Change The World
Remember when—not so very long ago—the streets of Chicago
were filled with fair skinned white boys and girls
convinced to the death to save the world—“We Will Change The World”.
Remember when those vibrant young people burned the Stars & Bars.
The girls burned their bras and panties.
The boys burned their draft cards.
The runners ran to Amsterdam, Canada, destinations unknown.
Shots rang out one sunny day:
“Four Dead In Ohio” it was “The Day The Music Died”.
Un-lucky Lyndon lay across his Oval Office Desk
Cried out to the surrounding Pentagon Polished Brass:
NO MORE BULLETS! NO MORE BULLETS!
One by one the trigger happy leaders of military creeds
Slithered backward out the Oval Office doors
into the halls lined with Lobbyist of American Greed.
Echos ever fainter followed nipping at their heels;
Disempowering their amputated trigger fingers;
NO MORE BULLETS—No More Bullets…no more bullets…………………
Once again our streets are filled with young people;
Different in heritage and ideas; attempting to change their world.
Who knows but what it was us who taught them how to mistreat
OLD GLORY!
History is a circle that rolls through time and writes the story in blood.
NO MORE BULLETS! No More Bullets……………..no more bullets………………
Sometimes a girl just has to write: Gaylee
Filed under Political | Comment (0)The State of the Union 2010
America still is not ready to free any of her slaves. We talk about it; which simply means we talk a lot. The misuse of stimulus funds has only one problem: Red, Yellow, Black, Brown and White recipients of the stimulus packages are equal in the amount of malice, greed, and gain they share. We are all equal of graft, miss-use of funds, pork politics, greed, private gain and public malice.
It goes something like this: If I don’t get my way, neither will you.
There is no Wall Street. There is no Main Street. Who thought that one up?
There is only Gutter Street. We are equal in one way only: We are all on the Same Street. When push comes to shove it is every color for self.
We are not united. We are simply ground-tether-trained. When the command ’stay’ ceases to have meaning, we will have anarchy.
A Camelot Castle first enslaves the owner.
Food, raiment, and shelter do not define the man. A silk clad herring still smells like a herring. Who said that first?
As far as smells go, when mankind’s bodies burn in the fire we all smell like a pork barbecue. No wonder our best skin and organ replacement donor is the lowly Porky Pig. Our own aphorisms go something like this: Smells like a Pig. Sleeps in his own shit, just like a Pig. Eats like a Pig. Fat as a Pig. Stupid as a Pig. Breeds like a Pig. Squeals like a Pig. A Pig in a poke.
We evolved from Pigs. Monkeys are higher up in the gene pool.
But the real winner is: Pork Barrel Politics. Scrape off the top layer of each and every one of us on the planet and find out that we are all pork pink.
I am sick and tired of posturing over stuffed spongy fat old white men reared back in governmental positions with smirks on their faces looking every bit like Big Daddy trying to tell me what the truth is; what I really need; who I am and…………………………………..ad infinitus.
All the while their select lackey lobbyist weasel on the floor placing dollars at their feet. Who are these people anyway?
Last night there was a room full of reared back Big Daddies. Barffff!
Every King’s Court needs an honest Jester Joker.
Where is Eddy Murphy?
Filed under Political | Comment (0)Close Out 2009
Final re-write New Year’s Eve 2009.
I am thinking my end of the year slump is caused by/from all the negative energy in the air at this time in our history: I am able to feel all the hatred and dissension in the air.
This damn war in the beginning thought essentially to be a ‘get back war’ about who has the correct God with the correct name and who is going to get killed first because they picked the wrong one is going to make me crazy.
This political religious power hungry zealot mind set will destroy any dome of any rock or signifying buildings or just random mayhem without rhyme or reason such as school buses, parked cars, and open markets. The zealots are self contained and feed upon themselves at the expense of others. One side calls them heroes. The other side calls them terrorists. Unaffected on-lookers hope they don’t come their way.
How on this planet will we ever have peace?
Imbeciles, full grown imbeciles: doesn’t it make more sense to get it out in the open and say it is all about an oil pipeline. Early on in this new century we had killed as many of them as they killed of us in the Trade Towers. Then we set out to make them ‘do right’. Tribes always unite to defeat a common enemy. We became entrenched as their common enemy. The enemy leaves or is defeated and the tribes go back to fighting each other.
Over these past ten years this has become a circle of cause and effect, effect and cause. The hula-hoop of vengeance and retaliation.
