The DisEase of PoliTicks

I don’t recall a time when our political divide turned sustainable differences into an uncompromising contention, transforming constructive discussions into combative clashings, turning everyone into savage foes.

This is the fallout of propagating lies and misinformation masked as science and well caring, parading as paternal concern for the willfully ignorant multitudes transfixed by mass propaganda.

The smoking downward spirals of civility and prudence darken our skies.

Poisoning even the most stalwart with its whistling siren song.

Methinks evil communist forces are afoot.

Political anger is the weapon wielded in Washington by both parties and their corporate cronies against We the People, viciously turning us against one another in a souring feud. Bulldozing the foundation of our country, wrecking friendships, and severing family bonds. Creating an ambiance of fret, hate, revulsion, and racism.

Bitten by PoliTicks induces partisan addiction, causing inflammation of the psyche, resulting in myopia and obstinacy.

I am a recovering junkie of the PoliTick venom myself.

It helps to admit.

Recently, I confused a friend’s passionate comment as an attack on my character. I’m ashamed it happened. But as it is, it took that to start the recovery process.

While my friend and I have our differences in opinions, some spanning great distances, there are always bridges connecting us (veganism, for one). His observations and opinions have always given me pause for thought, no matter how antithetical to my enduring thesis of life, theories, and gruesome inevitabilities.

PoliTicks, like religious FanaTicks, is a disease of the mind. Infected, one cannot undermine the psychological ramparts the ego erects to protect its precious notions; no matter how fervently reasonability begs, we ignore.

However, for milder cases, there is a countermeasure.

A self-thrown gut-punch to the psyche.

Resulting in the appreciation of fallibility.

A receptivity for the probability of wrongness.

These finer faculties you gain by exploring a particular from multiple angles. It’s tough, I admit. But this is where varying ideas and respectful discourse comes to play in building harmony. As should the bitter-tasting thought of alienating a friend or family member over some nonsensical bull dung such as our psychopathically infused politics inspire.

My own gut-punch ushers in the next chapter of my life.

In keeping with my innate spirit, seen by the consensus as the repugnant rebellion of individualism, I’m returning to my anarchical paradise of old. The peaceful retreat into living with reduced emotion of circumstances I’m powerless to change. A contented life of de-energized politics, complete with its resurrected suspicion of the State, and every other damn thing that says it wants to help.

I’ll focus on my favorite things: veganism, family, friends, fast cars, firearms, and my misanthropic misgivings.

Too, I may write about health and fitness. Mine in particular, how at sixty-seven I can still do more chin-ups than you.

Godspeed.


Feature image courtesy of Matryx at Pixabay

The Bell Rings

“Adieu, the Bell rings, and I must go among the Grave ones and talk Politicks.” ~ Benjamin Franklin

For every thought, opinion, and belief, there is its opposite.

And a lot of conflicted emotions in between.

We can’t all be right.

But we can all be wrong.

I’ve been wrong about several things all my life. I’ll forgo the details.

But in that light I’ve realized a thing vital to personal growth — Kathryn Schulz puts it eloquently in her TED Talk — being wrong, feels exactly like being right.

Until you realize you’re wrong.

From this hindsight perspective, I reckon I’m wrong about some things, still today.

Time will tell.

That, and an open mind.

I didn’t join the right out of allegiance to the conservative party, although I’ve always leaned right in many respects. Things like freedom; free speech; family; firearms; less government; fewer taxes, fees, tolls, permits, and licensing; fewer social programs, and an ennobling system based on meritocracy — to which I’ll add, to both tyrant and slothful dullard, Marxism paints a tantalizing albeit deceptive picture, thus raising its recent popularity whilst waging war on liberty.

Our country is run by psychopathic pedophiles. The extent of immorality we’ll likely never learn, but my gut tells me it’s extensive, earth-rattling. There’s too much circumstantial evidence to ignore, and most of it implicates the Democrats, in both recent popular past and the present occupiers.

So it comes with reluctance that I associate myself with Politicks. But the bell rings, for reasons that threaten our freedoms, and left with no alternative short of expatriation, I’ve joined the ranks of Republicans — possibly the last viable stronghold against the violent socialist burdens threatening our sea to shining sea.

However, we’re not a perfect match.

Oddly enough, for a political party that rants about freedom, many conservatives find veganism (freedom for our fellow earthlings, something I’m emotionally invested in) an object of ridicule, and condemn my lack of religious conviction, and vehemently deny a woman’s freedom of choice — just saying.

