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

Temple Come Temple Go

Temple come, Temple go, built in stones, row by row, like Michelangelo, sculpting inspirations long ago. As years come and centuries go: temples built high from stones below. Solomon had built a temple long ago. Alas! His temple’s history’s filled with woe, Nebuchadnezzar destroyed it to put on a show! until Cyrus let the Hebrews go, go, go! to rebuild their temple, high up from low. Herod’s show built on sacred mount, a Roman show. Messiah’s words, misunderstood, implied destruction, a woeful show, although he had been referring to his crucifixion woe which would update their ancient sacrificial show. Temple come, Temple go, while years come and Ages go: Along comes Titus with his dreadful Roman show: “Tear it down!”; do not collect 200; do not pass go! ’Titus struck the fatal blow that Jesus had foretold, in one swift blow! Jews in woe, renewed their ancient Exodic Go! Second exodus, y’know, and then a third , more diaspora woe! Centuries rolled by as Time did flow; along came Imam Mo. . . . . .hammed, in night flight journey he did go! On Buraq burro he did go, arriving at the wall of ancient Hebrew woe. He climbed up ladder to view celestial show. remembering Jacob’s ladder of long ago, which may be the same, but I don’t know. I did dream a dream of Jacob’s ladder , many moons ago. So who am I to say ‘bout Mohammed’s show? with Angel Gabriel, long time ago,with angels climbing to and fro to see an Adam, Joseph, Enoch, Aaron, Moses show Patriarchs of long ago! all lit up in such incredible angelic glow. When Islam’s Prophet reached the top of his ascending show he encountered Moses, patriarch of long ago. Law receiver, ancient believer, recipient of the YWHW glow. Moses advised him to negotiate, don’t ya know about how many prayers one must say when negotiating with God from day to day. Now I don’t know but I been told that wise men talk to God when they get old. Solomon built that first temple long ago. Zerubbabel’s version brought the second show. Now I don’t know; I heard it through the grapevine: Israeli Jews prepare to whisk the sands of time and build another temple on the Mount, which would be their third, by my count. Now the Jews are amping up their plans to erect their third temple there, built for God’s elect. And really, getting right down it, you see. . . there’s only one place it could be!

But one little problem we can discern As Muslims fret and Hebrews yearn! If Jews starting digging down in sacred Al Sharif ground then the world may hear that dreaded sound as Arab ire sends shots heard round the world and temple stones get flung in apocalyptic whirl. Now I don’t know but I been told This contention’s very old. We just don’t know what could go down if Jews do digging Sharif sacred ground. I mean the Jews made it holy in the ancient days; maybe they’re due some acreage in these Israeli days. Just sayin. Keep prayin’. Now I believe I know, ‘cause i been told: the New Temple awaits us in streets of gold! Glass half Full

