What They Understand

I hear a lot of complaining, and I don't see a lot of action. I guess I should say, I don't see a lot of real action. People are willing to do the easy things. We're less willing to take the difficult steps. We're even less likely to do the things that inconvenience us. I'm not a saint, I'm not perfect. So I'm not excluding myself from this, but I have taken some of these steps. The first ones are hard. They get easier the more often you do them. It really comes down to making informed decisions. I find it funny that corporations, those with less to lose seem more willing to take a stand for what they believe in than we, as people, are these days. Especially when they, so often, believe in almost nothing.

We'll get back to what we don't understand. Most of us don't have the courage of our convictions. Like I said, we'll get to that though. Recently, some pretty big companies, at least in the online world, have proven that they do. It's funny that they're showing us how to live. Let's look at some of the examples. I preface this by saying, I disagree with pretty much all of these decisions, but they are examples we need to see.

Facebook decided to play thought police. Realizing they had a "moral obligation" to the two party system, and theoretically their users, they started limiting the reach of what they considered fake news. This hampered a large number of alternative media outlets that relied on the social media giant to get the word out for them. Never mind that many of the people they were keeping from seeing these posts and announcements were those following these outlets, Facebook stuck to their guns. I mean, we can't have another Bernie Sanders fiasco, right? People were blaming Facebook for his popularity and the fact that people are so sure the primary was stolen from him. Have to make sure that can't happen again. So, never mind that this limit is likely to cost them money, they made that decision anyway. They took the hit and stuck to their principles, as warped as some of us might consider them.

Twitter, oh bastion of free speech. Have decided, in a strangely pseudo-Orwellian moment that they can no longer protect all speech. Pretty strange for a platform that started out as just that, but, okay. In doing so they enforced their new rules in a way that makes no differentiation between satire and the forms of speech they have decided to ban. So, they started banning their supporters. Sure, they have gone back and corrected some of the bans, but have they apologized? Have they stopped the assault? Have they fixed the problem? Give you a guess, bet you know the answer. Additionally, their actions have given rise to one of the darkest places on the internet, where those banned and their supporters now gather. It's pretty similar to Twitter, except through a very dark mirror. So now we have a very liberal, I won't call Twitter progressive (because it's not,) and a very conservative place. They fester and boil. They hate each other, and there is no communication, so there can be no peace, and no coming together for them. Twitter is also losing money, and losing users through these actions. Still, they stand by these new morals of theirs. Unapologetically they stand their ground.

Now, look over at Youtube, and how it is demonetizing certain videos. Do you agree with that? Do you not? Does it matter? For the case of this argument, it doesn't. What does matter, is they are, theoretically, losing themselves money by doing this. When ads don't play, they don't get money either, but they do it anyway.

Amazon does almost nothing to help out the independent author, despite the fact that they make more money off of our book sales than we do. Hell, they got rid of free give aways on Goodreads, you now have to pay for the privilege. So, now only the big boys can really afford it. Mind you, it really helps to get the word out, and most of my fellow indies can't afford this crap. But they did it, despite, again, the fact that getting more sales helps them. Why? Because it is not a part of their model.

Search engines suppress certain results.

And on, and on, and on...

Yet, you can't avoid going to Walmart, or Chick-Fil-A, or pick up something other than a Nestle bar? Come on? I'm not buying it. That's what they get that we don't. Sometimes you have to suffer a little bit, for your convictions, and in doing so, you can change the world.

A few years back, I went to a local butcher. Most of the time I do. Honestly, it costs about the same as going to a store, if you know what you're doing, and when you're getting quality meat, you can make it go further, in my experience. However, I had a friend with me who made a comment about how she wanted to shop more at places like that, but she didn't think the grocery store would be hurt by her dollars leaving. I had to explain to her that I didn't do it to hurt the grocery store.

I do it to keep the lights on at the butcher for another day.

The grocery store isn't going to miss my money, but the local place sure cares about it. And if we all did that the big places might just realize they aren't that big after all. We can also look at the fact that the local place buys mostly local, so the meat is fresher, it doesn't travel as far, reducing the fuel, and thus the carbon. Oh, hey that's a good thing. Most of the stuff is bought from family farms, not factory farms, another blow for the environment, right there. These are all good things. These are things we all need to start thinking about, because the corporations are.

I almost said our enemy is, but they aren't our enemy, are they? Maybe they are. It feels like it sometimes.

I'm not saying don't shop at Walmart if you want to. Maybe you do, but you should look into the political causes they support. For me, not giving them my money isn't about how they treat their workers, because every store like them treats their workers like shit. It's about inferior products, produced in slave conditions, exploiting underdeveloped nations, and the politics they fund. I can't support it.

I'm not saying don't get your chicken sandwich. But I can't support those politics. Maybe you can, in good conscience, I can't. Politics of death doesn't work for me.

Nestle, don't even get me started on them. They own the company that produces a water that I love, and bought my favorite hot chocolate company. Now I can't have either, because I love children, and yes, water is a human right. I can't eat my favorite fake pizza because their owner hates his employees and doesn't realize he's nothing without them. It goes on, and on, and on again.

Look, I get it. My life is drastically altered by the decision I made to live by my morals. Finding local places is hard. Finding places that don't commit human rights violations is even harder. Finding a place that honors life and holds dear to beliefs that are similar to yours might be hardest still. But we have to start doing it.

Because they are, and if entities whose only purpose is to make money can give some up, we can figure out a way to live our lives a little cleaner. I'm not saying to make the same decisions I have. Some of you don't care about the same things I do, but most of you do. Clean, sustainable planet. Your fellow human beings and their rights. It's not that hard. You might go the opposite way from me. So long as the decisions you make are informed ones, I'll be happy.

A little inconvenience is a small price to pay for a more complete life.

#freedom #justice #socialcommentary #thoughts #freespeech #commentary

A Different Social Media

For a while now I have been completely fed up with Facebook. I don't post here enough. I don't write enough. I don't do anything enough. Yet, when I'm not working, feeling sick, or sleeping, I stare at this electronic monster that eats my life, weakens my mind, and swallows my soul. I hate it, but I don't hate Social Media. I know there is a beauty behind it. I used to think Twitter was the way, until they started cracking down on the ideas of speech. I mean, when the platform founded on the ideas of free speech says they have grown past it (yes I'm over simplifying because I don't want to look up the quote) I lose faith in the platform. It still has its place and uses, but man, what a let down.

I started looking around at the alternatives, some of the new things coming out looked great. Some of them looked really great for artists! Then strangeness occurred. I was going to go into some details here, but I won't. Let's leave it at this. What I found is a few different places that aren't right. Places that don't live up to the hype, or places where those banned from Twitter congregate. In one case, I hope they evolve. In the other, I'm amazed that we now have two echo chambers fueling opposite sides. It is terrifying and counterproductive.

I didn't start this to bash what is out there though. Except maybe Facebook, because man am I miserable there. Aren't you? Never seeing the posts you want to see? Having ads for things you hate, don't want and don't need shoved down your throat, but not knowing what the people on your friends list are up to? I'm not saying I'm leaving it, not yet, but I'm spending less time there.

There has to be a better way.

And there is.

Come join me on Minds. I'm not sure if this link will automatically follow me. If not, follow PatrickElliottWrites and boom. There are a lot of great things about this place. Most of them you can discover for yourself. Your posts reach all of your followers. You earn points that you can use to boosts your posts to others. You can follow things you like. You can monetize your channel, so if you're an artist you can make some of your posts pay to view, if you want. I haven't done that yet, but I will probably do it in the future, maybe I'll go with Patreon instead, maybe both. Oh, and if you're not a dinosaur like me. They are launching a cryptocurrency in the first quarter of next year. So, lots of good stuff. The best part? I'm there, and I'm a badass. So, join me.

https://www.minds.com/register?referrer=PatrickElliottWrites

#minds #artists #author #socialcommentary #socialmedia #revolution

Change of Heart

Yes, I am about to get political. The muse still seems to be sleeping. If you want more writing posts, go buy my books so I can make that my way of supporting myself. Until then, you get mad rantings on things that annoy me. Well, occasionally things that make me happy. I'm a writer though, so how often is that going to happen?

So, I have been thinking about this a great deal recently. For me it is about freedom, and free speech. For many other people it is about so much more. I think it is sad that so many people have co-opted the narrative for their personal reasons and gains. So, let's ignore my personal pet cause for the moment shall we? Let's look past free speech and look to freedom and justice instead. I think those are really important things as well.

Last year, Colin Kaepernick was taking a knee during the National Anthem for a cause he believed in. I supported him, if for no other reason than because I love a good protest. Damn the man. Many fans hated him, and the NFL gave him the kiss of death. They ignored him, and then, when he was cut, they silently let his career die. For what crime? For protesting police violence and racial injustice in the United States.

