I have been fond of saying, over the years, "Take a long look at me. I'm the last of a kind." And I chose to not have children, not so much a rational decision as a revulsion, because I did not want to explain to any offspring of mine what had become of the nation that still causes my blood to tingle when I think of her. I love America. I love what she stands for. I do not like what we've become.
I come from genes that are wild and true. I love open spaces. I like what is just, and am drawn toward the genuine. To sit at a table with girly men sporting earrings gives me the creeps. To hear angry women call George Bush 'Hitler' only confirmed for me the notion that some virus is in the air that causes insanity.
I was not the least surprised when our country elected a soul-starved narcissist to the presidency. Nothing else makes sense. What is noteworthy, newsworthy, is how tragic this is: not for some smart ass kid that talked his way into money and power. Tragic for my nation. The one I love.
I have memory of other lives in other lands. Call me mad if you must. I don't mind a bit. This theme we have before us now is a theme I've seen before, a pattern that spreads rings in the waters of soul. I know how it plays. When I was a child I dreamed of it continually. I have seen it before. I see the pattern that is already set. I can tell you what will happen. And I can tell you why. I am here because the Lord wills it, and I am afraid. And I have news for you, pup. If you're reading these words, we have met somewhere else, within a similar pattern. At some level you already know this. It chills you to read these words, doesn't it? That chill you feel is your own memory. The fact that you felt that just now is a sign of the times. Will you honor it, or brush it off? Do you think it's time you started facing up to things, instead of scratching your ass with a giggle?
As you can see, we recently made changes at the Reb. I reckon they're for the better. I was able to determine who wanted to write, and who wanted to stand on the curb and wave at the parade. My friend John Jay and I are born and bred Pacific Nor'westers. I lecture him about the caps key, and it does no good. Go figure.
What Fuchs is speaks for itself. Nothing I can say would enhance it.
I invited the boys from Notes From the Resistance over because they're the kind of buck I grew up with: they like women, nature, and freedom. If their words offend you, it's because you have the virus.
[T]he day they come, I'll be in their living rooms. I'll make it easy for them to find me.
I come from folks who were active in Washington State's birth, who published newspapers and enforced the law. The man I look like was town marshall just 10 miles north of where I sip my Starbuck's. His mother was from Scotland; his dad from Wales. The women in my family taught music, and literature. Don't kid yourself that everyone is born equal. I come from stock that aspires. You can see it, if you know how to read. Can you admit it? It's not enough to say you're already somewhere. You're nowhere, till you make up your mind to move forward. That's how it is. You want your country to get better, then you get better. If you need a politician to give you hope, that's not good enough. America was corrupted the day it started making excuses for not good enough. We won't recover till we get past that. Nothing will ever be good for you if you're not pulling your own weight, Jake.
Somewhere beyond when they put this boy in a grave.
Time to start, buckwheat. God doesn't judge you by your bumper sticker. He wants to know if you're a man.
Are you?
To Robin of Berkeley: There is a space for a woman here at the Reb. You write me if you want the slot.
A special thanks to our regular readers. It's a good feeling to know there are other vital intelligences out there who are prepared to address the virus. You may as well speak up, lads. Things will get no better by hiding from the Thought Police.
One final thought: Islam is Bullshit.
Under the Sign of the Cock, and Born of the Sun, I am
Most Assuredly Your Friend, Irish Cicero
Spiritual Sanctuary: Growing Up in the Hoh Rain Forest






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