But, go figure.

And there’s this, this nagging notion that the two parties are colluding against We the People in a wily attempt to overthrow democracy. A good cop bad cop game. It’s what any capable tyrant would do.

But I could be wrong.

“Proclaim Liberty”: IMPEACH BIDEN/HARRIS

Trump / Noem 2024! Or sooner
Save America Trump 2024


Liberty Bell image courtesy of Phil Roeder

“Did you know the Liberty Bell was named by abolitionists fighting to end slavery?” From the NPS, learn more here.

We the People

“There are but two parties now: traitors and patriots…” ~ Ulysses S. Grant

And We the People… are pissed!

Puzzled as well.

Indeed, how anyone with an inkling of contemporary awareness and historical acumen can advocate for censorship; modern-day book-burning; socialism; more government; higher taxes; crime and devastation of a deliberately opened border; Draconian mandates; abandoning Americans in enemy territory, along with scads of other anti-USA freedom traditions masterminded by the spend-thrift Socialist Democrats and supported by their flattering woke followers, is beyond reason.

—If this is you, then you need to work on your critical thinking skills.

What should come as a doomsday vision and bloodcurdling aversion to the current administration’s actions and inactions, dictates and narratives gushing from their communist gullets, is instead a shameless enthusiasm among their familiars and armchair brownshirts to inurn Liberty in their push to a clampdown Marxist society: A political and economical philosophy backed-up by a pristine record of failure, poverty, despair, and dystopia.

Although, admittedly, one can argue the success of Marxism among its elite cabal and its petty, hypocritical, self-admiring aristocrats.

A tsunami of freedom-despising turbulence stirs in the wake of a headstrong iron fist pretending democratic leadership. And We the People find ourselves on the sharp and craggy shores of the Rubicon, facing the storm of a formidable foe. A battle of biblical proportions — reminiscent of the tale between David and Goliath — threatens our Republic.

In a country indisputably divided, the time for silence has slipped away.

A choice we must make: Do we quietly acquiesce to socialist totalitarianism, or do we stand with Liberty?

If the latter, then it’s time to raise the voice and vote of the majority; the legal citizen majority.

It’s time the enemies of democracy heard the will of the Nation, loud and clear.

Speak up, Patriots, before they tighten the muzzle; before they take our guns; before they steal another election; before they turn our country into a third-world shithole (as Trump would say), and before they imprison us for our peaceful protests. As they did on January 6th, Two Thousand Twenty-One. *

Speak up, now, before the only freedom of choice left to us is a woman’s right to abort her unborn.

Kind of ironic, isn’t it?

And speaking of women, here are Five Fabulously Fearless Female Freedom Fighters:

* If the Communist Democrats, their MSM propaganda arm, the leftist dregs, and gutter-washes can call what their BLM punks and Antifa thugs did to our cities and citizens, neighborhoods and businesses across the country over the last several months peaceful, then by rights we can call what happened on January 6 — a humdrum, boring comparison — peaceful as well. And for those who need reminding, the only fatality on that fateful day was the callous, cold-blooded murder of the non-threatening, peacefully protesting veteran Ashli Babbitt. RIP, Rest in Freedom!

Trump / Noem 2024!
Save America Trump 2024


Image courtesy of wynpnt via Pixabay.com

The Movement is Freedom

FREEDOM

Like a coin, a vintage LP, or an old 45, freedom has a flip side. Two opposing dynamics. You’re an advocate, or you’re not. There’s no balancing act. No middle ground. You’re all in, or you’re out.

On one side, freedom-challenged acolytes, trembling in their anti-freedom movement, kowtow before the shrine of despots. Offerings of hard-fought rights and freedoms, butchered and bloody lay burnt upon the sacrificial altar of tyranny. The solemn remains, a determined smoky tendril of liberty glides disregarded through the air.

On the flip side of nowhere, a stony, slumbering giant who dreamt of freedom, courage, and self-determination rises at dawn, sniffs the air. They yawn. Rubbing the sleep from their eyes, they roar. Girding their loins for battle they stomp, a whirling cloud of dust swirls at their feet.

The earth rumbles.

The Movement is Freedom.