Now, whether you agree with what he was saying or not, the fact is he has the right to protest. It's right there in the first amendment of the damn Constitution. Yeah, rule one has taken a beating over the last couple of years, and maybe I'll rant about that later, but let's just say it's there. There are people who say, but it's at work, so that doesn't apply. Okay, I might agree with you if it weren't for one thing. The NFL has a monopoly, so they don't get to pull the same shit that other companies do. Other companies can do that. But since they are breaking a big rule, and the government is ignoring it, like they shouldn't, they don't get to suppress the rights of their employees. But, not the point. Big point? He wasn't protesting for free speech. He was saying, hey cops! Stop killing people. Stop killing my people. Got it? That's what it was.

So, fast forward a year. Dear old Colin can't find a team, and the President is hurling insults at football, and everyone is surprised. Now all of a sudden everyone is taking a knee, or a lot of them. The NFL is suddenly okay with it, and it's all about free speech. As one commentator mentioned, only one team seems to remember what this protest was actually about. A couple of the players do, but only one team does. There is still an argument, but the league is suddenly okay with the protests. Nobody is being fired or fined. Now it's okay.

Why the reversal?

Good question.

Because they are following an old rule.

If you don't like what they are saying, change the conversation.

That's what they did. See, the NFL is okay with division, but they want to pretend that they are unified with the people and the players, against Trump. They aren't. They want you, they want us, divided.

The NFL is okay with this controversy over free speech. They don't mind being on the wrong side of that. They are okay with an argument of black versus white. They don't even mind being on the wrong side of that. They have conned you. Even though they don't care about a race argument, they turned this into the safest argument for them. They made this about the National Anthem. Which it never was! So now they are okay with the protests.

So, why weren't they okay with Kaepernick's original protests? Because it was a half step from an argument that was dangerous for them. He was talking about the police brutalizing and killing people. He was talking about a certain group of people. So that argument was divisive, yes, but a lot of white folks were getting on board. Okay, they might have been able to tolerate that. But if that gained steam, how long before the conversation became this.

You know, it's funny. There seem to be a lot of militarized police running around that are hurting average citizens, a lot of whom aren't white, all of them seem to be of moderate to low income. While there are a large number of good cops out there, the ones that are doing the bad stuff all seem to have really heavy grade hardware and are serving the interests of the corporate elite rather than the common people. It's almost like there is a connection between the tanks at Standing Rock, the dead man in New York who was selling product that big tobacco has a monopoly on, and all of this other stuff going on.

The current protests are about something that has nothing to do with them. Kaepernick's protest was one step or less from drawing attention to an issue they are a huge part of. They are rich, so the militarization of the police does nothing but benefit them. They love that they are allowed a monopoly that goes against the laws of this country. They love that as a corporation they are allowed to dump money into politics unchecked. Kaepernick, as one man, threatened them. His protest was real. This current slew of protests distracts you from them. They are bullshit. I love free speech. I love the First Amendment. They are things I stand for, above all else. Because of that, it offends me that they are being used to distract you from a different cause.

Whether you believe in that cause or not, start paying attention to it. Argue about it. Decide what needs to be done about that. We can argue free speech another time. You are being herded and it is time to break out of the pen, my friends. We have to stop falling for this. Because this division is killing us. We are not each other's enemy.

Get united.

#politics #commentary #taketheknee

My Dinner with The Son

I was just having dinner with Jesus. Yeah, since it's not football season he has some spare time to hang out with writers. It's a thing he does, hanging out with the little people, chilling with indies. I guess we're the modern day pariahs.

Anyway... you know when you're out with your friend and you start telling jokes? We get to that point. And Jesus is a funny guy. We're laughing, and he tells a real knee slapper. He says to me, "Patrick," He says, because Patrick is what he calls me. I mean I could insist on formality, but him being who he is I'm okay with informality. Anyway. "Patrick," He says, "Have you noticed how the people telling Christians to pay attention to Leviticus when it comes to immigrants are the same ones who were telling Christians to ignore Leviticus when it came to homosexuals a couple of months ago? Have you also noticed that nobody seems to notice that I undid all the laws in Leviticus and said the new law is don't be a dick?"

We laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Eventually a couple of old ladies shushed us and called him a long hair. He turned their coffee into whiskey and they were much more pleasant after that. I'm going to miss him when the damn quarterbacks start taking up all of his time again.

Until then, for more more insights from the mind of the Messiah, look here. http://hyperurl.co/duudrb

#satire #blasphemoushumor #writing #novel #shamlessselfpromotion #buymybooks

Writing Sample - Long Time No Anything

So, I have been posting this around and realized that I haven't posted here in forever. Work has eaten my writing! I think this belongs in my current work in progress, or one of them.

I know you want me to shut up. I know how much you want me to stop talking about how we have lost our freedom, how our government has been stolen, about our murdered liberty, and our violated and beaten rights. I know you want me to stop telling you about the corporations and men in power raped Lady Liberty then left her discarded, like a Muslim immigrant, on the Boston shore amongst the refuse, contaminated syringes, discarded condoms, and used packets of lightly sweetened, freedom flavored tea her only company. You're not alone.

Everyone wants to silence me, begs me to put the gag in. You scream in a voice that echoes with their's. The two groups scramble over each other to burn the first amendment. I don't know who's worse, the ones telling me to shut up and check my privilege. Screaming at me to be silent, to let the victims speak. To stay out of the conversation and just let it play out, to nod along encouragingly while others write the world, to watch without condemning or condoning. On the other side stand those that shout in my ear that it is in my best interest to be still. They want me to just watch as others are oppressed and enslaved. Just keep calm and let us put them back in check. It's not your concern, after all, they tell me. You're nothing like them. Just hush, go back to sleep and let us do our work. Stay where you are and you'll be safe.

What nobody wants, is for me to speak. No. None of you want me to talk about the truth I see. You don't want the uncomfortable visions of a freed mind. No matter what side they're on, hell, no matter what side you're on, there is one thing you want. You want me to sit on the couch, staring into the television. You want me to watch the stars and wait for the end of the world, with a Xanax smile, just like everyone else.

I just can't do it. I'm too busy weeping for all of you that can.

#writingsample #amwriting #politicalcommentary #socialcommentary #author #writer #writing #shamelessselfpromotion

Holistic Mediocrity Overseers

Over time the stale scent of blood becomes like a lover's perfume. You know it is still there, and on a good day you still catch a whiff of it. Most minutes though... most times... you just forget the thing that used to define every moment with her (her the woman, or her the city) fades into the background. It tickles the olfactory part of your mind that defines memory but no longer stokes desire.

When I first moved to Detroit, that coppery smell reminded me that reclamation was perfectly legal for a doctor. Used cybernetics have a limited value though, and an even smaller window of re-usability. Working as a wandering doc for hire was more satisfying. Most days.

That day reminded me that the fifty-third modification to the Hippocratic Oath meant there were always choices to make. Sometimes simple choices. Most often very complex choices with untold ramifications.

From guys with purple spines on the outside, to women with orange, ceramic heads that replaced their original brain cases, I've seen some weird shit. That day took the cake. Hell, that might have been what it was about.

The seven foot tall, broad, muscular man falling down in front of me made me think of soldiers in the third class wars. He looked tough. But with the forgetting of honor and the absence of training... well... they were all posers as big as the white gang bangers in the nineteen eighties. With all the grace of a slaughtered hog he slipped to his knees, a gaping knife wound in his gut.

His assailant, a nuvo punk, ran down the street; brandishing his blade in front of him. Just as I stooped to look at the victim, fate stepped in. As the fickle bitch so often does.

The assailant tripped and landed on his own knife. Perhaps it was a drug induced walking coma. If I saw his eyes I am sure they would have cleared. He was screaming in pain. His cries for help echoed in my brain. He screamed about what just happened?

Like I said... He might not have known. End of the day? He made a choice and he was responsible for it. Just like any of us. He should be held accountable. I was responsible for my own choices too. I had one to make now. Two patients, one traveling doctor. I did what any man of morals and means would have done.

I pulled out my street doc pad and scanned it. The information on both patients jumped out for my fingertips to scroll through. I stood and walked towards the assailant. You would have too.

He had better insurance.

#shortstory #author #Awethors #socialcommentary #writer #writing #writingprompt

Prostrating Westward

On a man's wedding day he is supposed to be the third happiest person in the room, except when he is fifth or sixth. Normally his joy is dwarfed only by that of the bride and her mother. Then there are weddings like mine.

In a wedding like mine the groom can be fifth or sixth. They come in after the beaming joy of both mothers, two fathers relieved they get to see their son married after all, and before or after the other groom.

