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Eat The Elderly And Not The Rich

c74b0c86d6740c7b6ccb1169e150f94a-modest-proposal-jonathan-swift

[Swift]

 

Save them for later.
Now, hear me out, because I’ve been thinking about this.
First, some full disclosure. I, myself, aspire some day to make $5M, so that is my starting point on “rich”. I don’t begrudge anyone having $5,000,000. A pleasant, round number, which most people will still have to strive for. And – all things being equal – someone with $5M isn’t really causing much corruption and destruction to the earth. Leave them alone. They buy stuff. They give big tips.
But, anyone above $5M – well, they’re, er, fair game. Get out you bows and arrows.

Now, everyone is worried about the Economy. Not the earth we live on, and not the myriad types of life that exist upon it. “Money makes the world go round”, as is sung in Cabaret. But money (and homo sapiens sapiens love for it) makes the World die. Bye-bye. It was fun while it lasted.
However, why not wed two practical ideas (one very popular at the moment) and save the Earth two fold, by getting rid of the elderly and the rich? The Elderly are sucking the life out of the Earth, taking resources and giving little back. Sure, they are the ones who made the prosperity in the first place, but their time has come. Let the species survive. Get them out on those ice flows while there are still ice flows.
Instead of crematoria just getting rid of the Elderly bodies, adjust them to a lower flame and, only figuratively fry them up. It can be a new twist on “aged” meat. Spicing optional.
And then, when a taste for a human delicacy has been honed, turn to the rich. They are well fed, generally in good physical shape, and already nicely-flavoured from their extravagant life style. Succulent suppers all around, with plenty left over for hearty stews Red wine or white at the discretion of discerning diners.

Yes, this is a modest proposal.

Black Death and End Times

plague-e1508254891177

Their world was ending.

They knew that from the toll of the church bells. They knew that from the stink of death. They knew that from the carts of seeping corpses being pushed through the streets. It was The Terrible Pox.

The Black Death.

Heat made the stink worse. The screams themselves became more terrible in the summer heat. Screams caused by the boils, and the black blood flowing through veins. The fetid vapours rose, and the drivers of the Death Carts puked from the stench.

There was nowhere to go, and no one to help. The monarch, the nobles, the bishops, and the wealthy, all fled to the country. They locked themselves into grand castles, yet they still died. The doctors, who knew no remedy, also died from their futile efforts.

Neither the poor nor the rich, the young nor the old, women nor men, were spared. They screamed and clawed to their death, and rats fed from their bloated bodies.

Towns and villages became armed camps. Strangers were turned back at the outer limits. Those suspected of the Plague were locked in their homes, sometimes to be burned. People were clubbed, a few were shot, many were buried before they were dead. There was no sorrow, and no mercy shown to any who were a threat.

The living were frantic to prove they still had life.

They ate and drank and danced and fucked as often as their bodies would allow. They were afraid to sleep, so terrified of that fake death with the real all around. They beat on drums, rang the bells frantically, shouted and sang and swore and cried. They rode horses wildly through the streets, until the beasts fell from exhaustion. They pillaged the vacant homes of the rich, looted stores and wine shops, and paraded in the jewels and fine clothes they had stolen. Women and girls and boys were raped and sodomised by strangers and kinfolk alike.

They did anything for action, anything to prove they were different from the rotting corpses in the carts, which trundled through the streets toward mass graves. They played all the more, and when some fell slavering in their midst, they were kicked into the gutters and forgotten.

It was a time for witches and charlatans. People would believe anything, take any quackish product, if it promised to save their lives. Ghosts walked the land while crops rotted from neglect. It was the end of the world for those who knew no better.

Trump And Jesus Again Walk Into A Bar

 

pale-horse-revelation-deathI don’t know the cause, but this blog from last year is getting a lot of views. Perhaps The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are on the move.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ Was it in vain?

~ What?

~ That you took My name.

~ They crucify me like there’s no tomorrow.

~ There is no tomorrow.

~That’s OK for You to say.

~ I know.

~ But, down here, I don’t get a break.

~ Don’t you think there’s a reason for that?

~ You mean because they don’t understand me?

~ Perhaps more because they do.

~ Hey, I’m looking after Your country.

~ You have other sheep to tend to.

~ But I’m King of the World.

~ You have a big fall in front of you.

~ Oh, I’m protected. I have  more money than God(haha).

~ The eye of the needle is narrow indeed.

~ I’m no fool. I’ll get off and walk.

