Twenty Sixteen.

About the "report" my neurons have been working on. (*)

It's done. Here it is:

 

Twenty Sixteen (2016)
or: How I learned to start worrying and hate third parties.

Now and again, some enlightened spirit from the same dimension I live in jumps in my timeline to reply to something I wrote about Biden. It usually starts with civility, the usual preambles, like "sorry to disagree", or "I beg to differ", or the more blunt "not so fast", but it quickly escalates after I reiterate my reasoning considering third parties a greater threat to freedom and democracy than any magat candidate, even Trump.

The arguments they put forth are always a variant of "but my conscience dictates" kind of justification. As if their conscience is alright with the institution of a real life Gilead, so long as they voted for someone else dividing the opposition to it when it mattered. My guess is these people would flee to Canada and continue their righteous fight against the powers that be, while we poor bastards would be left here to deal with the consequences of their precious fantasy vote.

I am very tired of engaging these people. I did try, for a while, because they pretend to be liberals and I refused to treat them the same as I treat the Nazis I run into on Threads. The Nazis get no engagement from me, just a clean block, off the bat. But what can I say, I always try to see who is really the liberal on the other side. In doing so, I try to make new thriends who are disillusioned and tired like me, just a bit more, but in order to try gain those thriends I lost a lot of neurons by extending the contact with the more radical, ideological purity fanatics.

There is no argument in the world that can counter our political reality, the one we live in. We either face this fact, or we will perish in the flames of ideology and "good conscience". No matter how well structured the reasoning, how well conceived the theses, the TRUTH is but one: when it comes to a presidential election, no one other than a Democratic candidate, no matter who that is, can beat the one placed on the ballot by the GOP.

We live in a two party system that will ONLY change after a very hard and successful effort to place independents or third party members in all levels of government, from local school boards to local councils and legislatures, to State governorships, to the US Congress, not to mention a few judicial appointments. Then and ONLY then, will we be ready for a third party or independent candidate to the Presidency. But it is a VERY long game. This means you need the one thing these illuminated spirits do not have: Patience.

They want it all and they want it NOW. They want a revolutionary in the White House, who will satisfy their every desire for social justice, including the nationalization of Coca-Cola and McDonald's, the dismantling of the armed forces, the extinction of law enforcement, the tearing down of all prisons, and the ban of all private transportation, except for community bicycles. Free ones. Who cares if there is not a single member of Congress who supports such a president? Fidel did it in Cuba, so let's elect one like him! Done deal.

Never mind the chances of electing such a person are lower than being sucked by a tornado and hit by lightning while being chased by a shark, surfing a 70 foot wave. Who cares? It's the ideal that matters, that shining beam of light at the top of the mountain they will never climb, but that is so pretty. So appealing to the simple minds.

Because, I shit you not, they have VERY simple minds, albeit their “complex” idiosyncrasy. After being confronted with the hard truth, they start wobbling and shifting, like they are about to fall. And like a wobbler toy from hell, they keep coming back after each blow of fact, each slap of truth. They just keep coming back, relentlessly, unable to think past their own rhetoric, true believers, anointed in the altar of their political faith. For make no mistake, they are fanatics.

 

And I know this not because we disagree on policy, not because my ideas are better, or their motives are unsound, but because they will let us all burn alive by the actions of some fascist lunatic they helped ascend to power, to preserve their precious vote in some fool who couldn't stand a chance. For the fools that run for president as third party candidates or independents are also expendable, readily forsaken as the zealot horde searches their next messiah to sacrifice.

Only this time is even worse, and we all know it. This time there is a real chance all of us, including these incompetent, selfish fanatics, will never get the opportunity to fail miserably again. We will all burn. So why do they do this? For the same reason the magats do it. They'd rather see the world shattered into a million pieces than admit they are wrong. In the strict regard to deep, inner motivation, they drink from the same fountain, as all fanatics do.

