays and rows and flows of silicon hair and world-wide webs and hassles in the air and collateralized debts and moss-backed securities. . .it’s not what you think, and things are not what they seem. . . “Once upon a time, the trees went forth to anoint a king over themselves, and they said to the gipper tree, will you step into the Oval of power and commence to takin’ care of bizness for us? The Gipper said: “Are you kidding? I’m done here. I believe I’ll don my hat and ride into the sunset.” And so they said to the Bush: will step into the Oval and commence takin’ care of bizness for us? But Bush, his demeanor demeaned, replied: “Sorry, guys; it ain’t gonna happen. I did my time; but then Bill and Hilary came along and sent me back to the land of milk and honey.” And so they said to other Bush: will you step up to the oval and commence to takin’ care of business for us? But Bush 2 said: “It’s been nice knowin’ you, and we’ve had a good run and all that, and anyway all hell is breaking out on Wall street and methinks we’ll just step aside and let Barak, the celestial transponder, fly in and see if the mullahs and movers and the shakers and the bakers and the candlestick-makers can get this turned around again.” Finally, the trees said to the bumple-trumple, “come and do your thing; you showed us on 5th avenue you could take potshots and nobody squawk about it. Step up to the butch masters and show us what you got!” So he did. Waving his hands side to side, the bumple-trumple proclaimed: “If you on truth social are anointing me as king over you, come and make your booty-pie in my artful Deal . . .”(You’ve heard of the New Deal, right? This is the Wheeler-Deal.)

“But if not, may the rebels come out from their brambles and consume the cherry trees that line the boulevards of Oz, or the jersey shore, on putin’s don-bass door or whatever floats our boat, formerly your ship state, until our ship comes in again and we can make this country grate its teeth again . . . you heard about the fake news, right?” (ed.)Fake news is on the right, ever since foxy-woxy trumpy-tail stole the vines from the post and the times. Just sayin’. . . and now the Dems are texting me that trump just declared MSNBC illegal, as if he could do such a thing! In your dreams, donnie, in your dreams! That’s what happens when the trees turn to a bramble gambler to be their king. King of what? maybe maraslago; that’s about it. Maybe he can rig a chess match with Vlad the Mad and they can push their pawns and pieces around on the chess boards of time and authoritarian slime. If what I tell rings a bell, you can turn to Judges 9 in the Old book and take a look. Parables don’t repeat, but they do rhyme, some of the time. Glass half-Full

Herds of Words

Genesis story glory beginning sinning winning losing, choosing cruising abusing fusing musing winning beginning, sinning, pinning, squinting hinting consenting relenting weak and strong right and wrong snowsuit and thong ding dong wicked witch is dead follow good witch instead ruby slippers, strippers rippers grippers try not to look read a book say what’s a book? look it up; google it floozle it bamboozle it with whimpers tempers, all ye limpers and ye hempers choking smokers don’t you know the jokers joke’s on you see how they run like magas on the run see how they snied I’m crying. I’m crying. kings bring, bees sting, dancers fling, teens bling, do your thing empires, squires, fires, liars, hires, dire straits open gates weights wait civilizations generations, imaginations fascinations, machinations emperors whimperers tempers whimpers limpers squires sires hires tires fires liars friars fryers, buyers wires earls dukes kooks Beatles Byrds with words like curds and herds and herds of fans sellers yellers tellers fellers helter skelters melters makers shakers rows and flows of angel hair and ice cream castles in the air stairway to heaven, seven eleven, leaven, revvin’ rhymin’ Simon, Brooklyn Bridge 59th and 5th Ave it all comes back to me now. engines injuns Indians Corinthians Olympians Greeks freaks peaks streaks, Watergate leaks leeks weeks Dealy Plaza, Lazarus, 9/11, I’m hoping there’s a heaven. months years decades centuries millennia eras eons, even gihon spring spring fling, bling, wing sing ding dong bring rings and things jewels, duals, fuels, mules, tools, fools America drools in schools vassals, hassles, wrestlers, hustlers, Custer Little Big Horn, rows and rows of corn, garments torn, yet children born children grow, winds blow, to and fro, where they blow I don’t know proles with souls, goals and holes shoals and doles donkeys with foals. Olds, Cadillac Mercedes, BMW, what’s it to ya wealth health stealth farms and factories, physicians, phylacteries, philosophies, glossaries rosaries hosiery girls legs in Catholic schools, fools like me but only God can make a tree, and that’s for free!