So, there I was, staring into his eyes. Dueling crying mothers sounding in the background. The justice of the peace droning on with words that, if my parent's had their wish, should have been droned by a clergyman. I didn't care about things like that though.

When our eyes met, I was purely happy. So was he. That was what mattered to me. Then the jay pee said the dreaded words. There were concerns you see. My ex was... well, a bit psycho is putting it mildly. Psychotically dedicated to things best forgotten would be a bit more accurate.

It was like a Clark Gable movie, well, and edgy Gable movie. The Justice spoke to the heavens and the heathens. "Should anyone here present know of any reasons that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace."

I looked around. I had nightmares about this all week. I knew it was going to happen, even as I hoped that it wouldn't. It all came undone, just as I dreamed.

The doors burst open. As one, my ex streamed in. The whole group of them carrying their trademark signs.

Jesus will laugh when you have AIDEs - Read one.

Reenact Soddom - Said a second.

And, of course, the classic that would never die - God hates fags!!!

There were many, many others. Most of them were variations of those three though. I saw microphones in some off hands too.

My ex, and they never gave up. He started ululuating and I started crying. Our mothers bemoaned our fate and the destruction of their special day. Then the chanting started.

Long story short? Most of the guests fell into the background in horror. Unable to raise their hands against religious men and women. No matter how zealotous and evil they were. Not everyone was willing to stand passively by.

After years of questionable acceptance, some men will fight for their sons when a threat comes from the outside. Other men are willing to take on the wrath of heaven itself for what they believe in and those that they love.

That's why I'm here. It's supposed to be my honeymoon. Instead of Paris I'm sitting on a hard bench. Waiting to bail out my father, father in law, and new husband. Yes, husband. Thank God some officiants can get the "I Dos" out quickly.




#shortstory #writer #author #rights #socialcommentary #writing #writingprompt

Rich Man's Shoes

When I lived a life of hate, they loved me.

Always ready with their sharp toothed smiles. I laughed, with just a hint of shame, every time those green scaled monsters bit those better off than I.  Until one day I decided to remove the negative from my life. Swimming, peacefully, with alligators made me decide I should try to do the same with my fellow humans.

There were moments, in my time as the alligator whisperer, when the beasts responded to my desires and attacked the objects of my hate. Other than the press conferences and the shows, people left me alone. They knew something was off. Maybe not how I hated them, but they knew I wanted their distance.

After the guru time, everything is different. Time on the talk show circuit and getting to know my fans. I smile now, instead of spreading my lips and showing my teeth. Now they cheer when I enter the arena.

It is my first time back with my big green friends and they seem happy to see me. The roar of the audience startles  them like it always has. Today though, they swish and sway, agitating, just like a washing machine.

I wave to my adoring public one last time before stepping through the gate. Something is wrong here. I know more about these creatures than any other scientist alive. I also have the balls to step in with them when the others stick to the lab. That's an old me thought. I let it go. The gators aren't happy to see me. No matter how well they pretend otherwise.

They know the act, they swim away from me. Their eyes hunt the audience for prey. They seek those I would gladly have fed to them a month ago. I do not point though, I let them find their own path. Part of knowing your course is leaving everyone to discover theirs. Even our animal friends.

With no enemy to destroy on my command they turn and look back at me.

For a moment it seems like the old act, but I read more in their eyes. I am weak. They know it. I left the path. Hate was never something I wanted in my heart, but when it was there it created a bond. Now, they need a new leader. In the savage way of the swamp, there is only one way to pick a new alpha.

While the old one is alive.

Especially when he has betrayed the cause.

I hear the screams, the horror, the terror. I am at peace though. This is the wild, the way it should be. One sacrifice for mankind. One noble act for all to see, witness the nature of these creatures I know so well.

I learn another lesson. One wise men have known for centuries. When one is free they feel no fear. Not even at the end of a weapon.

When I turn to a life of love, they hate me.

#shortstory #politicalcommentary #socialcommentary #author #writer #writing

It's Not the Guns

So, one of the things I have always said about writers is that we either write the world we want to see, to help people get there, or the one we are terrified we are headed towards, to help people avoid it. I'm one that does the latter. I believe avoiding that dark place we are blindly walking towards involves understanding what is wrong, and more importantly the causes behind it. The ignorance I see right now is amazing. I should warn some of my friends, you aren't going to like what I have to say here, and I'm okay with that.

So, one of the things I keep seeing everyone up in arms over is the mass shootings that the States are known for. I'm fairly certain that everyone agrees, the wholesale slaughter of innocent people is a problem. Don't get me wrong, I'm pretty sure there are some people out there willing to say it helps with population control and makes the country great again. And yet I'm going to pretend those people don't exist and ask you to allow me this delusion, as me having it does nothing to harm you. Unlike the big one that some of you have.

The point being, we can all agree there is a problem. Many of you want to take the easy route instead of fixing this problem though. That shit is starting to get to me. How intelligent, compassionate, and loving people can miss the point. How people I know and respect, people I have seen show a willingness to fight for what is right now matter how hard it is, can look past the long road to making things better and want to skip to the end. An end that will, inevitably, bring us right back to this place, or one very much like it.

The easy route is is blaming the guns. We've all done something like this in our lives, but in a case like this we need to take a good hard look at reality. I'm going to ignore the insanity behind why people want to ban guns. I'm even going to skip the part about real solutions the gun control issues, and the simplest solutions to them. I'm even going to pretend that the arguments about how the government has us outgunned makes the second amendment useless might make sense. I might talk about some of that stuff later on, but it's not really the point here. Though, bring up the outgunned thing is kind ironic.

Now, I do have to briefly point out that the problem is not that people have guns. It's not that they have tons of ammunition. The problem isn't the weapons. It's the willingness to use them. It's the fact that we ignore people who are mentally ill and/or in pain. We are so obsessed with keeping our heads down and getting the work done, fitting in and not making waves that we don't notice when people are ready to snap. We can't notice those things, because it just looks like someone going through the same things we are. It makes my heart ache that we have given up our will to greatness, the driving passion that pushed us to be something special. Mediocrity is our call word, apathy our shield. In this world we create, this place where excellence is feared instead of chased, is it any wonder that people snap? In a country where we ignore each other, can we blame ourselves for missing the signs of a damaged mind ready to rampage?

Well, yes. There are important things there that need to be discussed too. Things like, how do we fix that problem? How do we help the people in need it so they stop killing our children? How can we become a people that both want more and willingly love again? However, they are also not the point of this diatribe. They are the middle of this long path, and we (or I, with you as my hostage) are interested in the beginning. We need the first steps to get moving on this journey.

The first step is, as always, understanding. So what is it we need to know? What is there to be seen that we are blind to?

The thing that I am best at, if one discounts writing, is management. By that I mean the managing of people, not the made up field of managing projects. There are certain philosophies, ideas, and truths that one learns in doing this. Only one of them is important here, but it is a big one. The best and easiest way to get your employees to do what you want is to model that behavior. That works because people will emulate the actions and personalities of their leaders. So, you treat your employees like you want them to treat the customers, because they will. Some will resist it, and all will modify it to fit their personality and style, but it means your company treats people the way that you treat people.

Now think about that in relation to a country. To our country. To this particular issue.

I just heard a bunch of you go, 'Aha!'

For the rest of you, let me explain...

We have these two huge problems in this country. where violence is concerned, right now. One, as mentioned, is people picking up weapons and brutally killing large groups of other people. Everyone knows this is a bad thing and that it needs to be stopped. A large number of people have no answer, for the same reason that another large group of people say, let's ban guns (which is just plain stupid). The answer is hard. Not looking for an answer is easy, but does nothing. Banning guns is easy, but does nothing to fix the problem. Machiavelli said it a long time ago, the only reason for a government to take weapons from the people is if that government has more reason to fear its people than its enemies. Only if the rulers are oppressing their citizens do they ever want them disarmed. Think about that, but realize it's another tangent. I've already mentioned some of the simpler things, like getting people the help they need and making people feel connected. Those things will help, and they are important but they are not the cure to this problem. They are things we need to do if we want to be good human beings. First we need to stop killing each other long enough to get there.

The second dilemma is the willingness of some cops to start shooting for no reason, or ones that are not good enough. So, this happens and we once again focus on the wrong things. We look at white cops shooting minorities. We talk about cameras so we can be sure to know what the cops are doing. Sometimes we make excuses, or we ignore legitimate reasons. So, what is the one thing we don't focus on? How someone in a position of authority and trust betrayed that position and killed someone they were supposed to be protecting. We don't look at how there is almost always another, better way to deal with the problem. We focus on that one issue. Again, these are things we can talk about another time though. What we need to see now is, why is it happening?

Are the two related?