Fate Chance Faith

Not very long ago, a group called the Lumineers was in my ears as we would be riding in the car while my wife was receiving tunes on her Iphone. I was quite amused with their song that had this chorus: “Nobody knows, how the story ends; nobody knows. nobody knows.” Hmm. . . something to ponder there. I mean. . . nobody knows. Selah. maybe, maybe not. I read an ancient book every morning that does tell me how the story ends. The dynamic conclusion discloses an account of the Son of Man who suffered a criminal death and then Resurrected and lived to tell about it. You believe that? If you do, I’ve got some real estate in heaven I’ll tell you about. Later. But ss I was saying, nobody knows exactly how the story ends. . . is, seems to me, what the Lumineers were pondering, so profoundly and yet so simply in their song Then there’s the question of Time. A big band rock group, Chicago, from back in the day, 1960’s . . . presented this question to us boomer radio-listeners: “Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?” I mean, it was a great song, with a lot of soul and rhythm and some serious brass and horns backing up the soulful singer and the guitar and the bass and all that stuff that bands have had ever since Light’nin’ Hopkins picked up a guitar and Louie picked up his horn and God only know who showed up for that great festival of music that had started back in the day with Francis Scott Key and Aaron Copland and Duke Ellington and Duke Ellington and Tommy Dorsey and Glenn Miller and Muddy Waters and B.B. King and the Everly Brothers and Elvis and Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger and Peter, Paul, and Mary and Joan and Judy and Bob and then the Fab Four suddenly manifested out of the misty white cliffs of merry old England and they turned rock and pop into something else entirely and then one day Ringo and Paul were sitting on an airplane, when Paul said to Ringo. “Please pass the salt and pepper.” And Ringo later explained that he thought Paul had said, “Sergeant Pepper.” And the rest is rock ’n roll history. John later sang: “You say you want a revolution? Well, you know, we all wanta change the world!” Yes, John, we do, but you guys changed the world of music. But that’s neither there. I’m starting to see now, at 73, how it was for my grandparents and my step-grandparents, back in the day when Duke and Dorsey and all them big bands were doing their song and love songs were the heart of soul of America after our guys came back from running the nazis back in their holes and the Japs into being the guinea pigs of the nuclear age. But what can you say? They asked for it. . . Pearl Harbor. . . I know: that’s water under the bridge of history. Read ‘em and weep, Read it all and discern a lesson or two, but, but what good does it do when you’re only one grain on the beaches of mankind. . . Normandy beach or California beach or the Edmund Fitzgerald or the Titanic or the Mayflower or the Ships at Ellis Island. . . catching view, as Bro Paul did, of Lady Liberty with her lamp at the golden door awaiting all those huddled masses yearning to be free! Now, but as I was saying earlier, there’s this life mystery wrapped in an enigma, like the Soviet Union used to be. Now Russia— its’s just a tragedy wrapped in a putin pushch. But I digress. Somebody needs to run that whacko off of his high horse before he pulls another 1938-45 clusterfeud. But as I was sayin’. . . So I’m ruminating on this Fate or Chance or Faith quandary. Which is it? Well, its like. . . both, and, or maybe its, since nobody knows how the story ends, the best choice is to go with the Eternity Plan, the one introduced to mankind by the man. who died a criminal death and then lived to tell about it. Then you can be released from all the complexity of this life, released from the flying fickle finger of Fate; you can be liberated from the limitations of mere luck, delivered from diabolical doubt and destruction. Back in the day, Ringo’s other buddy, John, intoned a tune of musical historical observation about a “lucky man who made the grade” who “blew his mind out in a car. He hadn’t noticed that the lights had changed”. . . but hey! and, nobody knows how that story ended, comprendo? Nobody knows. We know only that, according to the human experience, the “story” for each person does end. . But moving right along, because, life does that y’know. . .

I recall that John also had sung in that same “Day in the Life” song: “I read the news today oh boy; the English army had just won the war; a crowd of people turned away, but i just had to look, having read the book.” John’s musico-poetico profundity rings my chimes, which is why, I suppose, that Lonfon scene. . . described as it was in John’s doleful tune . . . became, after many. and many a year had passed . . . the scenario for the opening scene of my Smoke, a 300-page novel, which was ignored by random house and harper collins but published by Amazon KDP. Thank you, Jeff Bezos. But as I was sayin’. Nobody knows how the story begins. . . except maybe Ernest Hemingway, or Orwell, or Huxley. They’re gone now, but I’m still waiting, and watcher (although I am not one of infamous Watchers. . . just another fool on the hill who sees the sun going down and the world spinning ‘round. King of Soul

It's a Smoot Point

Ever since Aristotle and Plato conducted dialogues about philosophy. . . and even before that, when Moses and Aaron were trying to figure out how to get the hell out of Egypt . . . and even before that when the builders of Babylon were trying to figure out how to build their tower. . . humans have been talking about their problems, how to solve them, who’s to blame, and who’s in charge here. When Cromwell and his crew of renegades were striving to wrest power from KIng Charles, with their rebellion and their rump Parliament, as they were trying to figure their way around the problems of the day and deciding what should stay and what ought be cast away. . . When Jefferson and Franklin and John Henry and all those independently-minded patriots were debating how to effectively manage their revolution, to eject our new Republic away from the old monarch-weilding fuddy-duddy King George. . . and ever since Lincoln v Douglas and Lincoln v Jeff Davis. . .

