Tag Archive | outrage

still the fear


you full of fuckin shit man. where you get off bein so noble? go fuck those asses. you know you want to. you don’t fool me. you just itchin for a fight so you can say you did you piece and it was me who wanted it over. you oh so noble, man. what, you done with me? how long you been bored to screamin? those bitches who want a piece o you ass, go get em. go get em, i say. don’t hang round here. you know you scared, you fearful. you so fuckin fearful. still that fear, man. drop that noble ass pretense o love. love is bullshit. you know what you want. girl here, girl there, girl in the bushes, girl with legs wrapped tight round you neck. go get it. i’m no fool, i know you been playin me. lose the act. come round to what you really want. fear go way when you get what you want. go fuck them round asses, boy. go do it. still the fear.

snake pit


whoa. there be somethin crazy going round this day. man say, speak you mind, everyone important, everybody get a vote. no one so high his voice count more. everybody be the same. every snake in the pit be the same. so why you go and change the rules? why you think you better? where it say you better and we be trash? where you get nerve enough to walk out on us? like we be nothin, and you be the only man who counts. you know, the snakes, we be slippery. we all be slippery. we all be hungry, need to eat. we got fangs just like you. you watch youself and you ugly slippery behind. you watch you slithering bad ass. we know the rules and we be familiar with the pit. you can’t say we ain’t familiar with the pit, man. no need to be stupid. you been caught. you slinking slime games be over.

PC Manifesto




In the furtherance of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all mankind, I, Master President Daniel J. Tramp, do hereby decree that the following reasonable and irrevocable rules and regulations be made mandatory as of January 20, 2017:


All women from the age of twelve (12) shall be considered pussy cunts. All pussy cunts shall be the legal and physical property of men, and shall be treated as such. The U.S. Constitution and any and all privacy laws from any source shall not apply to pussy cunts.


Boys become men at the age of twelve (12), with all rights and responsibilities thereof.

All prior laws regarding rape, sexual assault, sexual harassment, or any other unreasonable law in regard to sexual violence shall hereby be null and void. All men who are in custody for violation of said antiquated and unreasonable laws shall be released from custody, and provided with a 12 year old pussy cunt sexual slave for the same number of months or years as the gentlemen were incarcerated or otherwise punished.

No man shall be punished for violence against any pussy cunt, under the well-founded premise that pussy cunts deserve what they get.

Men who are found having sexual relations with any child under age 12, including but not limited to their own daughters, shall not be punished but rather shall be sent for sensitivity counseling.

Boys from the age of six (6) and all men shall have the right to own and bear arms for their own protection; for the safety and security of their property; and against all hostile intention whether from internal dispute or alien invasion. There shall be no limit to the number of said arms owned per man.

Any man found to have engaged in sexual activity with another man shall be shown no mercy, and shall be sent to the nearest local militia for immediate destruction, as this is clearly an affront to our Nation and to Almighty God.


For the safety and security of all mankind, all pussy cunts with brown, black, or mixed race skin shall immediately be sent to gas chambers located in the southern states. Gas chambers are in the process of being rush ordered, negotiated and built by our master negotiator and tradesman, Master President Tramp. Disposals shall be conducted with a deadline of July 3, 2017, with the intent that our Nation’s Independence Day be celebrated without concern for public safety.

For the mental well being of all mankind, all pussy cunts falling into the following conditions shall be sent to said gas chambers: all pussy cunts over age 35; those without the requisite leg length to attract men; and all those with an IQ over 100. Disposal deadline for this second phase shall be December 23, 2017, so that our Nation may observe Our Lord’s Birthday Celebration Christmas Eve holiday with content and good cheer.

For the continuing sexual pleasure of all mankind and in order to preserve maximum eye appeal to men, effective immediately, all other pussy cunts shall dye their hair blonde and grow it to shoulder length or longer.

Pussy cunts shall not be allowed to own arms, or to bear arms unless used specifically as sexual entertainment for men.

Pussy cunts shall be required to eat only enough to survive, in order to keep their figures girlish and attractive to men.

Pussy cunts shall wear clothing that appeals to men. All decisions on female clothing and range of public or private nudity shall be made by men.

Pussy cunts may speak out loud only in response when requested by a man or boy, and otherwise may not speak. Any pussy cunt found in violation of this rule shall be forcibly required to provide blow jobs to said men and boys. A second violation of the keep-mouth-shut-except-when-giving-blow-jobs rule shall result in being sent to a local militia. Recognizing that this may be a flash point for implementation of the law, and that local militia may not be well enough equipped to handle the load, well-trained firing squads and appropriate facilities are in the process of being rush ordered, negotiated and built by our master negotiator and tradesman, Master President Tramp.

