I recently read an article titled ‘The Land No Country Wants to Claim’ by Daniel Ganniger.
As I , like so many other disturbed and, discombobulated American’s, watched the farcical Capitol riot, was struck by some of the statements and, the verbal flatulence, of the rioters. What is called ‘an insurrection’ seems to me, simply a bunch of stupid, almost entirely ‘white’ mob of dumb fuck white trash. They felt entitled to exhibit the worst kind of American ignorance on the World stage. ‘We are White we are Proud we are Patriots! Don’t Tread on My blue suede combat boots.
I remember the Parker’s. You cross the creek bout two miles down a dirt road and through the wood. Then you are at the Parker’s house.
I remember the Parker’s outhouse. I remember the smell. I remember the house. Windows with flour sack curtains. Bare bones, wood frame house. No paint. Just wood. Smoke wafting from the wood stove. Mrs. Parker baking biscuits. Front porch screened and shadowy. Crawlspace under. Alien space. Haunted, dark space. Storage, old stuff, to be never resurrected. broken stuff, abandoned. Just buried in dust. Like memories hidden.
I recall Mrs. Parker pumping water outside. Thin…
I grew up with the Rev. Kenneth Copeland. He and I attended the same church. The Church of ‘St. Vitus-Holy Prophet of God Assembly.’ I will always remember this anecdote which he shared. Picture this: The 1880's,Kenny’s Grandpa, ‘Buford Copeland’ is hitching a mule to a buckboard.
He is preparing to retrieve one, ‘Miss Annabelle Bodacious’, this being their first ‘official’ outing during a lengthy courting ritual called ‘The Days of Yearning’ a little known and, practically forgotten ritual. (Except among the ‘Pure of Heart Youth Ministry’ within ‘The Church of St. Vitus-Holy, Prophet of God Assembly.’ …
Could Bruce Springsteen save America? I love good music. Most genres. I really love it when it touches something inside which I can’t verbalize. I am not a musician. So, I will continue, with the disclaimer, I am not a musician nor am I qualified as a critic. Not here for that.
What I need to say is, I am so fucking sad and feel so alone right now. Sorry. I am 72 years old. I was young once. Been awhile. (Funny thing, I still have the same interior life I had in 1973) I don’t believe anyone my age…
A dedicated team is currently vetting and evaluating the potential of a Capt. Crunch/Mr. ‘T’ ticket. Campaign slogan: ‘MACA’ ‘Make America Crunchy Again’ and “ Pity the Fools who vote MAGA.” Mr.’ T was recently interviewed by Sugar Bear, beloved Mascot of Sugar Crunch cereal, Mr. ‘T’ is quoted as saying, “I pity the soggy ass fool who don’t vote. I pity the fool more, who votes MAGA, Fool!.”
This from Official Capt.Crunch news site ‘Crunch Facts’, The Wall Street Journal and Washington Times noted that the three stripes on the mascot’s uniform indicate a rank of Commander rather than…
I’m curious ,what is with the one clap syndrome on Medium? How does one determine the difference between one clap and two claps? That is some very refined judgement. I got the clap on Medium and, it made me kinda irritated.
I mean what the fuck, why not at least two? How does this make any sense?
Would you give your cat one Temptation morsel? Of course not. Probably at least a palmful. Mabey 10 ? I wanna know ,who came up with this bullshit ‘clap’ thing anyways ? It’s like panhandling. “You got any spare claps Brother ?”
Hey Mark, I appreciate your piece. Thank you for your insight. Refreshing.
This is something from a much darker place.
Kenneth Copeland: A Remembrance from Televangelist Preacher / Master 'Snake Oil Salesman'. A tale of Kenneth Copeland’s Grandpa, Buford Kenneth Copeland
I grew up with the Rev. Kenneth Copeland. He and I attended the same church. The Church of 'St. Vitus-Holy Prophet of God Assembly.' I will always remember this anecdote which he shared.
Picture this: The 1880's,Kenny's Grandpa, 'Buford Copeland' is hitching his mule to the buckboard.
He is preparing to retrieve one, 'Miss Annabelle Bodacious', this being their…
Bless you kurt.
Thank you for remembering our Fathers and Grandfathers. Thank you for remembering. Never Forget !
Ohio summer, hot & humid.
That’s what my Pop called us.
Life was sweet and easy.
We played until dark.
mosquito bites and cuts.
Bruised and filthy.
The night called to us, with a voice wild and sensuous.
The lightning bugs flickered like gems in a jeweled dome.
We thought of nothing, we just felt.
Feeling free, wild , dirty and stinking.
Almost naked, cut off jeans no shirts no shoes.
Feet, black from the wondrous Ohio dirt.
Scratched, bruised and delighted
Hillbillies, meaning no harm, to nature.
Frogs and crickets sounding their love songs.
Trump Flags: A Personal Journey
I have two neighbors Flying their HUGE Trump Flags nearby. Of course both have the American flag flying same staff above the Trump flags. One is an image of a ‘Ramboesque’ super-duper muscular Trump, riding a Tank ! I’d like to hear this gentleman explain this to his grand kids.
“Well you see Billy ,Grandpa is kinda homo- erotically inclined toward strong men. Now I know, it does not look like our ‘Beloved, Fearless (Saluting Better Than Any Other President in History) Leader. That’s not the point Billie. This is a way to honor the…