and ever since Edison and Tesla were arguing about DC v AC at the Chicago World’s Fair; ever since William Jennings Bryan carried his cross of gold, rhetorically decrying the gold standard and Republican power-mongering . . . ever since William McKinley was re-elected at the dawn of the 20th-century . . . the century I was born in the middle of. . . ever since Kennedy debated Nixon, and Greenwich Village and Haight-Ashbury and Kent State, and ever since Woodward and Bernstein consulted with Deep Throat. . . ever since Jimmy Carter drawled his way out of Georgia and then the Hollywood rhetoric-master Reagan took the helm and told Gorbachev to tear down that wall. . . ever since Bill and Hilary talked their way out from under the Little Rock and hit the big time, and all that ‘90’s silicon-sliding world change was whirling and twirling through Time and Newsweek and CBS and NBC and ABC and 1,2, 3 times as many mouths flappin’ their jaws online, and keyboards pecking in time, and Jim Croce said “you can keep the dime” and Bush v Gore and then Obama and along comes the golden boy who could fire shots on 5th avenue and nobody notice. . . he could dog-whistle his proud toys and hist oath-peelers and his 3dissenters. . . . . . and ever since Biden was debating while his opponent blew the whistle to call a halt toAmerican Law, while maybe a few other Americans happened to be watching something besides their little pocket screens and maybe even reading, goad-forbid, the Times or the Post or whatever rag floats your boat, maybe even book or two, . . . and all of that that’s been going on, even right up to now when the guy in charge is dragging up old tariff strategies, even though it is common knowledge the Smoot-Hawley tariff was enacted back in the ‘30’s and it facilitated the great depression. . . even though all that stuff happened back in the day, now the golden-haired bronx bomber wants to cram tariff flotsam down on the currents of world trade and American prosperity, floating floozie flotsam from epstein island to New York harbor to San Francisco bay, all along the watchtower at the midnight hour and what was formally our finest hour at Normandy Beach and Guadalcanal is now being tossed into the trash history history that nobody reads about any more because they’re all gazing at screens in their new digitized American dream, as Vlad the Mad slowly creeps past Kievan lands to steal the Euro Union away, like his predecessor had so slyly slidden the nazi third reich thugs through Sudetan borders past Czech borders while the world looked the other way and even now, y’all, while the American Union’s still stuck in—read ‘em and weep, — an insurrectionist fray . . . but hey . . . it’s just a Smoot point anyway. I can’t imagine what Josh Hawley would say about it. I think I saw Josh on a video walking across the hall, but I digress. Now I think that’s all, folks, and, as has Ringo had sung it back in the day: “Now the sun turns out his light. Good night, sleep tight. Dream sweet dreams”. . . . but I awaken wondering, where’s Abraham, Martin and John when you need them? Glass half-Full

My friend Kevin brought these words to may attention. . . found in an ancient book written by a guy named Samuel. Sam wrote: “And the king said to the guards who were attending him: ‘Turn around and put the priests of the Lord to death, because their hand also is with David and because they knew that he was fleeing and did not reveal it to me,’ But the servants of the king were not willing to put forth their hands to attack the priests of the Lord.” “Then the king said to Doeg, ‘You turn around and attack the priests.’ And Doeg the Edomite turned around and attacked the priests. . .” Now I don’t know but I been told that some things are new and some things are old. Meanwhile, back at the tranche, the world goes round and round and the painted ponies go up and down; we’re clueless in the carousel of time and the revolving door of history. History, they say, doesn’t repeat itself, but it does rhyme, at least sometimes. . .

And whereas the carousel spins and every now and then we come around to where we been. . . I mean, not exactly, but . . . In ancient days, a king appointed the Elamite Doeg to attack the priests. In nowadays . . .a king appointed the Elonite DOGE to attack the Deeps Considering all this, I am reminded of the words of bro Stephen who sang, back in the day. . . “There’s something happening here; what it is ain’t exactly clear. There’s a man with a . . . . over there, telling me I got to beware. I think it’s time we stop, children watch that sound. Everybody look what’s going down. . .:” Just sayin’, ya’ll. What it is ain’t exactly clear. . . but pay attention. As bro Stephen had sung, “There’s bad lines being drawn; nobody’s right, yet everybody’s wrong.” And bro Neil sang, back in the day, “Big birds flying across the sky, throwing shadows on our eyes. . . leave us helpless. . .“ That was in, like, 1971 or something. Nowadays, it; more like": World web weaving across our mind, throwing shadows on our eyes, leaving us helpless. I mean, not totally helpless, but we need to pay attention to our own hearts and minds, and—if you can believe it—our Higher Power, or God, whatever floats your boat. Don’t let ‘em drive you into the ground without first looking around around. . . (just sayin, y’all) Have a nice day. y’all King of Soul