You bet your ass they are. Not in the way most will think though. One is not the cause of the other. People are not committing larger and larger mass murders because some cops are out of control. Some of the police ordered to protect us are not betraying that trust because maniacs are running around and killing people in wholesale slaughters normally seen only in horror movies. They are related because they are the same type of actions, caused by the same stimuli.

If you want to see where it all starts you simply have to look at our managers, our handlers, and our culture of war.

It can be argued that once upon a time our country entered wars with good intentions, to save the world. It can even be argued that we continued to have good intentions after we started to become bullies. I honestly believe we entered Vietnam with the best intentions. We didn't think it through, and those ideals weren't pure anymore, but the intentions were good. I don't know, maybe they still are today, but we have to look at what we actually do, no matter what we mean to.

Our leaders take us into wars with much weaker nations. We take tanks, bombs, planes and computers and we beat the hell out of places that are trying to fight against us with sticks. I'm not saying some of these place don't hate us and want us dead, I'm saying they don't have the firepower to make it happen. I am saying that if we tried to talk to them they would have no choice but to meet us at the table. Because they don't stand a damn chance against us in battle. That doesn't stop us though, and we so rarely take the peaceful route. Instead we attack, mercilessly and brutally and don't stop until the enemy is dead.

So we choose targets that are weak. We also choose targets that are opposed to us in some moral way that not everybody can understand. We get it, or at least our leaders do. We cloak this in "protecting our way of life." I don't know what the hell we're protecting it from. Those guys armed with rocks and insanity aren't all that scary, but I digress.

Lastly, we attack in a very public fashion. We do it to make our point. When we get called out on it we don't offer any apologies. We just expect to be understood, because, damn it, we're right and we have God on our side. Those idiots that don't get it can go to hell.

Our leaders, our managers, our caretakers approach war in this way.

Sound like anything else we've been discussing?

Cops shooting unarmed people in the street. Saying they felt their life was in danger. Making a public display of what happens to those who oppose their authority. Never once apologizing for the terror this causes in the populace. Saying it's okay, because these people were a threat to decent people everywhere.

Citizens targeting building full of folks that have different agendas than them, often different religions. Taking weapons and slaughtering those who have none, often those who just wish to be peaceful. Choosing targets that will make national news, even if their mass slaughter would not have on its own. Never offering an apology, expecting the true believers to understand. Often times making themselves into martyrs for a cause they think others will just get but only they really understand. Leaving devastation and horror in their wake.

What does this sound like? Both situations, what do we see in common with what we do as a country? This isn't new. This is life in America. This is us following the example set for us by those who govern us. Which leads me back to the point...

It's not the guns.

Maybe it's time we stopped blaming them and thinking we can solve the problem by getting rid of the one thing we have that we can use to defend ourselves. Maybe it's time we look at the leaders giving us our examples and realize we should replace them, instead of giving up our rights.

Maybe, just maybe, it's time we stood up and started making good, and well informed, decisions.

Reflexion

I swallow the bitter liquid and close my eyes. I wonder if my love has downed her own remedy. Sheets of lightning course through the space between my eyes and their lids. I have finally captured it inside of my body.  I inhale one of the last few breaths I will take. The stale smell of stagnant air offends my nose, but there are worse scents. At least it is not the odor of the showers.

The light fades in a pulsing blue flash and I am terrified to open my eyes. I know there is no other world, no paradise of the sheep or punishment of the wicked. Still, for a moment my heart trembles. Now I smell air that moves, it is not trapped but filled with the stink of too many people. Before I look I take stock of my body and the space around me.

I am taller, that is wonderful. I am thicker but not fatter, this is good. My scalp feels colder though, my hair must be thinner. That is less good. It is almost time to open my eyes. First I grip the podium in front of me. I am making a speech then, this is normal. Expectant sheep murmur, not violent approval and agreement. Have I arrived in England? These are not my people. The crowd stinks like mongrels and culture destroyers.

No more time to waste. I feel eyes upon me, they are waiting for my answer, so they must have asked me a question. I open my eyes and things look so different I know I am in either the future or the past. A quick look to the camera reflecting my image and I know it is the future. That is acceptable, I have always adapted quickly. I see in this image that while my hair is thinning it is the right color, and so are my eyes. This trip has turned me into one of the master race I love so much.

The people though. They are sickening; overfed, weak, imperfect. For all of that there is anger there, a willingness to shed blood, the ability to go to war for no reason beyond being disillusioned. They are my people. My first people were no better when I swayed them. The leaders of the sheep, those at the table, look at me expectantly. I cannot ask them to repeat the question. That would be weakness.

I look to my right and see the dark skin of one who should not be allowed in public, much less a debate. I can look no further that way. My head jerks left. Three ugly men and a woman who does not know her place. I look back to the crowd and know what I must say.

"We must keep the Jew from gaining power and destroying our great nation..."

I have more to say but the crowd erupts in applause and shouts. Just like before.

#shortstory #author #tipsylit #writingprompt #author #politicalcommentary #shortstory #socialcommentary #tribute #writer #writing

In the Beginning - The Eucharist

This should be part seventeen. All others are below, as per the usual.





Chester knew questions were dangerous. Especially ones revolving around religion or ceremony or, worse, both. The treacherous nature of the footing around such grew more intense when the ladies, the term changed from girls to avoid confusion with their daughter, were near enough to turn the answer into a lesson. Yet, he let the question slip without thinking. The ladies perked up. They did not share Chester’s distaste for Nicole’s monologues.

“It started before I was born. At first it was just secular holidays. My father felt people needed to be shown the foolishness of misusing the word and mocked for building monoliths to the greatness of man when the glory of God was right there. He said it could be celebrated every day. That it was insane to live mediocre, plebian lives that caused apathy to the miracles all around us. It was a travesty to trot out the Word only on special occasions and pretend they were celebrations when they were, in truth, wakes for our faith and souls.

“It always ate at him that the state had more days honoring the people’s mindless obedience to it than God did for giving us free will to ignore him. It incensed him that even when you included the days for false heathen gods, Caesar still had more. So he ‘threw tradition in the face of the Sodomites and Gomorrahans.’

“We had foie gras and vodka on Cinco de Mayo. On veteran’s day we ate frog legs and drank German beer. When that wasn’t enough for him we went out on memorial day and painted peace signs on the headstones of soldiers. The best one was his tradition of flying over an English family on the fourth of July. We took them on a tour of the white house, then threw coffee and firearms into the reflecting pool.

“Eventually, God told him to remember the religious days and keep them holy. So while state days were great fun and rebellion Christmas, Easter, Passover, any day celebrating the true God really, became somber occasions. We celebrated as Christ did, by honoring the Eucharist. Now that he is gone, now that we have the children to think of, now that we have these ladies to train I would like to continue the tradition.”

“Okay,” Chester sighed, “but can’t you go get the supplies yourself?”

“You know that’s a man’s job.” She chided in the way she had. Chester could never determine if it was humorous or deadly.

“But why a bum?” He couldn’t look her in the eyes when he asked. “If we’re fighting to change the world we shouldn’t attack the enemies of our enemies.”

“Make sure it’s not the bum working with us! Choose another. Chester, you know why. Nobody misses vagrants or whores. When the movement gains steam, after a few more signs we will attack those holding the power. Once we can’t be stopped we can take the war directly to those standing in our way. Until then, we have to fly below the radar but our traditions must be observed.”

He was about to argue. She stopped his protests with a kiss. The ladies oohed and ahed. He would do what she told him. As he always did. He just hoped his luck with murder was as good as the cop’s.

#shortstory #novel #author #dark #religion #socialcommentary #writer #writing

Mandy's Mission

This is very different for me. I'm not entirely happy with it but the children's story jumped into my head. Wish I was a little better at the younger voice.





Mandy squinted at the face on the phone, lifting the handset to stop the annoying ringing. She squeaked out her annoyance at anyone calling at the terrible hour of eight thirty.

“Sleepun’!”

The smiling face on the phone was fun during the day but it upset her in the middle of the night. The phone made its rickety warble as it rolled towards her on plastic wheels. The voice that came through was distorted but she knew who it was. Only Tommy would call so late.

“Car’s waiting outside. Get in it. Don’t ignore me.”

Mandy rolled over, looking into the warm, loving, glass eyes staring back at her.

“Everythin’s fine, Teddy. Don’t hog the blankets. Be back soon.”

Mandy saw Tommy’s “car” outside. He was nine, spoke in proper sentences and had the plastic toy jeep. He was a dreamboat, as her mama would say. Mandy didn’t like that he made her help Flinstone it from place to place but livery was dead, as her mama also said.

“Mission?” Mandy mumbled as she rubbed sleep from her eyes.

“A money man. He needs help. Pops says the monster is riding him.”