All pussy cunts are subject to whatever male attention they attract without objection. No pussy cunt shall deny any man or boy, or group of men or boys, any form of sexual indulgence. Any violation of this rule shall result in the firing squad.  When in public, pussy cunts shall walk quietly with their heads down and eyes modestly looking at the path of travel. However, upon command of any man or boy, a pussy cunt shall perform any requested act gladly and without shyness.

Pussy cunts may engage in sexual activity with other pussy cunts only with the approval of their husbands or owners, and only for the express purpose of entertainment and titillation of men.


As marriage is a God-given sacrament, men may marry as many pussy cunts as they can afford to support. Pussy cunts have no rights to object or approve of marriage.

Pussy cunts may not work for a living outside the home, unless in the sex trade or entertainment business, and only with the approval of their husbands.

As birth is a God-given sacrament, pregnant pussy cunts shall bring all fully legal human beings inside them to full term, regardless of health of the child or medical danger to the mother pussy cunt. All so-called miscarriages shall be thoroughly investigated, and any pussy cunt found to have self-induced a miscarriage shall be sent to the firing squad. Should the miscarriage be found valid, the husband shall have the right to divorce or send the mother pussy cunt to a local militia, under the well-founded premise that God is showing His displeasure with the female.

Pussy cunts are charged with the upbringing of children to age 12, at which time girls are established as pussy cunts, and boys as men. All decisions on said upbringing of children, however, reside with the dominant male in the household.

Under no circumstances shall a pussy cunt be allowed to continue her education. At age 12, any pussy cunt determined to have an IQ over 100 shall be sent to the gas chamber.

At age 35, pussy cunts shall be rendered useless to society and shall be sent for disposal to a gas chamber.

A married man may divorce his pussy cunt without any stated reason. Should a divorce occur, the pussy cunt shall be auctioned off to the highest bidder, with negotiated proceeds going to Master President Tramp.


Highly desirable pussy cunts, particularly the youngest and tallest, shall be corralled and shipped to Master President Tramp for the entertainment of himself and his friends and colleagues.


As all valid historical documents clearly indicate, our sacred Nation of America was founded exclusively by white, Christian, English speaking men who valiantly and courageously fought the Devil in all its forms. Therefore, the following rules apply, effective immediately and irrevocably:

The United States of Amerika shall forever remain a White Christian Nation.

Under no circumstances shall any person, male or female, speak or write in a tongue other than American English. Master President Tramp shall soon provide each man with a new dictionary of approved terms.

Under no circumstances may any person, male or female, refer to blessed Christmas by wishing another a “Happy Holiday,” under penalty of death. The term “Christmas” shall always be used reverentially by writing and/or speaking it in full without the blasphemous abbreviation of “Xmas.”

The term “Christian” shall be used interchangeably with the word “good” and shall have the same meaning.

By authoritarian decree, this 20th day of January, 2017, signed under oath to our Almighty Christian God,

Master President Daniel J. Tramp


Inciting Violence


It’s incredibly sad to me that I wrote this post long ago, and yet now with the election from hell, we are even worse off. Still can’t believe this is our country…

The news last week about the US Congresswoman from Arizona and those around her who were shot by a mad man is weighing me down. I watched on TV the speech by President Obama at the memorial service. Six people died, one a child, all innocent people whose only mistake was to be in that ‘wrong’ place. Innocent people who wanted to hear what a duly elected official, exercising her freedom of speech and assembly, had to say. President Obama spoke magnificently about the tragedy, doing honor to those who were killed and those who helped save. He said we need to be the kind of world that that child thought we were and expected us to be. He spoke profoundly and made me proud he is our president.

It goes beyond irony that the child who died was born on September 11, 2001. Is there any doubt the killer is mad? How could he do such a thing if he were not? That may mean that the suicide bombers of the past decades, the terrorists of today’s world, kamikaze pilots of yesterday, are all mad too. Are they? Or are we living in a world where violence has been elevated to a political art form? Where it’s just a matter of creating the right language, the most vitriolic propaganda, and finding charismatic leaders to deliver the hatred to an ignorant and brainwashed population. I believe this is happening now in our country with the Tea Party. I fear that the Tea Party has identified such methods to suit their purposes which are to incite fear and violence. They are using the imagery of guns, shooting, and targets to deliver their messages. Once the message is out, all it takes is a mentally unbalanced person to act on it.