actuaries, mortuaries, cemetaries, berries, ferryies Mary quite contrary I don’t know but I been told streets in heaven paved with gold It’s an old tale, old, old, I’m told. And yes, I’m getting old. I guess you can tell. I mean, old friends sit on their park bench like bookends newspaper blown through the grass falls on the round toes of the Old Friends, who sit on their park bench like bookends. Bookends send a thought to mend a few life-pages together. . . a few words all huddled up in herds: I know you think I’m crazy but I sho’nuff won’t be lazy I be rappin’ out these words in time, maybe even some do rhyme! Maybe some don’t. As for me, I won’t, unless I have to cuz I’m on Social Security. Put that it your pipe an smoke it musky-boy! I may be a fool, but I ain’t no deepstate toy! Anyway. . . History; mystery. Y’all come back now ya’heah? as we used to say in the Deep South, but now I’m just a mouth running free. . . Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty we free at last! To write, to glean, perchance to dream, Aye! there’s the rub! For in the spilling of the word, in herds, what dreams may come! No, I ain’t dumb, just old, in the Ages rolled, but never sold, although you can buy my books, you know. On Amazon, they come and go dreaming, like Michelangelo. . . Rowland, rollin’ something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, like Roland of Old, blowin’ his horn, his troop forlorn All that to say. . . Blast from the past. Just sayin’ . . . but still praying while I grow old, or so I’m told. King of Soul

Moby Deepst

Call me Eshmail. Some years ago—I think it was in January 2021—having only a few bucks in my bank account, and nothing in particular to do except surf the web, I thought I’d take it upon myself to take a road trip, which later morphed into a proud journey, for which I was besought to take an oath. By ’n by, I found myself in the folds of a mere three percent of humanity, whether by the luck of the draw, or by Providence, i do not know, to this day, know, although. on the appointed launching day I did go. . . come hell or high water. It was on one of those amoral weathering mornings in January, as I did leap into the shotgun-seat of some duly-appointed companion who went by the name the name of Starlinks. As one thing led to another, I find myself unexpectedly, perplexed, being surrounded and guided by a a great fleet of discontents streaming, as would a school of porpoises, to an elliptical reef that was on the edge of a some great upwardly-spiring monument, in the midst of a great school of scupperdong come-alongs who had gathered to receive their marching orders. And there was I; little did I know what mischief would soon transgress the storied paths of mall-walking guys who were soon bound to that great doomed-dome in the distant mall. But I joined them all, to press forth to victory. . . to stall, to stall—that is the question—whether ’tis nobler to sling the slings of outrageous insurrection, or, by neglecting, prolong them. When suddenly, in my ears, came the clarion call from Capt’n Trumab himself: “Stand back, mates, and stand by” until such a time as I direct thee, by ’n by, and may the gull of paradise direct your toes. . . to neptune’s chambers where ye shall stand upon the decks of destiny, face to face with out great foe, Moby Deepst! “Great Wod! but for one moment, show thyself, Moby Deepst!

Shine forth thine Electoral blubber! and we will have our chief harpoonist Proudpeg pierce thee with the slings and arrows of outrageous insurrection! Give me anarchy or give me wealth! For we shall stand upon the pavers of Constitution Avenue and shine forth the great MAGoo red-light of rebellion and foxy-woxy stealing of the vines, for us and for them, and Me and for Mine! Casting his countenance steadily into the rebel crowd, “Stand back, and stand by, ye proud men! Ye see an old Dealer cut to the rump, whose art is but to fart out the soliloqueeqegs of endearing insurrection. Shall we keep stalking this monster of the Deepst? Nay, nay! I say unto thee!” But then, by sudden streaming prompts I did awaken, my consciousness extremely shaken. But in the sweet by ’n by of wakefulness did I . . . realize . . .’t’was only a bad dream. To dream, to dream, perchance to dream—’t’was nothing more than a maga scheme! Glass half-Full