Requiem for our Boomer Angst

 The Poet Laurete of my baby-booming generation composed a "piece" about the tragic turning point  of our  g-generation . . . which was a take-out order from Dallas, 1963, if you know what I mean.

I stumbled upon its youtube presence by AI chance, or possibly by a simple twist of fate.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZWtzNJz1Q-c

If you've lived long enough to shuffle the 7th deck of this earthly house of cards, you will grok the meaning  in cousin Bob's timely dirge.

If you are a child born of some other generation--before or after us boomers--perhaps you will detect some note of profundity in brotha Bob's offering on the sacrificial altar of time. . . whatever "time" is.

King of Soul

Fascist Renegades 1937

 Prince Harry's great grandfather was crowned King in 1937.

Just as London streets were recently crowded for the coronation of Charles III, in like manner were those streets  filled with Brits for King George VI's Coronation day, May 12, 1937.  King George, like Harry, was the "spare" until his brother, Edward VIII abdicated.

My 2014 novel, Smoke, begins on that day in London. A young American businessman, Philip Morrow is  accompanied by his British friend, Nathan Wachov; they are negotiating a path through the crowds. Suddenly an old man desperately grabs Nathan's arm. But within a few minutes, the fellow collapses, suddenly . . . dead.

 At the beginning of chapter 2, the policeman begins questioning Nathan, into whose arms the old fellow had fallen. . .

     The policeman asked Nathan if there was anything else he had noticed about the deceased.

     “He handed this to me,” said Nathan, “even as he was falling to the ground.”  It was a folded white paper, with this handwritten message largely scrawled in black ink: 

Wallris--

John Bull's ransom will smoke out the black shirts tomorrow. If not, your bridge could burn.                                                 Chapman

     The bobby, raising his eyebrows, looked up at Nathan. “Mr., uh..., your name sir?”

     “Nathan Wachov, of Islington.”

     “Mr. Wachov, did the gentleman, Mr. Wallris, did he display any signs of struggle?”

     “He was struggling to stay on his feet, sir, but was incapable of it. He was losing strength rapidly when I went to his aid.”

     “Did his death appear to you to be, ah...natural?”

     “He was gasping for air, and mucous was dripping from his mouth. I don't know; I've never had anyone die in my arms before now.”

     “Gasping?”

     “Yes. Wouldn't you say that would be a natural response of anyone who is taking his last breaths?”

     “Yes. Quite so.” The policeman looked down at the body again. “I'll need to take this note, you know.  Since this incident has resulted in a death, I'll need to retain any items that could be evidence.”

     “Evidence… of what? He gave it to me.”

     “While he may have handed it to you, that doesn't mean he gave it to you for keeping. This is routine procedure, I assure you, Mr. Wachov, in such a case as this.”

     “Certainly,  do your duty, sir.”

     Two medics arrived with a gurney. Officer Morley began to facilitate their task of removing the body. “Stand aside, now,” he commanded to the onlookers,” raising his arms to shoo them away. “Move along now. We’ve a new king to crown today. Better get on with it.”

     Stepping aside, Philip looked quizzically at Nathan. He was curious about the note. “Black shirts?”

     "Fascist renegades," replied Nathan, “Mosley's rabble upstarts.”

Smoke

Children

 

Children

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for what is right; they will be satisfied.

Blessed are they who are poor in their spirit; theirs is the kingdom of God.

Blessed are the peacemakers; they will be called children of God.

Blessed are the gentle people; they will inherit the earth.

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for what is right; they will be satisfied.

Blessed are they who practice mercy; they will receive mercy.

Blessed are they who mourn; they will be comforted.

Here’s the Way our associate,Rich Mullins, thought about it:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-JNC8UkfhM. 

Glass half-Full

Mr. Taunton's Message

 Now that our nation is in the process of ejecting donald trump from his reign as executive destroyer of the USA, we Christians can get back to our roles as being responsible citizens who are followers of Jesus Christ.

