“Conspiracy Theorist” No Longer Has a Meaning

 

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My Grandmother on the Farm’s Answer

While woolgathering today I remembered the answer my grandmother gave to a question or remark I must have made,  during World War Two:

“We don’t hate Hitler; we just hate his ways.”

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Check This Out! Belly-Laugher

Visit  Horty Rex on It Is What It Is,  featuring a Randy Rainbow song parody video gem.

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Private Prisons turn into Concentration Camps

I try to calm down, and then discover this…

lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown

Does 2.65 million dollars in financing for the Republican National Committtee from three private prison firms have anything to do with Trump’s executive order to abolish Obama’s policy of deprivatizing prisons and to turn them into immigration detention  camps for Mexican illegal immigrants and their children? MSNBC claims private prisons have forced immigrant detainees into slavery or they face solitary confinement. Please watch this video!!! 

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Random Thoughts — I Would Hate to be Trump’s Psychotherapist

Why? Because I would be stumped.

We aren’t helping the situation by making fun of him and his party, and his supporters.

When someone can’t find their humanity, how would it be useful to respond?  Challenging facts? That doesn’t work.  Agreeing with defensive statements?  Doesn’t change anything.

Shaming? Come on!  Therapy should do no harm.  What would the best psychotherapist do or say in order to help him love himself and others?

Unfortunately, I don’t know that money can be therapized, especially if it has become a metaphor for penis size, like guns.

Slapping a diagnosis on a person rarely makes a person feel better about themselves. How about therapeutic storytelling?  (Not lying–real storytelling).  Let’s see–

Once upon a time there was an unappreciated and insecure boy who had never known unconditional love–or any kind of love, as a matter of fact.  Never experiencing unconditional love he had none to share with others. Underneath he was so hurt and vulnerable that he anesthetized his  spirit, then lost it without ever realizing it.   He could not miss what he had never known.  From there on it was him against the world, falling on his own petard, isolated behind inpenetrable walls of denial and projection.  His manna, money, was his mama, and he spent his life embracing her for cold comfort, the only kind he knew.  His spirit had never been unworthy of love, but he did not believe it.  High noon awaited him, and that time was nigh.  At that moment a terminal medical condition was diagnosed, one he had no control over.  It ate at his underpinnings and he cried for compassion, for himself.  Where had he heard that word, and if he found it would he even recognize it?

Sociopath–narcissist–genetic or not,  we can pity the mad dog with rabies, can we not? I wonder if anyone has ever tried to find a cure for that dog?

No answers, just thinking.  By a democrat.

 

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Temporarily Lost Who “I” Is…

Trump tries to limit congressional visits to baby concentration camps.

Also, “I will personally hold a fundraiser for the Democrat who gets forcibly thrown out of a child detention center for attempting to ask a child if he or she is doing okay. Not just asked to leave, mind you. Someone who is told not to talk to the children, persists (in the child’s language), is asked to leave, refuses, and is escorted out, preferably while having the whole thing recorded. Because holy crap is this a naked effort to evade oversight and keep a lid on what the administration is doing to kids, and if at least one representative or senator cannot hold firm and refuse to be intimidated, we are in some trouble.”

A happier time:                                   

 

 

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The World Is Flat After All – appropriate re-post

THE WORLD IS FLAT AFTER ALL

Dubbed Democracy, it used to be

top of the line, the lead ship, at sea,

and on the land it served us well,

 until the  strains of its death knell

fell,

baring an underbelly swole

with all the pilfered things they stole

in broad daylight, and  on t.v.!

Gone is the half-belief in he

who’ll take us safely to the shore

while staying steadfast to the core.

                                                                                                                                                                                   The compass nestles in the deep

while those on board remain asleep.

They used to say the earth was round,

that right makes might, but I found

that all I knew I now know not,

nor how to tell the truth from rot,

and not so sure that we’ll endure,

to make a safe arrival.

                                                                                        Nan

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