Do not get me wrong, they are miles away from the despicable actions of these magat Nazis. But in their soul they share the same nihilistic instinct, that has no base on reality or reason. That's where the consequences of their actions meet. I may be on Threads to keep me sane, and exercise my mind, but I am certainly not here to play shrink to some poor sobs with delusions of grandeur they so eagerly project on me. Me, whose only delusion is to believe I can help my fellow human beings in some significant way. I know I can help, for sure, but nothing significant. I wish I could though.

That's my sin. As I grow older, I do not become bitter and disappointed. I blame no one but myself for my mistakes. I seek no retribution. I don't really have a target list, a shit list, a black book. I am a pragmatist, to some extent. I know I can't always get what I want. I know that being realistic and demanding the impossible does not mean being an idiot. It just means DEMAND the impossible. You have no idea what you can get when you demand the impossible, but that's what you are aiming for. And you should always aim high, when you are shooting for something so far away. But I digress. The fact is, it all comes down to 2016. Their "bothsideism", if you will, comparing Trump and Clinton as two equally disgusting "trash fires".

The "trash fire", "dumpster fire" or any variation thereof is the signal you have been waiting for, if the inevitable "fuck off" doesn't show up first. That tells you it's time to go. As with all absolutes the fanatics love so much, "both sides" is a sure way to destroy an argument. I look at each side individually, and decide based on their own merits and flaws.

 

The other difference of note is the third party supporter's inability to recognize flaws in their candidate. Although not as inane in their support as the magats, they try to avoid the subject. This is because magats see their chosen one (in this case Trump) as their God, while the third party supporters see themselves as Gods. But they stick to their guns as long as their candidate du jour serves their purposes.

And that's not nice. The Hillary complex is great with these people, but not because they are stupid. Contrary to magats, the third party ranks are made of educated zealots, many times highly educated, so lack of comprehension of level 2 or 3 political equations, let alone level 1, is not the problem. And 2016, just as 2024, is a level 1 equation. So why don't they see it? It's not out of blind faith in their supreme leader, they don't have one.
 

The only explanation I can find is they are deeply embarrassed. Oceanic Abyss type of deep. And they refuse to admit they, in some form, elected Donald Trump. To prove my theory, there is the fact they are positioning themselves to repeat 2016 in 2024. The complexity of the equation did not change, in fact, its simplicity is even supported by the fact that come 2024, the Democratic candidate will be someone with a proven record only comparable to the likes of FDR. And that drives them crazy.

Hillary had no credentials as president and a lot of baggage (word to the wise: not talking about e-mails here), she fit their description of "trash fire" a lot better, misguided and misleading as it was. Now what have they got? Age and insufficiency. The 2024 "trash fire" is all about inconsequential or ambiguous arguments. That makes it much easier to identify the inner struggle of their plight, the rage against their own ineptitude they so hard try to conceal.
 

Onwards!

With a little push by the likes of a son of a national icon turned raving lunatic, a naive Native American who should be running for Congress, and their very own messiah, a distinguished professor and intellectual, himself an icon of the civil rights struggle to this day, with a flavor of narcissistic righteousness, not all undeserved. So where do we go from here? 

 

We do what we must do to survive, and in doing so, we fight for the right of these fanatics to exist and proliferate, although the news of their increasing numbers are highly overrated. The truth is, in a free society one has the right to be wrong, as long as one's mistakes do not harm or cause injury to others. We also fight for the right of the Nazis to demonstrate, this is true, for the laws allow it and we fight for the rule of law.
 

BUT…
 

We fight for a better world, with clearer definition of human rights, better social justice and equity, better opportunities, better environmental policies, better labor regulations, better security on all levels, and yes, above all these, better laws. For the Nazis should not be allowed to be Nazis, in public or in private, just as we do not only not allow terrorist to attack us in broad daylight, but also to fester in the dark of night, in the privacy of their lairs.
 

Let's engage with one another purposefully, readying ourselves for the coming election that will forever change our lives. And as for the naysayers, you know the signs. By all means, make them rethink their position if you feel that is a possibility. But let me tell you, these people do not reason like we do. It is pointless to push hopelessly the wobblers who will always let their ideals get in the way of common sense, logic and reason, again and again. And again. Wobblers do that.
 