We do not know who will be the next Republican Presidential nominee, but it is now becoming an obvious fact that Americans are starting to see the cold, hard truth about the usurper who attempted to steal the 2020 election.

A few weeks ago I happened to listen to a podcast from Larry Alex Taunton. I was favorably impressed with his message, initially.

But in the middle of his message, he spoke favorably about the joker ex-president, so I steered my laptop and my attention from Mr. Taunton’s message. 

This morning, I happened upon a message from him with which I am in almost total agreement. 

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lu_xQBYZZME

If you are inclined toward the Christian worldview, or if you are not so-inclined, I recommend that you listen to his analysis and exhortation of what is happening to our society now because of the transies and other immoral, unnatural influences. 

Bottom line: The message of Larry Alex Taunton is highly relevant to Americans who want to stop our nation’s slow slide into both . . . trumpian anarchy on the right and transie-babylonist decadence on the left.

Now that we so-called evangelicals are in a favorable position to escape the corrupt influence of the self-obsessed demagogue who instigated a treasonous riot on January 6, 2021. . . now we can get back to the normal Christian life (as Watchman Nee called it)  instead of promoting  magamania like religious idiots.

As Gerald Ford had declared after we ejected Nixon in 1974, “Our long national nightmare is over”. . .

So is our long national trumpian tragedy approaching its inevitable conclusion; it is almost over. Thank God. And thanks to our United States Department of Justice. Now we can all get back to the business of being law-abiding American citizens. 

And all you Republican wannabee presidential candidates out there, please take note. Forget about donald trump; stop trying to imitate him.

Glass half-Full

Glass half-Full

 In my 2007 novel, Glass half-Full, chapter 6, Marcus and Bridget visit the Lincoln Memorial. But their visit is rudely interrupted. . .

They came to an inner sanctum. Carved on the white marble wall in front of them were the words of the slain President’s Gettysburg address. Marcus stopped, taking in the enormity of it, both physically and philosophically. He was looking at the speech intently. Bridget was looking at him.

After a few moments: “Isn’t that amazing?

“Yes.” She could see that he was thinking hard about something. The great chamber echoed a murmur of humankind.

“Supreme irony.” The longing of a nation’s soul reverberated through the memorial… in the soundings of children, the whisperings of passersby. Deep within Marcus’ soul, something sacred was stirring, and she could see it coming forth.

“The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but can never forget what they did here.” He was reading aloud Lincoln's words on the white wall.

But for the echoes of a million people who had passed through this place, there was silence. After a moment, Bridget responded. “…and yet, there it is carved on the wall, for all to see: ‘the world will little note what we say here….’”

“Right, Bridget. Isn’t it amazing?”

Suddenly, amid the noise was a loud shouting.

Marcus could hear where it was coming from. He moved quickly away, toward the noise, to see what was happening. Bridget felt the sudden coolness of air on her hand, in the absence of Marcus’ gentle grip.

As soon as he emerged from behind the marble column, Marcus was puzzled by an incongruous, glistening wet flash of red upon the feet of Lincoln’s statue. What the hell? Instinctively, he ran over to it. He could still hear a constant shouting; it was a ranting. Then his attention settled on the man who was yelling. He had a bucket in his hand, dripping with red paint. The rant went on, and suddenly Marcus was comprehending it: “…you sonofabitch see if you can get that off and then rub it on your white ass, your sorry white ass that destroyed what this country could have been you’re a traitor to your race.”

This must be a dream, a very bad dream.

Glass half-Full

Sick and Tired of It

 I am sick and tired of all these poll-obsessed talking heads; I’m fed up with their rampant presuming that donald trump is going to be Republican nominee in ’24. 

It ain’t gonna happen; by the time our next election rolls around, donald trump will be in prison.

Furthermore, even if he is not a cuckoo jailbird, the former occupant of the oval does not represent the Republican party, the party of Abraham Lincoln.

Lincoln was our Commander in Chief who sent our soldiers out to the battlefields, to put an end to the massive insurrection of 1860-1865. He led us in that brave, blood-borne campaign to repair the Union of our United States. 