There is only one maxim here: Tribes Fight.
Of course, the Dark Ages prove that history repeats itself because history is created by humans, and humans do not change.
If humans cannot fight over land and what it produces, they will fight over the correct name of the correct god and that god’s correct intentions toward the world. This is some kind of an adrenalin rush which feeds upon itself.
We humans stockpile weapons because we know we will use them. Humans know they will use the weapons because they are already built. It is the circle of wars upon wars.
Thomas Jefferson is sitting in the ‘neither-land’ re-reading the declaration of independence and wondering how we got to where we are from what he wrote back then. He was a died in the wool agnostic as were most of the signers of his now famous treatise. They had all had it ‘up to their asses’ with the pilgrims. All that freedom of religion verbiage in the document was the Jefferson Franklin Adams Nelson crew wanting not to be on the pre-McCarthy black list, shunned, stoned, or killed by the black clad overly righteous religious right. No one ever says this. Why?
Just try to live in
How do you deport the guy that was there first? Although we do stop to thank Old World
Tribes is Tribes. Where is Lawrence of Arabia when we need him?
Yesterday I started a new political party.
Cynical Realist Agnostic Party
C.R.A.P.
The symbol will not be a donkey or an elephant. Just a pile of what they produce.
Sorry about the ranting. But thoughts is thoughts. And WordPress beats Valium. Gaylee
NOT Changin’ My Mind
Have I changed my mind? No! I choose to wait it out on Mr. Lincoln’s hand picked young Harvard protegee. Yes, his linage and family were never in slavery. This fact has become the pet peeve of the high dollar blacks: charter members of the “He ain’t one of us with slave linage papers on Mr. Jefferson’s Monticello Farm.”
If memory serves me correctly, Mr. Lincoln was not shot until the days following his announcement to give the vote to the 200,000 plus blacks who fought for the union. The wealthy Booth Crew took offense and moved toward subversive plans to shoot the president.
J.F. Kennedy was not shot until he said, “When I get back from this Texas trip, I am going to end the Viet Nam thing.”
The United States of America needs a war so that Wall Street can keep us solvent and Main Street can remain a wealthy consumer. Our economy does not appear to be able to handle a ‘too long war’ nor can it handle ‘no war at all’.
We hardly settled our war with England when we suddenly just had to go to war with Mexico which at the time included Spain in the background.
We were not able to convince any major group in our population to ‘Go West Young Man’ until we promised them that gold was truly discovered in the west coast hills. True, a vein or two had been found but that did not stop the Eastern Seaboard states from planting gold where they knew it would work the best for all the east coast consumer and money streets. This included falsely salting The Dakotas in order to rid the rolling plains of the buffalo so the trains could freely and easily transport more easterners to the rich farm land.
Our government has changed little in policy and goals since those long ago days of Westward Ho The Wagons. My great grand parents were in those wagons out of Pennsylvania and Illinois and Iowa.
Andrew Jackson promised a solution to the Indian problem. He encouraged southern settlers to stay and build and farm the North and South Carolina area. He declaired he would move the Indians: simply set a hotter fire underneith them. The Trail Of Tears ended up the result of his decision. The cash crop of the lower Eastern Seaboard was and still is tobacco, cotton, corn, Nascar and moonshine liquor.
There was no room for the Cherokee Nation. Ethnic cleansing can happen anywhere anytime when any group of peoples get in the way of political progress. Hate rhetoric hype is with us in this country even in this very hour, day, month, year.
What continues to amaze me is America and Russia both work best under the war principle. Taking a hard line stand against each other seems to work for the best of all. We fight each other in the respected rope ring of Rocky. The rules are set and both countries play the Risk War Game while the United Nations wave the flags of referee.
There is not much good to be said for any huge juggernaut empire nation needing the stimulus package of a war to keep it economically afloat. It is a false economy that uses the cream of our children to fodder the cauldron of our insatiable desire for more.
No, I have not changed my mind because I believe in a change for the better, for the new, and for the lives of my great grand children.
This I Believe.
Filed under Political | Comment (0)First Night-At Last
Written Jan. 20th, 2009
Staring up at the ceiling,
wondering what lies ahead,
four Darkies, holding hands,
lie side by side upon Lincoln’s ancient bed.
Down The Hill,
round the bend,
bathed in moonlight,
the wide Potomac makes its way,
past the Great Granite Steps.
The stern stone face of Abe cracks a smile.