I don’t use the word shame very often, but I say shame on the Tea Party for not acknowledging that she is part of the problem, perhaps a very large and important part. Shame on our country for allowing anyone to get a gun and ammunition, with so little control that children are shooting children regularly. Where fathers videotape their own children shooting semi automatic weapons, and in one recent case, watching as the child blows his own head off. Where the word ‘liberal’ is used as an invective and encouragement to put a politician in the ‘crosshairs’. Where this rhetoric is defiantly supported by Tea Party and yes, some Republican party members too, as merely symbolic. IT ISN’T SYMBOLIC, IT’S INCITING VIOLENCE.

Language hurts. And violence is real. What about that don’t you get?

This is a passage from my book PERSEPHONE IN HELL. Glory’s father, Herb, has had a stroke and has weakened significantly in every way. Glory is an immature and troubled teen; she has stopped respecting her father. She knows only the bare bones about his past, that he’d served as a medic on the beach of Normandy on D Day and received a lot of medals. She couldn’t know his long remembered despair.

“Herb endured a long period of surgeries and recuperation to restore his health. He was awarded many medals of honor from the army. He received among others, a Purple Heart, a Bronze Star, and a Silver Star for his bravery. There was only one higher medal that could have been bestowed. Herb was a war hero among war heroes.

But all he could think of were the men he hadn’t saved. A real hero would have gone out again. A real man would have risked his life to save a good kid like Carl, a buddy like Max. They were his men, truly his real family, and you do for your family.

He took his box of medals home. He showed them to his Mama and Pop, who were proud of him and overjoyed to have him home. He showed them to his favorite sister Miriam, and to all his brothers and sisters. He showed them to Joyce, his girl, who kissed him and agreed to marry him after a time.

Then Herb took his box of hard earned, well deserved medals of honor and stuck them in his dresser drawer. He never took them out again. He never, ever mentioned the war again in his life.”


Gentlemen, beware


Beware, my friends
We watch you
We study you
We read your words for authenticity
We observe your taste for inflicting violence
We notice your pretending attitudes
We see your covered barbarism
Your guarded sentiment
Your arrogant judgment
Your disrespect
Your falsehood
Your condescension
Your pomposity
Your dislike
Your hate
Your crude objectifying mocking
Your ugly baseness

Gentlemen, make no mistake
We watch
We see
We comprehend.

Je Comprende



I get it. Finally, I understand. Je comprende.

The upscale, modern, sleek term is epiphany. But I find that just too fancy for me. I’m not a fancy person. I’m plain, I’m not high falutin’, I’m not zen. I’m average, common even.

Dawn breaks over marble head, that’s what people used to say. Do they still? Duh, how stupid can I be? I’ve got a head filled with hard rock, stiff and unabsorbing. Inflexible. Solid. Dense. Dull. Dull as a doorknob, the old saying went. Do people still use that phrase?

That’s it, that’s the news. What I finally understand. What has taken me all these years to comprehend. The truth. That is, there is nothing in particular that is special about me. Nothing unique. I’m a common sort. Slightly above average intelligence, below average in stature, average in every other aspect.

For all my wondering if there is greatness in me, years of searching and questioning, angst and despair, the simple answer is no. Not feeling sorry for myself, just stating the reality. If there were anything incomparable about me, that specialness would have shown itself by now. Logic dictates. I could zen it up, but one can’t escape one’s realities, however tempting it may be to try. Best not to continue to fool oneself. Got to face the truth.

What is real? What is my reality? I’ve lived a life that has no distinct meaning. Nothing exceptional, nothing extraordinary, nothing worth getting excited over. With apologies to my family, since obviously they are important and meaningful. But take out procreation and raising of children, which is in essence an animal act of instinct, what is left? There is no reason to gravitate to me, no reason to find me in a crowd, no motivation to choose my company. No reason to love me more than any other. I am simply here, one in a crowd of billions.

I won’t fight it anymore. I surrender. I finally understand. Je comprende.



A Tale of Two Davids


I’d heard all about the statue of David, of course. The magnificence of the carving, the perfection of form. Its compelling presence. Michelangelo’s greatest work, perhaps. Florentine, uniquely Italian, yet universal. A statement of the human condition.

When I saw David this summer in person, right up close, I fell in love. It was the same with Van Gogh’s paintings in the Musee d’Orsay in Paris. I never knew how much I admired and cared for Van Gogh’s work until I saw them for myself some seven years ago. One can read and study and memorize every detail of a photograph of an art work, but seeing it for real is a whole different experience.