~ There is no one other to walk in your shoes.

~ You know, we even look alike.

[Image] https://www.ucg.org/files/styles/full_grid9/public/image/article/2004/07/01/pale-horse-revelation-death.jpg

Trump And Greta Walk Into A Bar In Davos

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~ You’re too young to drink, Greta girl.
 
~ And you don’t drink, USA President.
 
~ No, I don’t – so follow my lead.
 
~ You make a lot of bluster, USA President.
 
~ How else are they going to listen to me?
 
~ I don’t bluster.
 
~ You’re go the ‘cute girl’ thing going for you.
 
~ I look as I look.
 
~ And you don’t smile.
 
~  There are photos of me smiling.
 
~ You don’t laugh.
 
~ When I find things funny, I do.
 
~ Yeah, yeah. But really, you got that brain thing going for you.
 
~ I read that you have a brain thing going for you, USA President.
 
~ They say I’m crazy.
 
~ Yes.
 
~ Are you being funny, Greta girl?
 
~ Am I smiling?
 
~ Yes.
 
~ Yes.
 
~ I sometimes think you know what’s going on, Greta girl.
 
~ I think the same of you, USA President – sometimes.
 
~ If you played your cards right, you might get more of what you want.
 
~ My future isn’t a game, USA President.
 
~ It is to me, Greta girl.

QWERTY of the World – Unite (do Not Untie)

1a_2

When In Rome!

There was:

an Abyssinian (I made her),

an Albanian,

a Bolshevik,

a Brataslzvian (he was worst),

a Brazilian,

a Canadian,

a Cannibal (uh-oh),

a Colombian (smoking hot),

a Cynic (she didn’t believe the Canadian),

a Dominican,

a Druid (he prayed for the Dominican),

a Druze,

an Eatonian,

an Estonian,

a Fool (ha ha),

a Freizen,

a Gazian,

a Graduate,

a Haligonian,

a Helgolandian (he was and gone),

an Israeli,

an Iranian,

an Iraqi (they three went into a bar),

a Jamaican,

a Japanese,

a Kazistanian,

a Kurd,

a Lithuanian,

a Lush (one in every crowd),

a Mongolian,

a Monster (them is the odds),

a Nederlander,

a Norwegian,

an Olympian (he was game),

an Opportunist (coulda been me),

a Pole (he vaulted over the rest – *joke*),

a Québécoise (I’ll never forget her / Je me souviens),

a Russian (great dancer – he had the steps),

a Scandinavian,

a Southerner (I melt when she says ‘Y’all) ,

a Stevedore,

a Transvalanian (out for blood),

an Ukrainian,

an Unitarian,

a Vulcan (he was eerie),

a Waalloon,

a Wisenheimer,

an Xanaduian (and on her dulcimer she played),

an Xaverian (he shot daggers at the Dominican),

a Yugoslavian

and

a Zarahthustain (thus he spoke a lot)

The Canadian won the first game.

 

[Image] https://droidbox.co.uk/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/1/a/1a_2.png

Hey, Hey, Hey – It’s World Elephant Day! Trumpet About That!!

world-elephant-day-2018

So, there is no question that the world needs more elephants. The more the merrier, say I.

On the loose and living the good life.

Tanking up on fresh food.

Swilling up at the water holes.

Getting  a mud bath on the muddy shores,.

Getting a dust bath in the dust fields.

And making a hellova lot more baby elephants.

And those elephants still alive (and – alas- they are getting easier to count) should be left alone by the vicious human beasts who slaughter them for fun and ivory.

An Elephant stampede would come in right handy.

Now, I’m partial to Elephants, having written a book of short stories where an elephant holds his own in conversations with God.

Yes, God gets a good talking to, though the Almighty does manage to give as good as He gets.

So, I’m all for WORLD Elephant Day.

In fact, I’d give them a whole Week.

Nay, a whole Month.

Alright, a whole Year!!

They’re BIG animals. They can handle it.

(Image)  https://www.wildlifealliance.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/World-Elephant-day-2018.jpg

 

Circles Are The Answer ~ Space & Universe & Beyond

1-milkyway-galaxy

“Circles are the answer.

“Just look at any circle and you’ll see what I mean. Of course, no one else is to know about the circles. They must be very stupid if they can’t see something so obvious.

“Yet, you get hints, don’t you – all the time out there. And in your own life – the way things happen so you never get anywhere. Never change.