Mandy didn’t need any more explanation. The monsters lived in closets. Kids saw them for what they were. When kids became grownups they usually stopped believing and left the monsters behind. Sometimes though, if the adult was very sad and lonely, the monster jumped out of the closet and into their body. When that happened…

“It’s po…ssess…ive him.” She sounded out the word, proud of herself for using a big’un in front of Tommy. Mandy knew bankers and lawyers were easiest for the monsters to get into. When the monster rode a person they hurt other people.

“Yep.”

“Wassa plan?”

It was the normal plan. It was Mandy’s first time carrying the weapon though. Tommy boosted her up through the money man’s window. She was very quiet as she reached out to receive the box. She heard the quiet shushing of the weapon’s workings sliding against each other. This would work.

She tiptoed to the edge of the bed. Small fingers pried open the box. Holding it high she whispered loudly.

“Wake up!”

Back in the car, mission completed, Tommy asked her how it went. Mandy smiled bashfully. Her voice soft but at least she wasn’t sleepy anymore. She looked at Tommy. He was no Teddy, but she might think about dating him when he grew up. Mama said most boys did that when they turned forty.

“No callin’ so late no more. You might wake mama and papa. They’ud worry if they knew our job.” Mandy scolded him, ignoring the question.

“Kay, but tell me. It worked?”

“Success. I released the weapon.”

“What happened?”

“Same as usual. He laughed the monster out of him.”

“I knew it! Grats on you first solo mission.”

“No monster can stand up to a box of puppies!”

#shortstory #author #experimentation #monster #socialcommentary #writer #writing

Let's Take It Back

So, I have been stewing on this one for a while and just have to get it out there. Mostly this is directed at men, but I hope a broader audience can take something from it too. We have lost something over the last couple of decades guys. We have lost out minds.

I don't mean that we're crazy. I mean that somewhere along the way we lost control of what we are putting in our brains. We used to be proud of what we learned and discerning in our entertainment. Even the guys who picked on nerds would pick up a book once in a while. Where the hell are we now? Not to insult either genre, because there are wonderful works in both that I think everyone should read, but are you really happy reading children's books and young adult novels to your kids or hearing about chicklit plot lines from the women in your life while never filling your head with things that matter to you?

People look at me funny when I say I mostly write for men. Those looks annoy me but they are right to give them. I mean, I have seen it multiple times recently, the studies and surveys. They show how adult males are the least likely to buy a book for themselves, much less read one. Look at the book bloggers, agents and everyone saying they are an avid reader. Their ranks are filled with women and teens because only readers go into that.What happened to us? Boys read, so why do we stop? These studies are used to prove that men don't read, so books aren't published for men.

I think that is false logic. For years the movie studios said people in their late teens through twenties were the ones who watched movies. So, guess what, movies were made only to target that audience, by the major producers anyway. They were wrong. Other demographics wanted to watch movies too. A few years back some movies got released for alternative audience (thank you Sundance for pushing the envelope) and guess what again. They did just fine. The people waiting for their movies went out and saw them and money was made so now you see more experimentation. I think books for men are like this. We don't read because there aren't that many books published for us. How do we fix it? We can't sit back and wait for someone to notice, we have to get noticed.

How are we spending our entertainment time and dollars? Not so long ago it was on magazines targeted at men, and that was fine. At least we had a voice. As more content goes to the internet and becomes free we are losing even that though. So we visit websites, spend annoying amounts of time on social media that usually makes us both depressed and dumber by the second. When we don't? Maybe we watch a movie with almost no plot and lots of special effects. More likely we watch the idiot box.

Even then, do we watch quality programs? Sometimes, maybe, enough of them are surviving that I'm starting to think our tastes are evolving. Mostly though, we watch the most mindless drivel with uninspired plots or no plots at all. When is the last time you made an hour every week to watch a good drama? How much more of your time is spent on mindless sitcoms and programs designed with a a female market in mind because you're watching it with a woman you love and pretending it counts as quality time? Here's a hint, quality time with the TV leads to conversations about the plot and the message, not how cute the stars are or a simple comment of that was good. Even worse, how much time are you spending watching so called reality television? Do we even care that our brains are screaming out in pain and strangling themselves until we can't think anymore? Do we concern ourselves with how little we gain? No, but we have to.

So how do we fix it? Take back your reading! Buy a book for yourself and read it. I don't care if it's in a genre designed for another demographic. I don't care if it's physical or on an e-reader. What I care about is us taking control of our destiny again. Buy some books so those publishing them know we want them again and actually start considering our tastes. Women are such prolific readers they have two fiction genres dedicated to them. It's time we got guy books back. Here's an even better idea than picking up something not published for you though. Pick up a book that matters.

Get something that touches, entertains, and teaches you. Want some suggestions? Sure, I can do that. Pick up a classic and decide for yourself it if's any good. Look in the genres of Horror, Science Fiction and Fantasy. There's bound to be something you'll like. If you have older tastes pick up some Bradbury, Orwell, Poe, Shakespeare, Lovecraft or Hemingway. Those men wrote for men. Want something a little more modern? Go check out some Stephen King, George RR Martin, Tom Clancy, Jim Butcher or Clive Barker. Those men do or did write to the male sensibility. I will note, I actually don't like every author I have listed but I respect them and each one appeals to a part of the male mind that wants to be engaged and entertained.

So, go buy a book this week and let them know you're out there.If you don't like any of the authors I've listed find one you do. Better yet, make a difference in someone's life and find and independent or small press author and make the day of a struggling artist a little better. I'm not saying you should buy my book, but you should, (oh come on, you knew I was going there eventually) I am saying to take back your brain. Take back your entertainment. Take back your pride and your power.

As much as I would love your money and your review that is not what this is about. It is about something deeper. I want you to have a voice and to build up synapses that only reading can give you. You know, the ones that are currently firing every once in a while in the dark when you're bored in the seconds before you turn on the television and drown them out? Those ones, they are lonely and abused and they miss their imaginary friends. Even more than that, I want a different reaction next time I query an agent and say my target audience is everyone but mostly men. Instead of the assumed eye roll I want that agent to sit up and take notice. I want them to get excited and think, "Hell yeah! Men read and publishers will be all over this." I want us to be proud again, of being men and of our intellect. I want us to have something to talk about on break beyond which idiot we don't care about got kicked of which show last night.

I want us to make a difference and be proud of it as we rebuild a connected community of readers that we are currently on the outside of. I can't do it alone though. I need your help with this. So, go buy a book this week. Be careful in the choice and buy it only for yourself and the idea of making a difference with your actions. Once you do, don't hide it in the bag like you used to do with your all nude magazines. Walk out or around with it proudly in your hand as you throw away the bag, or better yet go green and tell the attendant you don't need a bag at all. That last assumes you want to make a real difference and went to a real bookstore to make sure they stick around. When someone asks what you're reading, proudly show it to them. When they ask why say it sounded good and suggest they get a copy. Then sit down and read it.

Now, I'm going to go do a little more writing and then read my own current book. Yes, it's by someone on my list above.





#commentary #socialcommentary #thoughts #shamelessselfpromotion #author #writer

In the Beginning - Musical Interlude

Part seven of the ongoing saga and I'm not sure where some of this is coming from. You can find the earlier bits down below.





Caught between the priest and the preacher, Jack wasn’t sure which side was right. His initial surveillance showed nothing technically illegal but the gaggle of girls in the house spoke of a possible cult. At the very least it seemed to be the type of commune the hippies used to set up.

He discreetly took the information to some of his old cop shop contacts. They agreed no action could be taken, yet. The intel and the work impressed his old boss though. He had a standing offer to return to active duty. A detective’s badge tempted him, the steady income even more so. He needed to think about it, so he ended up and McClarren’s, a cop bar. Wouldn’t you know it happened to be on karaoke night? He hoped his poor ears would forgive him.

As he considered, he drank.  As old friends swung by to shake his hand and urge him to take up the cause again, he drank. When women who enjoyed the rugged, slightly dangerous look about him flirted, he drank. Soon enough he was two and a half sheets to the wind. Not quite blitzed but getting there. He was out of his comfort zone, but with one, about to be two ways back in.

Normally Jack reserved his gruff voice for the shower, his only audience the bar of Irish Spring and dollar store bottle of shampoo. That night though, the music moved him almost as much as his maudlin mood did. He filled out a slip and waited for the nondescript man running the show to call his name.

As a tribe cops have depressing taste in music. So the song he chose fit nicely. An old love song with a tragic story. His favorite song because at his core, Jack was still a cop. With no shame he got up and growled out the lyrics in tones fit to do any honky-tonk bound country singer proud.

Somewhere in the middle of the song a voice joined his, harmonizing, adding a poetic beauty one voice alone could not create. Jack looked for his duet partner, falling in love with the voice alone. A distant smile graced his lips as his eyes continued to search. By the end of the song he knew his own mind.