The Ancient Battle

In ancient days, the people of the Book found themselves enslaved in a strange land, a land of pyramids and distant stars that shone through stony shelves to illuminate the minds of those Egyptians with secret doctrine and occultism and magic and sorcery by which they thought they could enslave the people of the Book. But that didn’t work out for the ancient power mongers, because the Lord of Creation raised up a prophet to inspire his people and to to motivate them out of enslavement, out of Egypt, and into a land that they would occupy for a very long time. As time passed, the prophet wrote upon tablets an account of their genesis, their temporary enslavement, their exodus, and even an account of their ancestor who had preceded their enslavement, a man, Abraham, who had moved, back in the day, from one place to another, in order to establish a new way of living for himself, his sons and daughters, and his progeny. As the years rolled through them, Abraham’s descendants, primarily Moses, took up the scribe, or the stylus, or the pen or whatever it was, and continued that divinely-sinspired legacy of preserving history and wisdom and laws to live by. By ’n by, they became the people of the Book, who still perform the same functions in our world today. We thank the Jewish people for that long legacy of revelation, history and wisdom, and inspiration. After Moses . . . came many other scribes and prophets. . . just to name a few, Samuel, Elijah, Isaiah, Ezekiel, Daniel, Nehemiah, Ezra, Malachi, and right on up to Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, not to mention Paul, but oh, I just did. I take it, you’ve heard of them? n’est ce que pas? Consider, for instance, the ancient prophet/scribe Daniel, who had been taken captive by a strongman, an emperor/king, Nubuchadnezzar. Nebuchadnezzar was a mover and a shaker, a strong man, probably a bully, amd yes, a conqueror. He had been around the block a time or two. He noticed that Daniel, and a few of the other People of the Book, were smart, well-informed about the ways of the world, and. . . actually wise, even though they had not been sly enough to escape imprisonment by Neb’s Babylonian armies. Daniel’s wisdom provoked jealousy among some of the other staffers in Neb’s administration, and so they cooked up a scheme to take Daniel down, but it didn’t work. Daniel wrote about all that later. But that wasn’t all that Daniel wrote. Long story short. . . we are still reading Daniel’s best-seller, later included in a volume called, as the People of the Book called it, Torah. Later, after Jesus had been born, crucified and resurrected, we Christians added our testimonies onto that ancient Book that had been carried from generation to generation. Our addition was the New Testament. Put it all together and its the Bible. We Christians have great respect for the People of the Book, whose Torah got us going on the right path toward salvation, exodus from this present arrangement, and eternity with the Creator of Universe. But ya gotta believe it. Just sayin'. And if you believe that, I’ve got some real estate in heaven I’ll tell you about.

All along that watchtower of Torah and Testaments, we have had prophets. Daniel, for instance—getting back to Daniel—mentioned in what is called the 11th chapter, a certain type of leader, probably recurrent in human history, who serves the god of fortresses, sometimes called the god of forces, instead of the Lord of Creation, who actually set the Universe in motion: the stars, the planets, the atoms, the elements, the forces of nature, the genetic code, all of it. . . Later, Jesus the Messiah came along and proved to the human race that the god of forces is not the one who is actually in charge of this world. In fact, it was the god of forces who thought he was doing people of the Book a favor by putting Jesus on a cross. But the god of forces was severely self-deceiving himself when he thought he could get away with crucifying the Lord of the Universe. I mean, Herod probably said, on crucifixion day, There, let that be a lesson to these religious fanatics. That’ll teach ‘em to not go around making trouble for us who are in charge! You see, Herod, and Pilate and all those guys in charge thought they knew what was going on. They were serving the god of forces, or fortresses, whatever. But that’s all sound and fury and bluster signifying nothing much, in the big picture. The actual Truth is (the envelope please) the god of forces only thinks he’s in charge! Jesus used the very act of being crucified by the so-called powers that be. . . to prove that this life, Eternal life! is not killed off forever by the god of forces or fortresses, because the LORD Creator of the Universe set up the whole Life thing for forces and fortresses to be only a small component of the real thing, eternal life with the God of Creation. Jesus proved that by His Resurrection from death, in spite of the criminal execution! Can you dig it?! That’s the bottom line in this great story that was begun long ago when Moses started the Book and we added to it the most important part: Victory over death, and over our sin itself, which is what started the whole mess that we call human depravity and our sorry history of bloodshed, violence, depravity and death itself. But hey, I’m here to tell ya, death is only temporary. You believe that? Just sayin’. Have a nice day. Ponder it if you care to. Follow the Way Glass half-Full

