I love to write.
I love to communicate.
I love people.
I love the ART of communicating through writing.
Because words are so slippery and hard to master.
And so it is a relief to write after days away.
And I hope you will find something here which speaks to you.
I don’t even know what to write about.
I suppose so many factors impose themselves upon us on a daily basis.
And perhaps most days are similar.
Yet, each day is uniquely imbued with a mood.
You know…I used to consider “routine” as a character…a sort of anti-heroine:
She is a fickle mistress.
Indeed, let’s just take the phrase “fickle mistress” for a moment.
I didn’t coin it.
Must have heard it somewhere.
Perhaps Greg Gutfeld (a pretty damn funny guy!).
But “the Internet” tells me that Nenia Campbell first put the words together…like that…a–>b.
Who the fuck is Nenia Campbell?
Well, hold on a minute…
If she’s reading this, then these first 179 words will have been a leisurely blur for her (as you’ll shortly find out).
But back to “fickle mistress”.
If coining the phrase “fickle mistress” was your defining life accomplishment, would you want it on your gravestone?
You get the picture.
Well, might not be a great hand of cards…or kettle of fish…especially if you’re a woman.
But if I came up with it:
Ok, I don’t really wanna contemplate my own death.
Not too much.
It’s a part of life.
But a little dab’ll do ya.
[yabba dabba dooo!]
Back to routine.
We like it.
And we hate it.
Some need it.
Some loathe it.
For me, routine has become more important with age.
Maybe it’s not just age.
Maybe it’s my overriding situation.
Routine gives me a way to approach the world.
When the world is too overwhelming.
I have my little patterns.
“Rituals”, but not in any occult sense.
And not superstitious either.
Just ways of doing stuff which, because they have worked (more or less), I gravitate to.
I try never to end a sentence with a preposition.
Or a proposition.
Learned that from Churchill.
Only good thing I ever got from him 🙂
I’m sure he was a fine chap.
Though I have my doubts about him.
Funny enough, I read recently that he was quite fond of medicinal mixtures which contained heroin.
It’s probably a good thing that heroin is not still an over-the-counter, Bayer medicine.
But I digress to an exceptional degree…as always.
The number one reviewer on Goodreads (says the failing Washington Post).
[I had to…as Trump so gloriously ripped the “failing” New York Times repeatedly…on his way to victory]
Nenia Campbell seems to have coined to phrase “fickle mistress”.
From Mar. 28, 2013 through Mar. 28 of 2014, Campbell had reviewed 1557 books.
That’s 30 a week.
More than four a day!
You see how my style goes…
It’s dangerous to get me talking 🙂
But I want to move past phrases and allusions.
I want to sink my teeth into a couple of topics.
Because the last few days have been…EVENTFUL!
First, I did not mention President Erdoğan’s visit to America.
As Turkey holds a special place in my heart, I would like to discuss a moment.
What astounded me about the Trump-Erdoğan press conference was that President Trump repeatedly mispronounced Erdoğan’s name 🙂
I mean, really…
Trump had one “word” of Turkish to learn, and he appears not to have done it.
It was Erdogan. G. No little dipping line. No “wah”.
G’uh g’uh g’uh.
Over and over.
In a certain respect, I could see this being intentional.
“Look, Recep. Recep? Anyway… Erdo. Ganny! Erdogan. You’re in my country, see? We don’t have that letter. That ‘g’ with the thing above it. I mean, I can’t even make it on a computer keyboard. You catch my drift? I gotta copy and paste the sucker every time. So I’m just gonna call you Erdogan. Don’t get offended. I mean, really…you don’t want me BUTCHERING your name, do you? It’s better if I just sound it out phonetically…and forget the squiggly line above the ‘g’. Capiche?”
But then there’s the private, internal monologue (all imagined, of course):
“Erdogan…this fucker. He expects me to pronounce his name right? No. Fuck that! I’m just gonna botch it every time. Gan gan gan. I mean, this lousy guy… What a loser.”
So there was a bit of that mood in Trump’s delivery.
He couldn’t be bothered.
Learn a foreign name? I don’t think so.
Like the Merkel meeting. Where he refused to shake hands (or failed to hear the press request for a staged shot).
It’s the power.
You can show NO FEAR.
And so Trump is a great leader.
In my book.
And Erdoğan would go on to have the debacle outside the Turkish Embassy in Washington.
The black-suited Erdoğan body guards kicking a guy with a megaphone in the head and ribs.
Angry, vengeful violence.
Not a big win for the Erdoğan style of problem solving.
And they call Trump a dictator 🙂
Ok, enough on Recep Tayyip.