The same is true about violence and death. One can read about it in the newspaper or watch the nightly TV newscast, and feel almost nothing. Over and over, we hear about war and battles, bombs and sniper attacks, until it seems we become immune to their true horrors. The biblical David was famous for his victory over Goliath. He epitomizes the intelligence of the Hebrew people. Yet he killed. Perhaps too much time has gone by for us to feel the violence of his act.

When my brother David committed suicide some 25 years ago, the anguish of it was too much to bear. All I could feel was anger. I held back love, compassion, pity. I froze out understanding. I couldn’t allow acceptance or any contemplation of the human condition that my brother’s act of self-inflicted violence might have represented.

But when I saw the David of Michelangelo, in the company of my sister who endured the same anguish and agony as I had 25 years ago, my heart began to open. In the presence of the master sculpture, I let compassion in. I tried to understand, and in doing so, began to heal. I waited too many years. I should have visited him long ago.


A Tale of Two Davids

After 25 years
I’m finally ready to talk about David

There are two Davids
One cast in stone
In the Accademia museum in Italy
The other cast into the ground in a coffin

David the rock carved of solid marble,
Form of a god
David the weak
Composed of decomposing human flesh,
Probably all bones by now

One symbolizes heroism
The other was cowardly
One slew the giant
The other slew himself

One had the intelligence
To outwit an enemy many times his size
The other had intelligence too
But couldn’t find his own strengths

Rock David is perfect
Cut from the stone by a master
Flesh David is perfect too
Perfect in his anger against himself

David the Florentine statue
Admired for courage and artistry
The world will remember
David my brother
Reviled for his inhuman loveless act
We try to forget

David born of the Hebrews and Michelangelo
Lives in beloved eternity
David born of the Hebrews Joyce and Herb
Died in despair and disgrace

A tale of two Davids

Finding Fury


What is hell but the fury in me? The hatred that can explode without warning. That self-immolation, that despicable, vile loathing that imprints an image into my cerebral cortex. I am not good enough, insists the graven image, that revolting torture carved on my flesh. I will always be less than I desire. Never happy. Unworthy. I turn to golden calves for wanton relief. But the truth is there for the remembering. It can cut me down at the knees. Its relentless driven message – directed, precise. It permits no escapes. I am useless. I am a waste of a human being, a waste of a living being. Let me descend into my own rot, make my appalling mistakes. Let the faults speak as loudly as my tattooed skin shrieks foul to a sick universe. This hell, this fury, this determined rip, this unyielding tear. This afflicted place.

The Mistake
Soak your pride in acid rain
Clip past the quick
Silence sentiment
Scrape the evidence from your fingertips
Drown uniqueness in categorical denial
Burn the prints
Gut a jealous turn
Cut and let fall your naiveté
Down, down
Till the budding branches
And all hell is happy

Messed Over


I just can’t control it lately. I’m messed up, messed over, crazed and running in circles, can’t figure it, so messed up. I suppose you’d never know it. Because you never guessed how difficult and savage the teen years were, how cruel. You can’t see me even now in this old, graying body. We only see ourselves; we know no one else’s despair. We don’t know each other, not really.



“[Sir Billy’s steel]

Billy was insistent. If Glory was ready to puke, he didn’t care. “Aw, come on,” he said with a nasty whine. “You know why we came out here. Don’t play all innocent with me.”

So much for chivalry. I’m tired and I just want to go home. The bleachers are damp. My foot aches.

He pulled her toward him and kissed her with an ugly impatient passion. “Stop it, Billy! Cut it out!” she demanded. He wouldn’t listen. He held her with one hand while the other pushed its way under her shirt to her bra. He shoved his hand under it and felt her naked breast. Gloria tried to pull back. I didn’t mean for anything like this to happen. I’m not ready for a boy like Billy.

She slapped at Billy’s face, and as she did, he suddenly let go. “No broad is worth this!” he snarled. She fell onto the bleacher seat. She hit her back and tumbled down the steel steps to the ground. She lay on the damp dark grass.

Billy was infuriated. He said, “I only went out with you on a bet to see if I could get you laid. You’ll never be popular. You’re a joke, always in la-la land. You’re probably a lesbian, that’s what everyone says.” Billy the Cruel walked away as though he were king conqueror of the world, back from a successful crusade. “I showed her,” he announced to the dark field and hidden woods. “Must be a lezzie.”

When he was gone, Glory pulled herself up off the ground and slowly limped through the field, past the diamond, past the carnival, past the gate, and home. She couldn’t remember ever feeling worse. Couldn’t recall a time when she felt less like the queen she had always imagined herself to be.

She closed the bathroom door, and with a dull razor she found in the drawer, cut fifteen slashes on her thighs and on her breasts. One slash for each year of my failure of a life.”