Kings and Priests

World history has stretched out now for quite a long time. . . centuries and millennia of Time in which people come and go speaking of Michelangelo, or Larry, Moe and Curly Joe, or Joe Dimaggio, or Joe Biden or what happened in Dallas or what happened at Kent State or what happened to Sharon Tate or what makes people stupid or what makes makes people great. Phones, for instance, make people stupid. Ha ha, just kidding! whereas computers make people smart. As for Ai, well, we revert to the old assent of sailors: Aye, aye, sir! We pretty do much what ‘they”—whoever they are— tell us to do, while we think we’re telling them what to do. Haha! Just kiddfing. Anyway, I was noticing that, through human history, we have leaders who make things happen and we have followers, citizens who do the stuff when push comes to shove. Generally, throughout most of history, those leaders who make things happen were called, kings, or emperors. A couple of centuries ago we shifted our emphasis to call them presidents or prime ministers. In ancient times, a prophet, Samuel, was trying to help his tribe with some divinely inspired counsel, while they were dealing with some terrible problems, relating to governance and security and whatnot. I was pondering this recently and so I took a look in the Old Book and found the advice—or warning—that he had told his people, back in the day, and this is what he said: “I’m telling you. . . if you appoint a king over you, this is what he will do: he’ll take your sons and place them for himself in chariots and among his horsemen and they will run before his chariots. He will appoint for himself commanders of thousands and of fifties, and some to do his plowing and reap his harvest and to make his weapons of war and equipment for the chariots. He will take your daughters for cooks and bakers. He’ll take the best of your fields and your groves and give them to his servants.He’ll take (modern: tax, appropriate) your vineyards, your servants, your donkeys, a tenth of your flocks, and blah blah blah. . .” Even so, though, the people said don’t worry about it! We got this! Now that was a long time ago, and times have changed and everything is different now but in some ways its the same as it’s ever been. The rich get richer and the poor get poorer. What else is new? and What’s it to you?! But it’s all good, y’all! I mean, we can manage it, but every now and then some whacko breaks loose to try to take absolute control, like hitler did back in ’38, or like putin is trying to do now. Even so, We the People do elect and appoint people to try and keep things going on an even keel, and keep the kings of the earth from tearing down the whole kitnkaboodle with their power grabs. And yes, Virginia, we do still have “priests.” That is to say, smart people whose job is to guide us into paths of reason and righteousness, or at least try to. Nowadays the priests have, in many cases, morphed into the eggheads and professors and bureacrats whose job it is to keep things on an even keel instead of going off the deep end, like they did back in the ’30’s, at Sudetenland and Poland and Dachau and Auschwitz, and Dallas and Memphis and just wherever bad people try to start another sh**storm. And so, just sayin’, y’all. Don’t let your knickers down for just anybody. Pay attention, pay your taxes, your bills, your dues, sing the blues, and we’ll get through this in the sweet by ’n by, even our rich uncle think we’ve lost a screw or two,