But now, donald trump has assumed command of the rebel oathers and the proudkids and  the other maga rioters who are attempting an uncivil war rerun. The orange fascist dicatator-wannabee summoned up his rebels on Jan6 to damn-near kill our Capitol Police Officer Fanone:

and to make our Reps and our Senators have to run for their lives:

But, as if that were not bad enough, there’s another grievious development that is driving me crazy. The Dems are not presenting a viable alternative; they’re all whacked out in their obsession with identity politics. 

I will not be joining the Democrats, which I left behind after their disastrous convention in ’68.

We the People of the Grand Ole Party of Abraham Lincoln now find ourselves in a dreadful situation. We need a leader who is willing to take the bull by the horns and dump trump.

Mike Pence, bless his heart, saved our Union from the riotous insurrection of Jan6. Mike did the right thing. I appreciate his righteous courage at that moment in time. But now he has sunken back into political meesh-mosh, trying to court the trumpian foxes by beating around the bush.

Your careful speeches, Mike, aint gonna cut the mustard.

Chris Christie is on the right track, but I don’t know if he has the wherewithal to wrangle the nomination away from all the trumpy wannabees; but he is the only one who is willing to tell it like it is.

So now I’ve come full circle in this rant. I am sick and tired of the poll-watching talking heads who talk about the orange maniac as if he will be the nominee.

But all credible indications are that donald trump will be in prison during the election of 2024.

P.S. I am sick and tired of all the magas who don't bother to read anything that will inform them of the danger that they are slowly but surely inflicting on our republic.

Glass half-Full

Mactrumpth, a play

 Mactrumpth , a play by Willy Shakespurs

Scene I. A Capitol place. Shouting and Rioting

 

First Magahag: When will we meet again, in rebellion, rioting and rant?

Second Magahag: When the hurlyburly’s done. When the election’s lost and won.

Third Magahag:  That will be ere the casting of of the votes.

First Magahag:  Oh, where the Place?

Second Magahag: Within yon House and Senate Chambers.

Third Magahag:  There to promote Mactrumpth.

First Magahag: Yonder cometh Banonquo!

Second Witch:  Aye, anon, and Stonerugger  calls.

Third Witch:   And Eastmun, no doubt.

All: Fair is foul, and foul is fair: Hover through the maga air!

 

Scene II. A field near Ellipse

Thunder. Enter the three Magahags.

First Magahag: Where art thou bound, Two%er?

Second Magahag: To conspire with yon Prouddudes.

First  Magahag: And thou?

Third Magahag: Aye, like a rat without a tail, I’ll do, I’ll do, I’ll do until yon OathBeepers tweet.

Enter Mactrumphth and Banonquo 

Mactrumpth: So foul and fair a day I have not seen. Yet, anon, t’will be Wild!

Banonquo: How foul and fair indeed! Yet what are these magas so wild and heil’d in their attire? Surely they are Mads, for their oath  doth keep them in their ire, likely until Burn’um wood doth move against Congress’game.

Mactrumpth: Come, if thou can, ’t’will be wild!

First Magahag: All hail, Mactrumpth! Hail thee, King of Mactrumpth Tower!

Second Witch: All hail, Mactrumph! Hail thee, King of MoraLogo!

Third Magahag: All hail, Mactrumph, who shall be Prez hereafter!

All: Mactrumpth and Banonquo, all hail!

Mactrumpth: Stay, you rabid tweaters, tell me more: By hook or crook I know I am King of MoroLogo, and now of Ovalhovel. (aside to the cameras) Say, from whence ye maga-wizards in the cloud do come; Say! as you raise so perfectly this convenient Electoral disruption! As if I didn’t know! Behold thy smoke, in witch I espy yon gallows, prepared, no doubt, for Burn’um would to move against yon Bydun game!

Witches disappear in a cloud of insurrection.

(To be continued)

 

Glass half-Full