Please save your neurons for the good fight. Wasting even a few with a lost cause, like making remorseful fanatics admit the flaws that consume them, is not worth it. Come 2024, get out to vote, get everyone out to vote. We can do it. Nothing short of our survival depends on it. It is our choice alone. Even if the last remaining choice is to go falling or standing, like a tree.
 

I would like to go like a tree.

Standing.

2016 will not repeat itself.
We. Will not. Allow it.

 

[finis]

 

To view how this all started, find the NEURONS here! (< link)

Note:

Comments on this blog are locked. This is but a reading platform linked to Threads.

If 2 you wish to reply with your thoughts, please do so on the Threads post 3 that references this opinion piece. Thank you for reading.

Neuron Reunion.

Project: Field research report assignment.

Date: Friday, July 28, 2023. National Milk Chocolate Day.

Location: Oakie's brain.

Goal: Assign neurons to write the report. 

Attendees: All remaining neurons, currently unassigned to other projects.

The atmosphere is dense. The neurons present, among which are some who actually participated in the field research assignment prior to this meeting, seem uncomfortable. As usual there is no chair neuron, as they are all rabid socialists and don't believe in rigid hierarchies, normally assigning committees to that role, but not today. No one volunteered to the chair committee, so they are just looking around, a little perturbed by the awkwardness of the situation.

Finally, neuron 265 breaks the impasse. "I don't know about you, but I'm not writing this shit." The others look around at each other, and neuron 789 raises his hand. Since there is no chair neuron, he just sits there with his hand up in the air.

"Just say what you have to say, what the fuck." one of them says. "I was just wondering if this is mandatory, or..." starts neuron 789. "Oh, for fucks sake, man! This is the job! It's always mandatory, when the orders come from upstairs." stops him neuron 265, "I just don't want to do it, so some of you other fuckers will have to." 

 

At this point all the neurons start losing their shit, going like "No way!", "I was just out there putting up with this shit, now I'm supposed to go through it again?", "Fuck you, man!", and stuff like that. The cacophony lasted a few minutes until eventually they settled down, and silence was restored. Then, neuron 974 starts to speak softly. "I think that we should have a draw."

“A what?" asks a voice at the back of the room.

"A draw." she says louder, looking over her shoulder as if to see who asked the question. 

“I heard that." replies the same voice, "But what does it mean?" Neuron 974 stands up and faces the back of the room. “OK, who said that!" she asks, looking slightly pissed. A little neuron stands up on his chair, so she could see him. "I did." She widens her eyes, raises a brow and goes "What's your number?"
 

"I'm number 15, ma'am.", the little one says. “What the fuck... Aren't you regenerating? You're old as fuck!" she exclaims, to which all neurons turn to neuron 15. "What are you doing here, you little shit, you should be doing other stuff!" 974 says, "Who told you to be here?"

“No one, I just saw the others coming and I was doing nothing so..."

“Alright, sit the fuck down and shut up.” 974 decides, causing all neurons to look at her, in anxious disbelief.

Did 974 just make an executive decision? Noticing all eyes on her, she quickly reverted to the meeting goal. “Look, people, this needs to be done. I know it's a fuckery, but what the fuck! Somebody has to do it! So come on, let's everyone just write down your fucking number on a piece of paper, and drop it here." she says, holding up her clutch. The others start shifting in their seats, looking around suspiciously. "We're not gonna all fit in there." another voice says.

"What was that?" 974 asks. "Too many papers." clarified the one who had spoken, to which a few others mumbled in agreement or nodded. "OK, enough of this shit. You fuckers are going to write your damned numbers down on a piece of fucking paper, fold it real small and drop it in this motherfucking clutch, are we clear? We can't stall these many neurons for this long! Someone", and she points upstairs, "is going to have a fit, any time now. So let's go, let's fucking go!"