and don’t get too bent outa shape about anything, Glass half-Full

E, E and Eternity

E is an Excellent letter in the English language. The peoples of Britain had emerged, over centuries of time, from a collection of migrating tribes, one of which was the Angles, who had migrated across the North Sea from the lands now called Denmark. Replacing the A with an E, for English, instead of Anglish, was a favourable arrangement because E has four parts instead of three—one big lines, one little line in the middle, and two lines, one on top; one on the bottom. More is better—in this case more lines four instead of three, as the English people discovered, by and byE, while sailing around the Earth a few times . . . and thereby associating their English selves and their culture and their literacy with other peoples, cultures, on far-away contintents, in lands where, so to speak, the sunset never set on the English. I know that seems a little Egotistic, but it worked quite a while for the English. But even they had to learn a thing or two when we Yanks had to tell King George III to take his Empire on shove it! But I digress. I will Egress to . . . they didn’t totally screw up; the English did do some things right. Here’s another thing. Early on, the English people were reading the Bible, and finding therein a literate connection with the ancient legacy of the HEbrew people. In that Bible, they noticed that one of the old-timers of that Scripture was (I’m going way back in Time here). . . Enoch, seventh generation fellow from Adam. . . and that Enoch had been taken into Eternity by Elohim, the Creator of the Earth and the Universe and all, Everything that is Everywhere! See what I mean about this E. . . E is the beginning of Excellence, always has been. Another Examplar of this E-phenom in the Bible is a prophet, Elijah, who was also taken directly into the Eternal realm by Elohim. He was taken up in a chariot of fire; then his trainee, Elisha followed in his footsteps. Elijah’s dramatic Exit in the chariot of fire was an inspiration to all Bible-readers for many ages thereafter, all the way into the 20th century. In the 1930’s the English people were amping up their energy to later run the nazis back into their holes. A team of English runners were running on a beach in St. Andrews, Scotland. They were preparing to compete in the 1936 Olympics, which were soon to take place in Germany, where all the holocaustic trouble in the world was busting out, from the mouth of a little krauty mustachio’d madman. The scene of the Englishmen running was later presented in a movie, Chariots of Fire, a film which tracked the Efforts of Eric Liddell, a Christian Englishman, and Harold Abrahams, a Jewish compatriot , in their storied path from training to victory in the 1936 Olympics.

Many years later, my son and I were walking on that beach when he stopped suddenly to ask me: “Do you recognize it?” “Recognize what?” I asked. He waved his hand along the wave-swept shore, toward the town of St. Andrews. But I still had not made the connection. We were running on that beach where the English runners had run back in ’36 when they had been training for the ‘36 Olympics. Those English runners later ran victorious at the Olympics in Berlin. . . . on chariots of fire, so to speak, as Elijah had done long, long ago in a land far, far away on this Earth, on the Easternmost shore of the Mediterranean Sea. Not only that, but, it’s no accident that the sun—source of Energy and warmth for everyone on Earth—comes up in the East! In a sense, Everything Emerges from the East. Civilization has generally moved, for the most part, in Earth history, from Eastward. Most of the ancient literature on which our civilization Emerged was written or carved in stone in, or near, the Euphrates valley, beginning in a land far, far away, in an Earth time long, long ago. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that there’s something special about that horizon over there. . . in the East! The sun sets in the West. That setting is like, downhill all the way, or at least the westward half of it, after its ascent from the East horizon. But Life is good like that. We’re born into it. Our life Emerges out of the shadow of mama’s womb like the sun rising in the East. But one day life will set down in the west and we will go into the big E.. . EtErnity! I Entreat you to Enter into Eternity with me, through the Everlasting life that Christ gave us when He Emerged from the grave on Easter morning; twas the the most important Event in history, the RE surrection, whereby we Enter into Eternity with the Everlasting Lord of Everything that Ever was, is or will bE! Smoke

It's Still Politics to Me

Here’s a little ditty of a poem, inspired by an old Billy Joel song I heard on the radio back in the day. . . Billy Joel’s “It’s Still Rock ’n Roll to Me.” (See link at bottom.) Here’s my 2025 America ditty, with words arranged (more or less) to fit the pattern that Billy had made such good use of in “Still Rock ’n Roll to Me.” What’s a matter with our wacky politickin’ in the year 2025? I wish I could be read’n some old newspapers from the year ’55. Where have we been on social media lately? You can’t make a make a point without first turning hately. Everybody’s talkin’ ‘bout the Jan6 riot, but it’s still insurrection to me. What’s a matter with the party I remember in November as a child? We can see that it’s gone all dismembered; that its all goin’ hog-wild. I can see its not the same old GO-party. Their best bet’s a maga mobby-starty.

mad men rippin’ down donkey-funk deep-junk; it’s still insurrection to me. Oh it doesn’t matter what they say on FacX fume cuz its just a bling echo room There’s a new king in town; though he aint got a crown and it feels like its doom and gloom How about a new pair of parties with a new way of doin’ things? We could really be a lawful Republic without all the b.s. bling1 Then we’d find ourselves a new way to govern instead of blowin’ fire in the mega-maga oven.

Next phase; new wave, no craze, anyways its still politics to me! Glass half-Full Now, if you wanna hear Billy singing his “Still Rock n Roll” song. . . . https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ngPI9ySYIUU