Saturday, April 3, 2010


Blog post # 58:

Only one picture today. I just made it.

Theoretical Tantrum


(You can have a step on a ladder.
So why can't you have a rung on a staircase?)


Warning! The rest of my post is political. Except for the poem. But even that is political as well.
Double whammy!


"Tea Party" activists are actually anti-hippies.

Instead of "Make love, not war", the Tea Party motto should be:

Make crazy accusations and violent threats,
not sense...


The news media -- whether it be newspapers, CNN, NPR, even the BBC -- is moving further to the right lately so as to seduce those Fox "News" viewers.
The American people too are moving further to the right lately, even to the far-far right.
Violence and revolution are being threatened -- the American people are finally getting off of their asses and rising up -- but only on the right, not on the left.

Americans, both left and right (but mostly on the right, if only because there are more rightwingers than leftwingers in America) are sick of the Democrats, even of the Republicans, but mostly of the Democrats.

My prediction: The Democrats will never again get even 10% of the vote in any election from now on. The party won't perhaps even qualify for Federal Matching Campaign Funds ever again! But the Republicans sure will, definitely.

Fox News proves: If you use covert threats of violence and you lie, you can get ANYTHING you want here in America. Ah, living the American dream, as much as any mega-corporation can (which is MUCH more than you ever could!).


Poem (written today). It is about either leftwing or rightwing political activism.

Cursed In My Vindication

I dare perceive the crooks and bends in
This zigzag of my existential liberties.
But yet, that facade of such anger, it does so
Cleave the knives within my vengeful hate.
It does so sever my passivity from my
Consciousness, from my conscience now conforming.
I dare to jut in my screams about this edge
Of coincidences and consequences surely faulty.
But I am a pundit of thoughts never yelled.
Ah, I am a sick ghost denied its calculations
Amongst my sour brain. However, I still dare
To become sharp in my tantrums. Yes, I dare
To concur with my own politics otherwise
Autocratic. Yes, I am a dangerous spirit;
For, I am cursed in my vindication. Oh,
I am imperfect in my own exactness denied.
Yet I violently betray such dreams as this.
Yes, I violently become the cowardly truth of
My exaggeration, become the zigzags all tangential,
All vaguely antithetical to my threatened theses.



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