Ancient Hawaiian saying: History has a voice:
If you pay attention you can hear it.
Welcome, Mr. President.
Filed under Political | Comment (0)Depression & Christmas 2008
Once upon a time in a state of wide strides and open thought there was a group of men who decided to become the biggest insurance company of them all. They held board meetings at the SPA and decided their future on private planes to lovely Caribbean islands and used legal off shore banking, just to make life easier on their fun trips while resting on the island with the open game tables.
Life was good and money was flowing into their accounts and their pockets. The group of men were very happy. The idea they came up with had paid off and promised them a future few ever dared to dream for themselves.
The group of happy men had devised a plan to insure large insurance companies in order to help those companies recover from catastrophic events causing the insurance to pay out to their clients; depleting their coffers to the extent it became difficult maintaining the salaries of their employees and the dividends of their investors.
To be sure, this was the unchallenged cleaver plan of all insurance plans of all time. The happy group of men in the state of wide strides and open thought had tapped into the largest vein of available funds ever collected; based on their promise of support should fortune go against their clients.
Catastrophic events are never planned; they just happen. More often than not in groups of three; a mystery, and are never planned. On the ocean, ships fear The Three Sisters.
Insurance companies fear three hurricanes with tidal surges and three rivers out of boundaries and three blizzards in the north more than the Three Sisters of the open seas.
The group of happy men in the SPA on the Money Cruise Line headed for the Island in the Sun with the off shore banking could not conceive of such a combination of events occurring back to back in less than two years.
The nightmare happened. Their clients began to pay out funds to the hurting population who had paid monthly and faithfully every month for years just in case devastation knocked on the door of their home, their business, their city, their state.
DEVESTATION KNOCKED THREE TIMES-TIMES TWO.
The group of happy men in the SPA paid out on a few of the promised funds for a while, that is until they knew if they continued to pay out they would not be able to go to the SPA on the ship moored at the island with the off shore bank and blackjack. So with one voice, they decided to default on their promises of support and monitary aid with the present catastrophic events. It was enough to push several of their clients over the edge into the sea. Some days later more insolvent insurance companies fell into the sea. Then banks began to lose funds, credit failed, small companies and large companies began to shut their doors. They lost their holdings and defaulted on their own private bank loans taken out in good faith in the Group of Happy Men in the State of Wide Strides and Open Thought, hereafter referred to as GHMSWSOT.
Internet News, faster than a speeding bullet, flashed the planet with the news of failure, default and closed doors. Overnight, small banks turned their assets over to larger banks. More and more banks were quietly absorbed by their larger sister banks. Florida suddenly became a pension poverty state filled with old broke snowbirds.
The GHMSWSOT closed their doors, shut off communications and went to the SPA to confer on the happenings of month. The GHMSWSOT gave themselves millions of bonus fund dollars to ease their mental pain.
Today, between Christmas and New Years 2008, more than six million hard working men and women have lost their jobs. Their pension funds have lost their value and all their savings suddenly became two thirds less. Their houses are up for foreclosure and one family on a cold night in a northern state froze to death in their car. Stories like these will multiply faster than our ability to comprehend the events that caused them.
The GHMSWSOT shot craps with our lives on the Roulette Wheel they designed and rigged.
We have not heard much out of The GHMSWSOT. We do know that they have taken their national governmental apologetic bail out and bailed out.
It will be a long hard winter for us all.
God Bless Us Everyone and Happy New Year
Filed under Political | Comment (0)Veterans’ Day Memories
Veterans’ Day I celebrate until my dad’s 1902 birthday on the 12th. He was a supervisor foreman in the machine shop of the San Antonio Arsenal (manufacturing rifles). There is a family story about a cannon. My dad built a toy cannon which fired .22 Long Rifle; with no recoil for the Commanding General. After the demonstration, the General asked my dad, “Do you know what you have done?” According to the family, my dad’s answer was, “Yes Sir, I believe I do.”
He was cited by the United States Armed Forces for inventing a clip for the M-1 rifle. This rifle would unaccountably jam, leaving the soldier armed with merely a bayonet or a clumsy club. Dad’s clip ended the jam problem and saved many many a soldier’s life. These simple clips were parachute dropped over the battle fields by the thousands. That is how they got passed out to the waiting allied forces.