Begrudgingly, they all do as they were told and eventually everyone has their number in the clutch. 974 then moves to the front of the room and points to 265. "You. You draw." Realizing resistance would only delay the inevitable, 265 gets up and stands by 974. One by one, the amount of necessary numbers is drawn, as the attendees bitch and moan different levels of dissatisfaction with the whole thing.

The process, from that point on, was known to all. Well, maybe not to 15, but everyone else. The draw assigned neurons remained in the room and all the others left, including 974, 789, and lucky bastard 265. “Alright," started one of the assigned ones as they were left alone, "what are we calling this shit? Any ideas? “They look at each other for a moment and then one says: "The unbearable lightness of being dumb?" A giggle runs through the room swiftly as another neuron responds, "So basically one of literature's masterpieces' title with "dumb" in the end?" The name creator nodded, adding, "I know it sounds dumb...", a number of heads shaking, one of them says, "No shit, Sherlock.", and another goes "Can't we just give it a number?"

 

"That's it!" says one, "That's pretty smart!" The new name creator blushes, "Thank you."

"But which number?" asks another. They think for a bit, discussing several options, and finally, they all start working. The one in charge of the first section sits down at his typewriter and types the title of the report, the number they agreed upon. "2016".

This “report” is coming soon to a thread near you. 

It all depends on how fast these assholes can type.

Find the "report" here! (< link)

Afterword:

 

The numbers used in this story are completely random and purposefully low in order. There are approximately 86 billion neurons in the human brain. Regeneration is rare and extremely unlikely. Once lost, they are usually gone. 

The hyperbolic return of runaway neurons I often use is not possible, hence the hyperbole.

Be kind to your neurons.

Oakie

 

[finis]

 

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Comments on this blog are locked. This is but a reading platform linked to Threads.

If you wish to reply with your thoughts, please do so on the Threads post that references this opinion piece. Thank you for reading.

 

How to begin…

Perhaps with what keeps me awake at night the most, regarding politics, the threat of a third party to the Biden/Harris re-election. I go through Threads and I see many far left idealists, of the kind that places purity of ideals above collective interests. I see far too many more than I’d like. And I worry. I worry for I know them well. They are not new to me, regardless of their new faces, and the memories they bring to me make for the drive I feel.

My father was a socialist. He was a Union man. He tried fiercely to explain to the workers he represented how the immediate gains they wanted would lead to subsequent doom. He failed. Doom ensued, and the radical left workers facing the destruction of their own making turned on him, blaming my father for their newfound misery. They called him a fascist.
I was a child, but I remember it well.

I remember my mother, looking at me, trying to smile reassuringly still holding the phone, after receiving another death threat call. There were many.
I remember my father’s eyes lost in the distance, wondering if he had missed something, if there was more he could have done, the unwarranted guilt creeping in his soul. I was but a child, I knew later why those eyes.

I am a dreamer, an idealist, a social-democrat.
I believe in individualism as a way to achieve collective good. I have flaws, many flaws. I love Samuel Beckett too much, perhaps. Growing up, I searched for meaning in literature, and art, and music (and other more immature sources, as I imagine all teenagers do). I am the sum of those experiences, and I find myself asking “Why can’t they see this?” hundreds of times a day.
I know. But why?

The purity of thought and objectives of those on the far reaches of the Left’s outer rim are, once again, threatening our future. For they are fanatical in essence, no matter the garb they wear or the tongue they speak. I am an History buff, a mixed blessing in these trying times, and I see them for what they are.
And I am scared. So, please, if you are one of them, stop. Think.
And for the sake of us all, come 2024, do the right thing.

[finis]

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If you wish to reply with your thoughts, please do so on the Threads post that references this opinion piece. Thank you for reading.

Sinéad.

A few words before resuming Thread watch, or rather engaging on here, because I came to know and respect many of you, and because I respect all of you.