Today, September 17, is Constitution Day

Life, Liberty, Freedom, Prosperity


Image courtesy of Kellepics via Pixabay.com

When Democracy Dies

A short story from The Collection of Gruesome Inevitabilities, a work in progress.

When Democracy dies—

When we all live in the stink of government highrise tenements — hallways and doorways tagged with smut and gangster graffiti. Meagerly rooms overlooking a squalid city stained in the stench of slaughterhouses and dark-alley bagnios; the view through a grimy kitchen window over a leaky faucet on a rust-stained sink. A squalling baby on a ragged mattress. A hungry, snot-nosed toddler pulling at your pants. The TV blaring some indoctrinating cartoon.

When you’re mired in selfish grief, harboring a strange, slippery sense of longing.

When no one has any more than anyone else and everyone receives the same government stipend called equality. When every cupboard begs for the same meager rations of questionable ingredients. And every evening sees the same laughable economic progress report.

When all you have to look forward to is a repeat of yesterday. Of yesteryear.

When wilderness shrinks to a crowded park in the city center with its symbolic weeping willows. Its koi bloated and floating belly up in a filthy fountain of the reigning leader. Its feculent grounds litter filled with hypodermics, condoms, feces, and doped-up panhandlers rambling incoherently.

When you commute on crammed mass transits, vulgar and laden with the funk of greasy perfumes, warm piss, and the sour sweat of cheap bootleg whiskey.

When “Healthcare,” medications, and vaccinations are mandatory and you’re not allowed to breathe without a mask.

When they analyze your every word, thought, and expression, scouring for any trace of dissent or discontent. And every broadcast, commercial, and billboard airs a subliminal warning: be happy, fulfilled, and loyal to the state.

When your idle time turns to thrumming through mind-numbing games on your spyphone, but you never take time for painful self-reflection or the troubling contemplation of something more than an overshadowed existence.

When finally you’re empty of ambition and devoid of curiosity. When your imagination draws a blank in every corner. When fear and cowardice fuse a bitter taste in your mouth.

When the world turns gray and death resembles a reprieve, you’ll know they’ve won:

Liberty is dead,
and so it is read,
on the Gates of Nevermore.

Perception

From Where We See

They see and I see,
but from where we see, things appear differently.

Where they see their colorful illusions, the joys of life,
I see the dreadful pallors of an unjust fright.

They see clouds speckling a vibrant blue sky,
I see the contrails of fighter jets fly by.

They see the ocean waves crest high and true,
I see the mighty warships cut them through.

They see the gaiety of flowery blossoms covering  the earth,
I see the blood-steeped battlefields nourishing their mirth.

They see victory parades, loyalist colors flying a patriotic hue,
I see military conflict, war, and a bloody coup.

They see the exciting hustle and bustle of a vibrant downtown,
I see the rapes and pillages of villages burned down.

They see a God of love and forgiveness given their kin,
I see a myth fashioned to forgive them their sin.

They see energetic kids playing happily-go-luckily,
I see inanition from empty bellies swollen hungrily.

They see birds and bees pollinating the greens,
I see the herbicides and pesticides that silenced their wings.

They see the pitter-patter tracks of animal trails,
I see the spent and littered shotgun shells.

They see the comforts and pleasures of companion pets—
puppies, kittens, dogs, and cats.

I see the hell of slaughterhouses, factory farms, test labs—
their tortured animals, primates, and rats.

They see and I see yet for all the world from where we see,
things appear so damnably differently.


This is the re-envisioned version of a poem I wrote in 2017, and here it is four years later… How time flies, like bullets whizzing by. Screaming missiles through the sky.

Mass Psychosis

The Epidemic of Madness

Imagine burning the witches.

In early modern times, an epidemic of madness tortured, burned, drowned, and hanged witches and anyone accused of witchery.

Likewise, mass psychosis poisoned the soul of Germany during Hitler’s reign.

It gassed the jews.

And in no chronological order:

It enslaved the blacks, and continues to breed both white and color supremacy and builds enmity among all races and cultures.

It oppresses and discriminates against women.

It is the compulsion that kills animals out of some sort of ridiculous fear: snapping turtles, snakes, groundhogs, coyotes, bears, even spiders, and other crawly things.

It drove the inquisition.

It slaughtered the Native Americans.

It is the fuel that flames the fervor of Islam’s female phobia, their brutalization of women, and their patriarchal stupidity.