“The earth, of course, and the sun – well, that’s something you can see. Either way you look at it, the one goes around the other in a big circle that takes in the whole sky. And the earth and the sun and the moon are round  – all circles in their own right. So you have circles which are going around in circles, if you get my meaning.

“And if you look further – reach out into the universe as far as you can go – they tell us that everything is going around everything else. Smaller circles and elongated circles which take in such large distances that numbers become forgotten.

“Now, this means that everything, eventually, comes back upon itself. The beginning is really the end. That’s what most people would think – and that’s where they make their mistake.

“You see, things don’t start by beginning – they start by ending. It’s the end which comes first in a circle, so, instead of going back to where it started, it comes back to its end.

“That explains it.”

[Image] https: //i2.wp.com/everwideningcircles.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/1-milkyway-galaxy.jpg?resize=1600%2C901&ssl=1

 

The World Celebrates (And Rightfully So) The Birthday Of Franz Kafka

kafkafranz_02a
Yes, 03 July is Kafka’s birthday.
Imagine all the celebrations running rampant in the world.
No doubt a hearty rendition of “Hip hip hooray” and the occasional exuberant “Huzzah!”, echo through each major city and every quiet hamlet.
I have written him a letter (as yet, unanswered).
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My Present / Your Future

Still in this World

A Life Away

Dear F:

You would find it perverse to be wished a “Happy” birthday, but your response would be gracious. Such is the reality you understand, and how you deal with it. I have found that your reality is actually real.

Although it will give you no pleasure – well, ‘little’ pleasure – you are correct in all your observations.

Governments become the tools of the bureaucracies which run them. It doesn’t matter what type of Government, from the monarchy under which you lived, to the right wing horror of fascists that called themselves socialists, to the inept socialism pretending to be ‘for the people’. All three governments held their sway over the city where you spent your life. All three oppressed the people they ruled. All three looked after themselves first.

Writers are either writers or they aren’t. The urge to write encircles one like a snake around its prey. Feed it and it won’t quite squeeze you to death. You can not ignore it – even at your peril. It is with you every hour of every day, ever inquisitive and (sadly) always looking for something better.

Love is a see-saw of extremes. Every high guarantees a low. Every low reaches for a high. Every high reaches for a high. When these hills and valleys are eventually levelled, they are still desired.

Sex is highly over rated. The thing of it is, even rated fairly ’tis a consummation devoutly to be had. Yes – I know – you appreciate Shakespeare. On a par with Goethe, even if you can’t bring yourself to say the words.

People are just one damned thing after another. Of course, so many people have brought you blessings, you throw up you hands to ward off the snake. And sometimes – some few times – it loosens its grip.

There is no castle with walls thick enough to hide against the perils of being human. Which is why you never tried.

Except the grave, of course.

Except the grave.

Yours,

D

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

And, in my novel about him, Kafka In The Castle, I gave him this diary entry.

03 July 1918
 
The anniversary of my birth.

In celebration of the day, I did not make it my last.

Proof of Life as Time Does What Time Does

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What sights indeed are these, that cause the racing clocks to pant their minutes in counterpoint to a life still learning the difference between wretchedness and love?

The swing goes up and the swing goes down, and then goes up again. If you are on that race, with childish yells, and up-down-mess-it-around feelings in the pit of your stomach, they haven’t lowered that coffin lid yet.

No, not yet.

****

What sights indeed are these, that make a heart argue the worth of dying, and ring the bells across the hill when there is no hand upon the rope?

There are happy tunes on the breeze and, yes, even the unicorn lifts its head with twitching ears and mouth agape.

And even (so it has been recorded, in long-ago books) our Lord Jesus God would pause in His ministrations at the wonder of it all.

****

What sights indeed are these, that ease the night’s passage and sow the fields full of restful dawn?

A race against the end is run by all of us; when the kitten kicks and purrs through her ball of string, or when the ancient’s cane tap-taps across the room. Eyes, whether young; or dim; or blind; can still open in amazement, and still marvel at the ever-changing newness.

Marvel and rejoice.

****

What sights indeed are these, that turn all tunes into rhapsodies of joy, and make the moon do gypsy dances through the night sky?

A sky of stars that shower and shake and stream across the galaxies to cram unto the ends of the distant universe. Grains of sand upon the shore would take sensitive fingers, and a lifetime of counting, yet still could never fill this distant space where even numbers stand in awe.

Zeros with mouths agape.

 

(Image) https://wornandwound.com/library/uploads/2017/06/Zytglogge-Bern-Astronomical-Clock-2.jpg

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