For wartime family entertainment, Dad would pile Mama, my infant brother and myself into our fat round Plymouth with red tires (I thought they were pretty). We would drive to Lackland AFB to the very end of a large runway. We would watch the B-17s piloted by daring pioneer women ferrying them to the Atlantic and the Pacific Front. The large lumbering planes would fly over low just above our heads and shake the car and us with their tremendous roar and backwash.
Our small family of four sold our home in one day along with the greater part of our belongings. We left San Antonio with the most necessary items in a small pull trailer behind the Plymouth. We headed up The Hill of Los Alamos, New Mexico in February. I remember the semi-paved dirt road and clouds floating in the ruts. Those clouds would sit on the ground in our small back yard and I would crawl into them. It was a great way to hide from Mama. Dad would work with the a nuclear agenda, safety and equipment ideas until ‘53.
My dad became lost in spirit when the Rosenbergs were put to death as traitors. We packed up and left The Hill.
We returned to Texas and began to live a post war sane 1950’s life of Bebop, Poodle Skirts, Petticoats, Billy Graham, ‘55T-Birds, and a nuclear submarine sailing under the North Pole with my boyfriend in it. For a very short time everything was Mayberry and Lawrence-a Whelk-a.
And God created The ’50s and saw that it was good.
The evening and the morning were the 8th day.
I celebrate Veterans’ Day by flying my flag and watching the best of the war movies on TV all day long back to back; The Bridges, The Train, The Planes, The Wives and saddest of all, The Great Raid (Bataan) until they go off the air. My mother’s long lasting high school romance was ended when Tinny was decapitated during the Bataan March. She had already married my father, but that first teen love truly never ends.
I believe that WWII was the last of the “fair fought soldier wars, with the possible addition of the Korean (Conflict) War. First World Nations’ caliber and stature is caught in late Twentieth and early Twenty-first Century wars where superior powers of weapon and inventive brain are undone by poisoned pungi sticks and snap-trap-nets hung in trees. Underground burrows and tiger cages become POW camps in a no-where jungle where rice paddies quickly become our Waterloo. Road side bombs built of tin cans and scrap metal silently wait on barren desert roads. The enemy wears 2000BC dresses and Colorado ski masks knitted in China and hides on the tops of buildings using cell phones for bomb detonators.
I find myself wondering what will be the price finally paid for our high powered brain power in such a case as this? Years ago, it was ”The Little Drummer Girl” still being played out with suitcases on the backs of bicycles. This year it was “Body of Lies”: too true, too graphic.
How do we reason this out?
How can this combination of thought come to a peace table, talk turkey and end with Thanksgiving?
Our men and women and those of The United Nations who have fought both in the jungles and in the deserts have my greatest regard and praise for their dedication and sacrifice.
I find myself crying often for their individual losses of strength, family, life, limb and the future they and their families planned.
I do not understand this world!!!!!
I will fly my extra large flag and continue to pray for sanity both in me and our nation and the world as we know it.
May God Bless Us Everyone.
My brother Jay and I are proud of our dad, Harry Christopher Humbert: a Texas born Pennsylvania Dutch Quaker, a Mason, a card carrying member of The Sons Of Herman (San Antonio). More than all of these, he was a man of integrity and honor. We were always proud to be his children. His gift to us was a life full of stories.
Read more Memories of Mama and Daddy on my webpage linked on this Blogroll. My thanks to my friend Billy McKinney for innocently inciting this, my mental riot.
Filed under Political | Comment (0)
Karma & Credibility
It is the account of the matter that must be considered. The extensive telling is not always the truth of the matter at hand; rather only the truth of the one telling the tale.
The account is the building block referring back to the pure fact of the matter, unedited, unexaggerated, unembellished; that being the account itself, without reasons for the matter or outcomes predicted.
The account stands on the account.
Consider the account; consider where the account entered your personal self space.
Know that your findings will remain only with you and in direct proportion to how The Self is viewed in the presence of the account.
Filed under Political | Comment (0)In Memory of John Granville 1975-2008
“U.S. diplomat & driver shot dead in Khartoum, Sudan”
Written following the Kenya US Embassy terrorists assaults. (08/07/1998)
Nightly News walks us through
rows of toe tagged, bagged, flag draped diplomats.
Mangled bones and flesh: the best our country has to offer.
Those who sow the essence of America are always ready
in the back of their minds to die.
The acrid musk of death: the chosen fragrance of the shadow;
armored with a passport, papers of entry, and a three piece suit
anointed for their burial.
Going to work each day, knowing that they might lay their life,
consumed, on the bloody conference table of world peace, now become a morgue.