As I write, mass psychosis intensifies, furthering its assault on freedom. The Covidien Zealots, hornswoggled by an authoritative leviathan with its blood-sucking tentacles restraining reason. Posing as medical expertise with a parental devotion but serving its own nefarious end, tyranny. Infecting the world in an epidemic of madness by propelling covid hysteria to inscrutable heights of lunacy.

Fitting is the analogy of the Pied Piper of Hamelin and his stupefied rats as world populations march headlong and lockstep to their adversity.

But not everyone’s fooled.

Mass psychosis, it is the enemy of the individual. Robber of the courage and commitment to live free.

But a hero to the craven:

Just as tyranny depends on mass psychosis, the masses depend on tyranny.


“Unless we put medical freedom into the Constitution, the time will come when medicine will organize into an undercover dictatorship to restrict the art of healing to one class of men and deny equal privileges to others; the Constitution of this republic should make special privilege for medical freedom as well as religious freedom.” ~Benjamin Rush


Featured image courtesy of kellepics via Pixabay.com

The Need for Speed

After passing a lazy Malibu, a short stretch of interstate opens up. A teasing token from the Gods of Gridlock and Crowded Highways.

I switch open the active exhaust. The beast takes the cue and growls dauntingly. A deep monstrous rumble, she’s impatient. It’s been too slow for too long. For her. For me.

My skin crawls with trepid elation, like the high-octane snake running through her veins.

At 70 MPH, I drop into third gear, increasing RPM to match her speed.

In appreciation of anticipation, I hesitate before punching it; a moment to relish the roar and reverberations of 526 horses snarling menacingly and ready to bust all-ass loose.

Then…

It’s game on.

Like a cat on the prowl, she hunkers down and blasts off with an explosive roar—all teeth and claws.

The creature’s alive with punishing Gs as she forces me firmly against the seat. My upper lip curls into a devious grin, 100 MPH and accelerating like the proverbial bat.

Vision narrows with a predator’s instinct.

Heart pounding to the pulse of her eight pistons spinning a flat-plane crank, and I’m giddy as all fucking hell.

A daring glance at the speedometer shows 120 MPH and climbing, swiftly.

8,250 RPM sees a quick stab into fourth gear.

Up ahead, the span closes rapidly.

Too rapidly.

But she’s hungry: 130, 135, 140 MPH (225 KPH), twice the legal speed limit, and still the rate of acceleration seems yet to diminish.

But, just that quick, in less time than it takes to read this post, she’s devoured the road. It’s over. I have to back her off.

Until another day.

Another day and maybe the Gods will shower their gratuity once more—but with a slightly longer stretch of the open road, and like this day, one without the highway patrol.

One can only pray.

The Game

How to spot an NPC

Note: While some of these traits are often naively displayed by people playing characters, any collectible combination of the below should warrant suspicion.

NPCs (Non-playing characters) show unquestioning certainty in the official 24/7 narrative, regardless of the ocean of discordant information from the same sorry sources.

They display violent opposition to competing opinions. And seek to censor such.

Younger NPCs believe the government should provide their every care for free. Note: This is also the behavior of lazy, ambitionless people playing characters. Don’t be confused.

Older NPCs extol everything cooked up in the fermenting bowels of General Miley’s sizable gut and spewed from his belligerent Marxist maw.

All NPCs possess a prayerful devotion to Fauci.

They wear a mask inside, often in their homes.

They wear a mask outside, even in remote forests, desolate deserts, icy mountaintops, and empty parking lots.

NPCs demand everyone gets vaccinated with experimental, potentially detrimental drugs. But of course, they would, they’re immune.

NPCs like to think of themselves as Woke. I find this comical considering their absolute absence of any meaningful awareness.

Failing to acknowledge their own blatant hate-filled racism, NPCs postulate only whites could be racists.

NPCs accept as fact the “unsettled science” on covid-19 while unilaterally accepting the “settled science” on global warming. Understand, I’m not suggesting the climate isn’t a concern (everything is), but I’m betting all NPCs of the time canceled history on the much-to-do global cooling scare of the ‘70s. And that’s exactly what canceling history does, it makes people players forgetful and throttles critical thought. Exactly what the NPC hopes to achieve.

NPCs don’t own a gun and they don’t want anyone else to. Or, they own a gun but don’t want you to.

They honor George Floyd as a martyr while contending Ashli Babbitt got what she deserved.