As the last chords faded to nothing Jack finally found the source of the voice. Neither the priest, nor the preacher’s prophecy could accept a man like him. The force had a hard enough time with it, but they were coming around quicker than any church. He would take up that badge. That was for tomorrow though. Tonight he wanted to buy the owner of that shaggy black beard a drink and see if partner could describe them when singing was not prepended to it.

#shortstory #novel #author #love #religion #socialcommentary #author #writer

That Unreachable Note

So, for the prompts recently I've been trying to experiment with things. I have getting the story out in few words where I want it. Now I'm working on things like more poetic description, describing without describing, and breaking out of my comfort zone. The descriptions here and using a female main character were what I wanted to focus on.


Mist curled through the valley like plumes exhaled from a smoking giant. Cadets stared daggers across the expanse. Graduation day, history stood ready for writing and repetition. Tablets washed faces on both sides with dimmed but sickly green glows as intense faces studied the lists. The handheld delivering the list was unique in being the only uniform piece of equipment.
Team Amazon perched east of the valley. Sheathed in leather, velvet and lace to emulate the style of a British dominatrix. Yet after four years in the hellish academy the ladies stood devoid of any femininity except the external. Empty soul cavities stripped of maternal instinct now lay bloated with pride and bloodlust, courtesy of the officers. Eden stood as their seeker, the nameless sisters hers protectors and backups.
To the west Team Mars stood, rigid as black powder riflemen. Adorned like Spartans with less shame and fewer body issues. The males contained nothing to empty them of, from birth they knew only war and service. Their seeker lived a faceless, nameless existence like his protectors. Men served only two purposes, military devastation and continuing the race. Only those who survived this indoctrination could receive a name and then only at the whim of the woman whose household they served. Thus it was, and so would it continue until the XYs finally triumphed on graduation day.
Behind the Amazons the sky tinted scarlet, dawning light punctuating the chill permeating the air. A cry from the battle horn spilled forth loud enough to tear the air asunder. So it began. So it always began.
Earth churned into muddy mist, turf tore free to fly like tiny green birds. These young, after four years training together, charged the bottom of the valley akin to slightly modest Picts. Today they were enemies, there could be no mercy nor surrender. A thin red film quickly colored the sky, filling it with the scent of genealogical rust. Metal clanged against metal as the symphony of honor lost and discovered began.
Eden absorbed the sensory banquet before turning to her task. The officers compiled the list in riddle and mystery. Her mind was sharp, her arm strong, and her legs quick. She would win the day. The first items came quickly, as simple things often do.
She read Captain Tripps from the list then collected the correct mushroom. The finger of the tear shedder led her to hack a branch from the appropriate willow. Twenty items on the list, Eden collected nineteen in less than an hour. Then she spied the last. She knew where to find it but it would not be easy to obtain. Thankfully she was cunning and patient as well as strong.
Cleopatra’s sister’s prize.
Eden smiled slow and wicked. Her feet carried her to the latrine to crouch and hide beside it. Her sword drawn, she meditated on the need. Eventually the commander’s man whore would come to do his business. Then the women would win the day, yet again.

#shortstory #dark #socialcommentary #writer #author #experimentation

How Come it's Got so Cold

Crimson drizzle stained bone white snow with a sizzle of heat only known on the coldest days. Herbert, never Herb, wondered how it had come to this. Was he so old he no longer belonged in the world or was it the thing caged inside of him since ‘Nam? Ah the impatience of youth, from the beginning.
Damn global whatever the hell, thought Herbert as he shoveled the snow in his driveway. Wasn’t it supposed to be getting towards spring? Sixty-five was too old for such tasks. As he insisted on the truth of such ponderings he looked next door and sighed. The widow Blankenship had over twenty years on him and her driveway needed attention. Clearing it out for her was the Christian thing to do.
As he dug the first shovel full out three teenagers appeared on the horizon, which with Herbert’s declining vision meant the edge of the property. Looking at them Herbert knew they were trouble. He cringed inwardly as he mourned the decline of society. Who the hell wore their pants down around the knees, especially in a foot of snow? Seeing one of the thugs motioning to him, Herbert walked to the impromptu conference.
“Pops, we have problem here. This is our territory.” The first boy, probably the leader, with the barrette, or something equally ridiculous sounding, piercing that that looked like a fishhook through his lip.
“Just being neighborly.” Herbert’s voice was proud and strong in spite of his advancing age and the apocalyptic conditions.
“Didn’t you hear? This is our turf!” Teen two, with the unsightly black, plastic saucers replacing and extending his earlobes. “That old bat pays us twenty bucks for five minutes work.”
“Did anyone ever teach you to respect your elders?”
“I’ll show you respect ya old fuck. Get on inside.” Teen three, the one with no metal but acne that would survive until his thirties on his face. “We’ll be over to shovel your house and get the money in about ten minutes.”
“Son, I would ask you to watch your language.”
“That’s it, I warned him. You heard me warn him.”
Permanent acne swung his shovel at Herbert as the other two nodded with mock sorrow. Herbert was old but these punks weren’t trained. He snatched the handle just below the blade and yanked. His leg came out and with the slipper snow the teen fell onto the wide metal of his shovel with a disturbing crunch of shattering teeth and nose.
“You boys have aggression but no training, no discipline, and no respect.”
Stop now, Herbert told himself, before this goes too far. It was too late though. The thing he had caged up since coming home was loose. Besides, saucer ears was advancing.
Herbert lifted his shovel. With a quick thrust driven by wiry muscles long unused but not forgotten the handle met the boy’s esophagus. The teen went down with a disturbing choking gag as he clutched his throat.
“We were punks in my day too but we respected age, skill, and service. Things your self-entitled generation does not learn and thus fails to honor.”
Metal mouth was turning to run but it was too late. Herbert was in another place. The boy was the enemy, Charlie, and he was escaping. Mercy belonged in Korea not Vietnam. Herbert reversed his hold and swung the blade of the shovel at the back of Charlie’s head, connecting with a satisfying thunk that dropped the youth to watery knees and spread crimson through his hair. As Herbert looked at the blood on metal the mist cleared and he returned to the now.
Crimson drizzle stained bone white snow with a sizzle of heat only known on the coldest days. Herbert wondered if this was what the world had come to. Wondered if this was what he had to become. He looked upon his fallen adversaries and felt ashamed of himself, but not as ashamed as he would if they didn’t deserve it.
“I’m sorry that had to happen boys. I’ll call an ambulance for you.”
Herbert turned to make good on the promise. His foot slipped on the unshoveled pink slush and he went down. He heard the telltale snap from his aging hip as he landed.

#shortstory #socialcommentary #author #writer

Authoring Utopia

I don't often quote the prompt I am pulling from but this one requires a little explanation because it is so far off the letter of the prompt and done speech style so kind of surrealistic if you don't understand this is intended as a state of the union address, kind of. So the prompt this week is that after a tough year where writing goals were not met and other challenges arose the office supplies are not happy, you decide to rally them by delivering a state of the union address, and deliver it. This is so far off but my twisted mind went here. I will be writing something a bit more light hearted that fits into that prompt better and posting it soon, but please enjoy this from the dark side of my mind for now.

*pause for applause

*wait for national feed to go dark

*turn left to single functioning camera

“My fellow elite, the first year of my reign has not gone as expected. We had high hopes when we pooled our funds to buy this office. Even the magnificent glory of our shared intellect has not brought the change we hoped at the speed we desired. Let me begin by addressing the challenges we have seen.

“Readership is at an all time low. Respect for intellectuals and forward thinkers has risen but not by as much as we hoped. Our attempts to rewrite the constitution to encourage a peaceful state in the hands of those who pay attention have been thwarted at every turn by both Democrats and Republicans. I won’t even get started on the resistance we have encountered from the tobacco lobby who believe paper should be used for more than the creation of books, art, and scientific documents. Much less the pharmaceutical companies who dull the minds we are trying to enhance with their endless supply of non-curative prescription medications.

“We have faced challenges. We will continue to fight an uphill battle. It is a well known, to us anyway, fact that any egalitarian society will be born of struggle. A struggle with both those we wish to enhance as well as those left in the cold whose backs the empowered echelon rides upon. I assure you however, we will overcome all adversity. Another lesson we have learned from the greatest regimes in history is well intuited but little understood. When any group of oppressed people seize power they must oppress the people most directly opposed to them if they wish to maintain the new status quo.

*pause for beginning of message to sink in

*continue in slightly raised voice

*make tone and hand gestures more emphatic

“This is how we will proceed. Our contacts in the film and game rating industries will rapidly ramp up their guidelines. Disheartened by their inability to release any media that is fit for families or children the entertainment industry will turn to backing books. Our readership will increase. I ask that each of us put fifty percent of our earnings aside.