However, I’ll say one more thing.
When Erdoğan spoke, it was the first time I’ve really heard Turkish.
Sure, I’ve seen some Turkish movies, but the language doesn’t sink in…because I am feverishly following the subtitles.
But here, I had no idea what Erdoğan was saying.
There was an English translation after every phrase.
But to hear the pure phrases.
To be lost in a language.
It was a wonderful thing.
And I understand that Erdoğan is like the Turkish Trump to a certain extent.
He’s popular. But he’s also unpopular.
And so he’s in office by a small margin.
Indeed, the USA and Turkey should look at each other.
Two countries which are currently divided.
Right down the middle (so to speak).
Which brings up another point.
Those things we are told to NEVER BRING UP 🙂
Religion and politics.
Kinda like death and taxes…
But religion and politics are such sensitive subjects that, for many, they are best avoided.
Such popular prohibitions just make me all the more eager to discuss these very topics.
But what can I say about Trump that I haven’t said already?
I tell ya, I’m standing behind the guy.
He is subjected to coup-like conditions on a daily basis.
And it only strengthens the resolve of people like me.
What little credibility news journalists had before Trump has now completely evaporated in my eyes.
But it gets boring, to a certain extent.
Which is to say, the American media’s hysteria regarding Trump is…routine.
It has lost whatever bite it had.
It is played out.
The Podesta-Mook-Shake Shack conspiracy (Russia did it!) is turning into Swiss cheese.
Down in the bunker…with some Shake Shack.
So, I don’t know what the result will be.
But it is a war.
And that is not hyperbole.
At this point, it is a treasonous coup attempting to start a civil war.
American liberals are biting off a tall order.
They will not concede an inch.
Because they feel threatened.
And they should.
But the Left has chosen to fight now.
Or, I should say, the elite of the Left.
The wonks. The powerful. Limousine liberals.
And who will stand up for liberty?
Who will provide the shocking truth?
The real story, my dear friends, is Seth Rich.
Leaving a bar owned by Joe Capone (Capone, Chicago, Obama, Rahm…).
[you can’t make this shit up!]
Joe Capone in the Obama White House four days before the Seth Rich murder.
Hanging out. Posting to Instagram.
And then Joe Capone, “dear friend” of Rich, goes on a vacation a few days after the murder.
You know, tears in my beer…AT THE FUCKING BEACH!
Ok, so Capone is dripping with suspicion.
But then there’s the police report.
Rich was still breathing.
Taken to the hospital.
Alive through the night.
But guards (?) were put at his door and he was not to be “checked on” by those doing rounds.
Then he magically dies.
Yes, he had two gunshot wounds to the back.
But no vital organs were hit.
His survival rate (all things considered) should have been about 80-90%.
And now the surgeon who operated on him has apparently leaked the bizarre story of these spooks snooping around the hospital.
Remember, this is almost certainly “the Russian hacker”, which is to say–there was no Russian hacker.
Seth Rich was, according to the shamus his family hired, indeed in contact with WikiLeaks prior to his death.
Podesta wanted to “make an example of suspected leakers”.
Likewise, it appears that Correct The Record chat logs have been hacked…and that these show David Brock plotting to kill key people in the grassroots information war.
Said chat log makes reference to Mr. Rich, as in “Google what happened to him…and shut up.”
This is, of course, above and beyond Podesta’s mention of “wet works” (hitmen) in connection to deceased Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia.
And, not least, this does not get into the creepy pedophile code language and the spirit cooking and the ties to James Alefantis (the king of creeps) who just happens to have been the aforementioned Brock’s ex-boyfriend.
When you start putting a few things together, like Brock’s role in founding Media Matters (with money from George Soros) to shut down any conservative counterbalance in the United States, this gang (RICO, anyone?) comes off as a freak show hydra sliming America into an existential toilet.
And so it might go without saying that these Satanic pedophiles are not graceful losers.
Because their very lives are protected by the web of corruption which surrounds them.
And Trump is the one man who can destroy them.
Assange did a pretty good job.
A great job, in fact!
But Trump’s gotta act decisively.
Let the wailing media infants screech across the country.
Let it come down.
Because Trump is too tough for this shit.
In any case, it is a daily dose of surrealism.
Weiner pleads guilty.
Russia. Russia. Russia.
Really a lazy bogeyman.
I don’t think Podesta and Mook have read Brzezinski.
And Hillary probably hasn’t either.
But the media is fighting to the death.
This is it.
They are making their stand now.
And they will either flood the narrative to their advantage, or be completely destroyed by their duplicitous, disingenuous reporting.
We shall see.
God bless you, my friends!