On that note, and most ludicrous…

With no idea of what a real coup d’état entails, the NPC snowflake believes the events of January 6th, 2021 by a group of disenfranchised mostly peaceful protesters provoked by professional agent provocateurs (NPCs) attempted the unarmed and uncoordinated overthrow of a government in possession of the world’s greatest militarized force. The nonsensicality of such asinine accusation (reference: General Miley as Chief Asinine) is a dead giveaway of the more poorly programmed NPC, and it comes regardless of their civil/political/military standing.

And most damning…

While We the People are all capable of the occasional bad judgment call, NPCs cast ballots by the thousands for Biden and despite every damnable consequence since the illegitimate inauguration, the telling sign is the NPCs’ artificial intelligence doggedly denies the bugs in their programming by tenaciously backing their choice, their failure.

Remember, to paraphrase the NPC woke, “People silence is violence.”

Don’t be intimated.

Speak up.

Speak often.

Sanity depends on real people playing the game to win.

Jack and Jill

Jack and Jill

A short story from The Collection of Gruesome Inevitabilities, a work in progress.

Jack and Jill hiked up the mountain for a bit of exercise.

While on the ascent, Jack, an athletic specimen just eighteen short months ago, weakened muscles ached, and he struggled to breathe behind his triple-layer designer mask. He asked Jill, “Why don’t you ever wear a mask, or three, or five?”

Jill, fit as a fiddle with no trouble breathing, said, “Why should I?”

Jack, red face crazy with the vein on his forehead pulsing to burst, flabbergasted and heaving laboriously from his months-long oxygen deprivation and becoming increasingly threatening and foaming at the mouth, replied with explosive hysterics, “To stop the spread of KOVID!”

KOVID… Kovid… kovid…, echoed like a decree from the heavens, cascading down the mountainside, escalating an already elevated paranoia in the village idiots below.

Jill, suppressing a grin, seeing the mask’s tan lines and how silly Jack looked with his ears glowing beet-red and spread wide by the straps of his mask, asked, “Does a fart stay in your shorts?”

Once of quick mind, Jack puzzled, then flustered, asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Figure it out,” she said with the glee of amusement.

Dumbstruck aggravated, Jack countered, “Doesn’t matter. The Supreme Lord Doctor Faucheezy says…”

“Screw Faucheezy, Jack.”

By damn, that was the last straw. As with most everyone, Faucheezy was the object of his unquestioning worship and unwavering devotion. Flushed with outrage, Jack screamed with clenched fists and murderous fury, “Blasphemer!” But he exhausted himself in the process and wobbled like a weeble from his exertion. He had to rest and catch his breath and so sat on a rock near the mountain’s edge.

“Really, Jack? Blasphemer?” said Jill and started running in place while Jack recovered.

“Jill,” Jack wheezed, and with a really mean-spirited squint, warned her, “Either you wear a mask, or I promise, I’ll turn you over to GAG-ME. That’s the Global Anyone Granted Masking Enforcement if you need reminding. You know they have a zero-tolerance code of ethics. You could be executed, or get life in prison, or worse, you could be canceled! And then you’d still have to wear a fucking mask, any-fucking-way!”

“Jack, I’m your wife for Freedom’s sake,” pleaded Jill, alarmed and visibly shaken.

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll do it! I’m a citizen of the world,” he sneered smugly ugly. “Compelled by the greater good. And masks are for the greater good. Fuck you. Fuck freedom.”

Wanting to say more, but with diminished lung capacity and stifled by gnawing anger, Jack held up an index finger to silence Jill. Then continued, “As our wise and benevolent Emperor, The Honorable Bedridden himself proclaims, ‘We’re all in this together. Masks save lives. Everyone needs to do their part. We’ll get through this, together. Together with compassion.’”

Jill calmed herself and gave Jack a loving smile.

The twinkle in her eye.

And a gentle nudge.

Jack fell back, rolled, and tumbled down the mountainside, snapping his neck. So weakened and robbed of oxygen over the months, he couldn’t catch himself, or even holler for help.

The End

And the moral of this far-fetched fictional tale?

That’s for you to decide.


This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are the products of my defiant imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, names, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental, I swear it’s true.


The featured image is a composite I made of images from these artists on Pixabay:
Jack and Jill by lizdunbar
Mountain scape by openclipart-vectors
Mask by dapple-designers

This work by Peter Schreiner is licensed under CC BY-ND 4.0