“With that money we will fund our own candidates within whichever party has the highest victory rate in any district. Within two years we will control the senate, and by the middle of my second term the house as well. Those are long term goals, but we must remember we are fighting a war of attrition, for the sake of our children. There is no quick fix easy answer. We must be dedicated to our cause.

“Our other objectives may have to wait but I believe by the end of this term we will see groundbreaking on the ‘special schools’ for those with lower IQs. That will be the stepping stone that eventually allows us to realize all of our goals.

“Thank you for your continued support, Athena bless you all, goodnight.

#shortstory #freedom #politicalcommentary #socialcommentary

Oh Captain My Captain

And now for one that will probably upset some people but at the end of the day I gotta be me. I have been thinking for a long time on how to do this tribute and stay true to what I feel. More importantly to express how it changed the way I feel. Please forgive me, I am speaking of a great man but wow are my emotions raw after all of these tonight.

Oh Captain My Captain

You were in my life but I was not in yours. Not beyond that basic connection we all share anyway. Why has it taken me so long to speak to you, to speak of you? Because you were one of my heroes. You were one of the giants treading the world with an I don’t give a shit attitude and a devil may care smile. Then you did the thing I have never been able to forgive. You made yourself into a coward when you had it all.

No matter how unfair it is that stigma will taint my memory of you. My father taught me that suicide is the coward’s way out. Every religion tells me it is the one unforgivable sin. I know I overstate but most of them say it at least conditionally. That was who you became to me. You were a giant and became your own unruly David. How could you do that to yourself? You had so much to live for. How could you do that to us? You brought us so much joy and now we had to mourn you. How the hell could you do that to me? I needed men like you in the world.

A quirky entertainer. An actor who openly gamed? I don’t mean played video games, now every actor does that but you were the first big name to admit he table topped! You gave me hope for the world, for humanity, for everyone who was different. Then you took it away in a moment of shameful weakness. I will never forgive you. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe I don’t need to.

I don’t understand your battles. I know, and looking back I see how much pain there was inside. A desperate man battling the same fights we all must endure. How much harder was it for you with such a sensitive soul? How heavy did it weigh on you that we all looked to you for a laugh, to help us escape our every day pains when all you wanted to do was heal yourself? You tried, but still you were our golden calf, our doorway to a different place. I know you tried and I wonder if maybe we had just let you if things could have been different.

You gave us so much and we could not even give you privacy. You overcame your addictions, more than once, and yet you tried to stay healthy. How hard was it for you when you were warring with the feelings that finally overtook you and we splashed it on the internet and ate it up. In the middle of your struggle you had to pause and reassure us that you had not started using again. Time you could have been using to heal and we just weighed you down.

I cannot forgive the act but I can focus on your legacy. Nobody can replace you but I can live my life to bring entertainment to others as you did. I hope that is a fitting tribute. I hope that can help make those religions wrong and let you rest in peace. I hope you can forgive yourself.

I hope because it is all I have and there is less of it in the world without you. Thank you for everything you gave us.

Sincerely,

One Fan

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Two Great Men

So the prompt this week is to write a letter to someone who was in my life and is now gone. Honestly, I'm not a big fan of letters to dead people. I'm going to do it and I'll post that soon.

It got me thinking though. I have had this idea for a long time about a nonfiction book called - Lessons on Being a Man: Shit I Learned from My Dad. It also got me thinking about my great grandfather. So I sat down and I wrote one of the stories/lessons/chapters. It is way too long for the prompt but I am still proud of it.

I'm posting it here and I will tell you it is raw and unedited. There may be random bits of conversations with people on the internet in it. I don't apologize for that. This opened some old wounds and I can't read through it again right now. I will edit later. This is also my first venture into nonfiction that isn't an angry political rant. So, I hope you enjoy.

Most of the lessons I learned about how to be a man in a culture and generation where most males are little boys in grown men’s bodies came from father. I was lucky though, in that I did not lack for strong male role models. I may talk about the others later, my uncle Victor, my maternal grandfather Dale, my paternal grandmother’s husband Ernie. They all had an impact on who I became. If there is one man who can be given almost as much credit as my father it is my great grandfather Victor. Yes, two Victors, one named for the other. This is a story of a lesson I learned from my father because of grampa Victor. We still love you and miss you, your legacy lives on through those of us you touched.

A little background on grampa Victor, a little more on my father, and how the two related. My great grandfather was raised in those times when you did for yourself and yours. He was a deeply religious man, brutally intelligent, and softly stubborn. He had a way of relating to people, of imparting wisdom to them so they were steered in the direction of grandad’s thoughts. They knew it was happening but he never took their choice away, he just taught them lessons and they knew in their heart they had been touched by a shaman. Everybody loved him because that was just who he was. This I perhaps best illustrated by what the priest, a man much younger than him who was also his friend, said about him at his funeral. I will never forget these words.

“We are all sad that Victor is gone, but through our faith in eternal life we know he is not really gone. We know he is in heaven, sitting next to God and looking down at all of us, all of humanity. He sees it all then looks at God and says, ‘So this is what I think you did wrong.’”

The idea that a priest could envision my great grandfather gently correcting God without being cast down and smote was a powerful one that never left me. I did not completely understand why it was so powerful then, I just understood that it made me smile in the middle of my grief, but I get it now. That is in many ways the man he was.

When grampa Victor met my great grandmother Mary he was on his way to seminary and she had a boyfriend. No, I’m not kidding. He was ready to graduate and head straight off to priest school, and he would have been an amazing holy man. That was his dedication to the church. Then he saw this young woman and fell in love. Anyone who says love at first sight doesn’t happen never met them, because they lasted, her longer than him which surprised us all. So he saw this woman that God had put in his path and abandoned his dreams of being a priest to court her because he knew that was what he was supposed to do. I will note that when his oldest daughter met her future husband she was on a date with his friend and went out with my grampa Dale because she liked how he smelled. I guess that whole thing may be a tradition. Anyway, grampa Victor courted this woman, she gave up her boyfriend and went on to happily ever after. He never regretted it but his faith stayed strong. The main reason I went through my Confirmation (a Catholic sacrament in your teens or twenties where you reaffirm your baptism, accept and are accepted by the church and then never return to mass except on holidays or if you have young children) was because I knew his deep love of the church and that he would want me to do so.

So they had children. One of them ended up with MS in the days before it was manageable. She ended up bed ridden, unable to communicate, her husband and children in another state while she was being cared for by her parents who were by then on social security. She is the main reason we thing gramma Mary survived him for so long, because she had a daughter to care for. That was also who they were. Oh I have so many stories about my great grandmother in her later life, including when she got dementia and used to try to call Victor to come pick her up because she wanted to go home. This isn’t about that though. Mostly I just wanted to say they had kids.

Grampa Victor never gave up his ideas of service and teaching. So he wasn’t a priest but he could still be a scoutmaster in the Boy Scouts. So he did that, even after his son was out of it and I believe before he was in it. So one of the things the scouts do is camp. Most of the time, outside of summer camp and winter camp this is done on public camping grounds.

Now my great grandparents happened to own a piece of property out of the city that had a cabin on it with cold running water and no electricity. It had a couple of wood stoves and a propane model as well. However the cabin was not used for those excursions but the property was. He took his troop up there and they camped. It is worth noting this land was pretty big so they could go out into the woods where nobody could even see the cabin.

On these trips they cooked together but they had a tradition. Grampa Victor and the other troop leaders would pull over at a five and dime on the way up. He would line them up outside and tell them, ‘We’re going inside. Each of gets to buy two candy bars that you can have whenever you want this weekend.’ Then he took them inside and they bought their candy. Now I’m not sure if everyone had money from their parents and this was arranged in advance, or if he gave them all money, or if he just made up the difference for those who did not have enough. What I know is this was the tradition and each boy came out with two bars. They belonged to him and he could have them whenever he wanted during the weekend. I know they also did the traditional stuff like roasting marshmallows, smores, and tinfoil baked cinnamon apples. So it wasn’t the only sugar during the weekend but it was some of the stuff they could have on their own and under their control.

