What a lovely soul you have.
If we live long enough
it’s gonna be rough.
Tell-tale signs of age
spoken off the cuff
betray us and oh
how long and how sad
will it get to be
write bad verse and
yet don’t hesitate
to remember to
meditate on what’s
gone before and what
lies ahead instead.
Hey nonny nonny,
honey, if it’s not funny
why do we laugh at
When will we touch base
and head for home?
Not funny, dammit,
unless you’re like me
Easier to laugh
than it is to pee.
Ha ha got you there
You expected “cry.”
I know poor taste
when ‘ere I try
and will until my
looney runs dry.
Ouch! Tell me I
didn’t write this…
By Greg Price, Newsweek
The president maintains he’s received “rave reviews” for his handling of the crisis.
I feel like vomiting! And I’m surprised it’s legal to hold passports as collateral — I know it’s illegal in Nigeria.
I understand a large part of Trump’s base is evangelical — I’m surprised I haven’t read about any of them concerned that Trump may be the new Antichrist.
From NY Times via But if the Trump tax plan goes into effect these high earners will see their tax rate reduced to twenty-five per cent—a huge reduction.
Trump hasn’t released his tax returns, of course, so it’s difficult to estimate precisely how much money he will save if his tax plan goes through. But since last summer, when Trump’s Presidential campaign released an initial version of his vision for tax reform, tax experts and journalists have been pointing to aspects of it that could benefit him greatly. Among others, the Washington Post’s Jim Tankersley, NPR’s Jim Zarroli, and Slate’s Jordan Weissmann have investigated different ways that Trump stands to benefit. I’ll briefly try to explain each of the reform proposals that these reporters have previously looked at, and also mention one additional way that the tax plan could end up being a boon to the President’s businesses.
But if the Trump tax plan goes into effect these high earners will see their tax rate reduced to twenty-five per cent—a huge reduction.
Fidelio’s footsteps faltered as the lion bounded against the bars upon his approach. The old man sighed and shook his head sadly as the lion roared and pawed the floor of his wagon. ‘If you would only show yourself out of your cage, in the ring, before the paying customers,” He said. The lion’s roar resounding in his head, Fidelio’s footsteps took him to the shelter of his temporary home where wife and children awaited his return. They were huddled together in a corner for warmth. Looking into the large hungry eyes of his beloved wife and children, Fidelio shook his fist weakly but with determination. He would take some action. But what? Josie, the baby, began coughing and Fidelio, unable to face his family without better prospects, departed the hut.
He walked and pondered. Why would his lion only roar in its cage and not in the ring? Why would it remain silent, timid and cowering in the ring when the paying customers wanted a good show?
His family would never survive the long winter if old Leo could not be made to roar outside his cage.
Fidelio paced the night and he was feverish and delirious when he returned to the carnival at show time. In his delirium he considered killing the beast and devouring him, but the beast was their only hope of livelihood. As his fever rose, the answer appeared: the family would feed the beast. Numbly Fidelio led the lion from cage to ring, noting dully how the great beast quietened once he entered the spotlight.
Fidelio was ready, and as the roll of the drums attracted the crowd’s attention, Fidelio placed a small covered object before the lion and gently uncovered it. The crowd gasped. Blue-eyed Josie cooed as she looked up at the lion, kicking and waving as babies are wont to do.
Suddenly Fidelio’s lion put back his head and roared mightily. In the crowd spectators clutched their children to them. The beast was coming to life. Fidelio looked on in bewildered surprise, and reached for Josie. A large paw came down on Fidelio’s arm, and paws pierced the thin fabric of his coat. Then the beast was on the child, the screams of onlookers drowning out her last wails and Fidelio’s horrified gasps. The old man slumped forward and lay still, and the lion once again threw back his head and roared. Josie was a filling meal, and the lion circled once, laid down and slept beside his unconscious master.
For seven days and seven nights beast and man slept. The awed townspeople gave shelter to Fidelio’s wife and remaining children, but did not disturb the sleeping pair. As they came each day they noticed that the man’s hair was turning white. During the night of the .still, weak and silently weeping, and then slowly sat up and looked at the lion, who had also wakened.
Silent tears continued to fall as Fidelio stood and woodenly began cleaning up after the lion. A sharp pain pierced him and s he saw an intact bootie in the black animal feces. Horrorstruck, he watched as the bootie moved. On hands an knees now, Fidelio grabbed the dirt and lifted his child from the dung heap. A dousing in the water trough brought pink flesh forth from the filth.
The child was undamaged except for a crippled leg, and her eyes were bluer than before. She smiled at Fidelio, and held out her arms. People would call her Angelica ever after.
The lion roared a little now and then in the ring, but that was less important, because he was respected as a man eater, which he was.
Found in my writings from 1972:
Frozen in time, immobile, sit I.
All that I have ever been in with me still,
keeping me, stifling me.
My shackles are the bars of a play pen.
I am a frightened child, even as I sit
holding a child
who is holding a doll.
But there are no big people
Where have they gone?
I hear your honest struggle. A re-blog.
“The woman quietly watches the poodle family, and in her smile all memories are collected, the present and the past, all tenderness, all sorrow and longing. Her smile is without guile or deception, for it does not deny her bitterness and anger at a world without mercy. At a world in which we are executioners to ourselves as well as to others, and our own and others’ salvation as well. She has come home.” Burned Child Seeks the Fire by Cordelia Edvardson
I don’t know where I am in life. I am still in the present AND in the past and the two have not merged in a graceful space. There is no moment where I have accepted the past while looking forward to the future being grateful for the present. I don’t know what I think about God except that I don’t understand Him. I don’t understand what He…
View original post 226 more words
The Daly Kos reports that an ethics complaint has been filed against Donald Trump with the Office of Civil Ethics for his recommendation to NFL to fire any player who takes a knee.
I’ve always wondered about this photo:
She listened well, very well.
When he was drunk, she could
put him back on track. He was
so full of himself (aka her) that
one day when he stepped on her
she stuck to the bottom of his
shoe. He saw her in his d.t.’s
and never knew she was there
so close, just squished, still out of
sight, carried through life on the bottom
of his smelly old shoe. It’s called
trauma bonding. Avoid it if you can.