About Sinéad…

I was at a lab with my wife, waiting for her to get blood drawn, when the news of Sinéad’s death hit me. I don’t even remember which of you posted it (I’m sorry, under normal circumstances I credit the find with a @ or a quote), I just hit the web and read the news there. I just had to make sure it was real. I immediately posted an official source on my timeline, and right after, also the link to Troy.

And I just stepped back. I needed it. We have lost so many brilliant, amazing artists, among them singers and musicians which to me really strike a chord in my heart, for I see my life as and through music.

 

I remember the pain I felt when Michael died. When Whitney died. When George Michael died. When Bowie died. So many. Voices that are deeply rooted in the soundtrack of my life. But this… 

 

When The Lion and the Cobra came out, I had already left the Army. I had joined after failing my psychic eval at the Air Force Academy. I was crossing the desert between that catastrophic event in my life, right after high school grad, and College. A crossing that lasted 13 long years, during which a lot of shit happened in my life, most of my own making, some just… fate, if you will. I fell in love with Sinéad’s songs at hello. The Lion and the Cobra is a masterpiece. 

But this one song…

 

Troy is “my song”.

It came to me at several points of the desert crossing, and it is, to this day, a song I never place on any playlist. The reason is, I never know how it will hit me. It brings back to me the events it speaks of, a very select group of life altering events, small enough to count with my fingers, that emotionally cut me to the bone. Some of you may know the feeling. But today, it was death. Her death. The Phoenix’s death, from which she can only rise again in song.

 

The sadness I felt for her, for her life, for her loss, merged with my life, my loss, and the death I came to know. And inevitably, I was transported to that dark place from where I had to escape many times, like a Phoenix, for the only escape from it comes from dying a little more inside.

All my life I found a small measure of comfort and sanity in writing. Always a fountain pen or a graphic pen, always black ink, always white paper… Then computers came along, and here I am. Again. Rising from the ashes of yet another lost piece of my soul by virtue of my written words.

 

For the one event I was drawn to by her death, is as inescapable to me today as it was when it happened. Irredeemable. Unforgiven. Final. This is why I needed a place to hide and begin the healing. And this long rambling post is part of the process. For the first time in my life I go through this in public. Not in a Moleskine no one will ever read, not in an obscure Blog page with zero visibility. Here.

 

I apologize for the long thread post, but I never know where my words will lead me when I embark on these journeys. If you made it this far, thank you for reading. You know me a little better.

 

Maybe one day I will stop.

Maybe one day the pain in my soul will consume the last bit of it left. And I will have no more words to save me. No more Troys to burn.

But not today.

Not today.

 

[finis]

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Comments on this blog are locked. This is but a reading platform linked to Threads.

If you wish to reply with your thoughts, please do so on the Threads post that references this opinion piece. Thank you for reading.

Our Flag.

 

The ones among you with an eye for detail may have noticed a subtle change in my usual emoji signature. I replaced the wave (tsunami) I used to have there with our flag. This happened the day Barack Obama joined Threads. Unlike most of you, who were born in this country, I am an American by choice. The day I became a citizen, and for the first time pledged my allegiance to our flag, I felt something swell inside of me. That unique emotion returns to me at times.
 

When Barack Obama arrived here was one of those times. I immediately felt compelled to fly our colors, and that tiny little flag waving on my signature reflects that emotion. And I will not allow the magats to claim the Stars and Stripes as theirs alone. The day that happens, I have allowed them to strip the pride of being an American from me, and that will NEVER happen.

So I fly her on my signature here.

Because I am proud of my country. A country that elected Barack Obama twice. A country that helped free the Continent I grew up on. A country that against all odds became a beacon of hope in a Century of turmoil. A country that showed the world what the search for a more perfect tomorrow looks like, with all her flaws and all her greatness. I feel like expanding on this, from the perspective of a new citizen, but before doing it I want to leave this here so you know why I fly our flag on my signature. Proudly. So now you know.

 

[finis]

Note:

Comments on this blog are locked. This is but a reading platform linked to Threads.

If you wish to reply with your thoughts, please do so on the Threads post that references this opinion piece. Thank you for reading.