So one day there is this new boy in the troop. His family has a lot of money and he is, to say it politely, a bit spoiled. The troop makes their stop, gets their instructions and go to town. This boy comes out with not two candy bars but a bag full of them. Grampa informs him that’s more than two and the boy is unapologetic in the extreme. So grampa takes his bag, dumps it out, I am assuming on the hood of his vehicle but it might have been a backpack. He says something about how much candy is there. This is greeted with more agreement from the boy. Grampa Victor says, “Pick your three candy bars.” The new kid complies, apparently thinking he’s getting three and even having to give up so much he still has a better deal than the other boys, and well it’s just money after all. So he greedily chooses three and is smiling at getting away with something. Then grampa pulls the other boys over and puts them in a line. He tells them to pick a candy bar and thank the new boy. He does this with the entire troop until each boy has three and they go about their weekend. Which is a story that told me he was a great and amazing man committed to fairness and order and the spirit of the rules but not the letter, he wasn’t a man to waste things since he lived through the Great Depression after all. Thinking on it though I realize that while he was completely American my grampa Victor was also a bit of a communist and thus for his time a rabble-rouser. He’s still one of my idols. I stuck through boy scouts, even when I wanted to quit and I made Eagle for him. When I received it my speech mostly consisted of thanking him and there was not a dry eye in the house, most especially mine. I still missed him than and still miss him now.

So, anyway. When my mom and dad got married everyone in her family hated him. There were three exceptions in the blood relations. My uncle Victor who was friends with my father either from before they started dating or during that time, I am still not sure which, grampa Victor and gramma Mary. When the rest of the family got all up in arms and said this marriage couldn’t happen grampa Victor, the undeniable patriarch of the clan, stared them down and told them all to shut up. I’m not sure if he used those words but my understanding is he was much harsher than his normal persona. He told them all that my mother loved my father and it was none of their business and welcomed my father into the family. Through their marriage the others, except for my mother’s parents and a couple of spoiled rotten apples, grew to accept my father. Those three exceptions were special though, they were closer to him than anyone. In a lot of ways they were closer to him than his own family.

My father’s dad committed suicide when dad was still youngish. That’s the reason that even though he was a marine he did not go to Vietnam and did not die on Hamburger Hill. Grandad Elliott was also an alcoholic and an abusive father. Dad loved him but there were scars. He never accepted the man who married his mother as a father figure so I guess he craved one. Grampa Victor became that. He was a friend and mentor to my father. I saw it, and it was a special relationship. My dad loved that man with all his heart and it was beautiful.

I was a freshman in high school when grampa Victor died. It took no less than four massive heart attacks to kill him. He survived throat cancer and some other really bad shit before then, but his heart gave out. Now understand when I say massive that is how the doctors explained it to us. Heart attacks so large that they normally burst or collapsed the heart in the chest. That’s what I was told. Some of that is probably shock value, we doctors are awesome but we couldn’t save him and your grandfather was an amazing strong man. Not important. Sometimes even in reality the story and the image are more important than the truth.

So he had three of them at home. The ambulance was called and he was rushed to the hospital. He survived those three and was in the bed unconscious. No shitting, the man was clinging to life. Some of my family was there. After she found someone to sit with her daughter, you remember the one with MS who couldn’t move or talk? She got a ride to the hospital, or maybe she drove but I think she had stopped driving by then.

So gramma Mary, a powerhouse of a woman who before she started to shrink with age still never topped out above five feet, or maybe five foot two, marched into that hospital like the Germans invading Russia. She wasn’t taking prisoners, she wasn’t to be denied, and her march was just as doomed. I can only imagine how scared she was, how angry she must have been. I’m sure she was upset with her husband for scaring her and God for allowing it but she had business to do and love in her heart to levels that I wish more people had. Maybe she wasn’t angry with either of them but I know I would have been.

So she strides into the room, and I have confirmation on this because multiple family members were there. She stands up straight and looks at her unconscious husband and puts on her sternest voice. She speaks to him in a way nobody really dared, ever, and especially not then. This is what she says to the love her life, the man she would have certainly followed into the ground within six months if she didn’t still have work to do, her fucking soul mate. She says,

“Victor! Enough playing around, it’s time to wake up and go home.”

No shit? Go gramma you pint sized pitbull of a woman. We love and miss you too. Like I said, nobody talked to grampa Victor like that. She had special privileges though. So she says this and he opens his eyes. He smiles at her. He tells her he loves her, still not sure I believe he spoke but again, sometimes the story of our love is more important than the truth. He then proceeds to close his eyes, have another massive heart attack, and dies.

He held on just long enough to say goodbye to his wife. That’s the man he was. He loved his God, he loved his community, he loved service, he loved fairness, and he loved his family. Above it all he loved his wife, the woman he gave up the idea of being a priest for. Of them all she was, in spite of being the kindest most sincere and loving woman I have met in my life, she was kind of the scariest. So I guess I might have held on to say goodbye too. If he hadn’t she’d probably be kicking his ass and denying him sex in heaven to this day.

So there are a lot of lessons in being a man in those words, but that isn’t what this is about. I’ll let you dig those ones out yourself. I’ve left you some signposts. This is about my dad and how he taught me to be a man in many ways without even trying. I have mentioned he loved my great grandfather but that, even in finding your own heroes when you need them most, is not the point of this lesson.

When grampa Victor died my mother and sister were on a camping trip with the Girl Scouts. Yes, we all took our turns in them. It was cheap and important to my family. So it was just me and my dad and my brother, who was still in a carseat as I remember but I could be wrong, at home. We get the call, Victor’s in the hospital, multiple coronary events. Okay, they used the term I used earlier but I’m repeating a lot of words in this story already. My dad tries to call the campground where my mom and sister are. They aren’t near the phone so they don’t answer of course but they are supposed to call back. Somebody is taking them a message.

As soon as he makes the call, like less than fifteen minutes later, we get the next call. Grampa Victor is dead. I pass this news along to my father. He bolts up and grabs my brother. I’m old enough to stay home but he has to get to the camp to tell my mother in person and make sure they get home okay. Dad wasn’t the only one who loved grampa Victor with all of his heart. Everyone did, and as his oldest grandchild my mother and him had a very strong connection. It didn’t hurt that she went over and helped with my great aunt all of the time either. My dad new the affect this news was going to have on my mother. So I guess there is a lesson there, sometimes a man has to do what needs doing and sometimes he has to do it alone, but it’s still not the point.

So off they go. I’m alone, one of my heroes is dead, one of my giants is gone. He was old but I never would have expected it to happen. I’m trying to watch TV but I just don’t care. I’m trying to read but I just don’t care. Nothing is holding my interest because grampa Victor is dead. I’m holding it together pretty well though. I’m a little man and some tears slip out but not many.

Now my dad drives fast normally and like a demon is after him when there is an emergency he is dealing with. There’s a story about that somewhere else here. But this camp was hours away. My mother calls while I’m numb to the world. She got the message and dad hasn’t got there yet. So I tell her dad is on the way and I start to choke up. She coaxes out of me the news. I told my mother over the phone that the person everyone in the family loved, even the ones who hated each other is gone. Then I broke down and shed tears to rival the floods that would occur if the world’s biggest dam broke.

So life went on. I don’t remember much after that except hating crying and my mom telling me it was okay. My father had told me men didn’t cry. This is something he later told me was, “complete bullshit and I’m sorry I taught you that both in my words and how I was.” Even he never told me to stop it. If grampa Victor didn’t deserve some manly tears then nobody did. Still, he held it all in. He was sad, he was angry, but he didn’t cry. Until he did.

At the funeral my dad lost his composure. He cried, silently, in the pew next to me. He hated doing it. I saw him get angry. When I told him it was okay to cry for this he told me it wasn’t, that it was okay for me but he didn’t cry. His eyes told me a different story. His eyes spoke of love, respect, and loss. His actions taught me it was okay to feel, even the bad stuff.

So there is a basic lesson here. The lesson that sometimes men cry. That it is okay to be vulnerable and to love. That’s the easy lesson though, and we all know it even if we believe and/or espouse something different. It is the lesson I took away then, in my mind. Like many of the things my dad taught me there is something deeper that I took away in my heart. The lesson I learned but didn’t understand then but I do now.

That lesson is this. There is always an exception. No matter how deep your conviction, how hard and fast the rule, how steadfastly you hold the belief there is always an exception. In my father’s mind men did not cry, they barely showed emotion. Now I admit I have seen him cry a few times, but not many, since then, but that was the second and the first one was very different and taught me a different lesson. That was the first time I saw him cry that I could remember at the time. He very much believed in that rule about men not doing it. However, he broke it for my great grandfather. He broke it for a man he was not related to by blood but attached to in every other way. There is always a time to bend and break rules, even your own. The important thing is knowing which ones need to be bent, which ones need to be broken, and when it is time to do so. He taught me that a man has to know these things, even if he makes them up on the fly. That some things and some people are worth denying yourself, denying the world, and even looking bad for. I guess that’s a couple of lessons really, but it’s all rolled up into one.

As a man, learn to keep your pride but when it is right defy your ego, even if it makes you look weak to yourself or others. You have to be strong enough to know when those opinions don’t matter. You have to be proud enough to know when it is okay to step outside of your own self definition.

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