My Country

When I was a child
I was taught to share
Never to be mean
Or proud
The value of work
Was earning what’s yours
Which made thieves and liars so low
Never harm anyone
Unless they’re trying to harm you
And always look both ways
For the unexpected

My father taught me this and more
Never uttering a word
He did what he did
And those he knew
called him good
He showed me Spaghetti Westerns
And Star Wars
Where the heroes
Towed the line
And so I learned
How a man should

Now I am not so young
My father has gone
And all the old men in charge
Seem to have learned
different lessons than me
They take
They lie
They boast
They whine
They plunge headlong into adversity
for the consequences
For those
Who aren’t they
greedy and stupid
Wagging their fingers
at you and me
Cuz we won’t support
In the name of

They gather together
In the halls of power
Having nothing to make
No one to care for
Science deniers
Smarter than professors
imagining their answers
Le Seizes Faire economists
Finding hygiene a burdened
Strict Constitutionalist
Taking slavers for freedom literally
Pro-life, gun advocates
Insisting you look a man in the eye
When you kill him
And straight up haters
from past centuries
Seeing opportunity
In the spread of stupidity
Lets not forget all the perverts
Who preach morality
with their dicks out
Because the world is theirs
For the fucking

How is this my society
How can this be the same generation
As the man who raised me
How can these be the descendants
Of those who fought fascism
How did those that ended Jim Crow
Grow up into this
sadomasochistic mob

I am unhappy
With my country
Because my leaders
And I have no idea if we’ll survive them

In the quiet of the
Middle night
When I lie awake
by my leaders’ latest
I imagine a hero
To vanquish the villains with power
Offering neither hope nor prayers
Just a Passionate voice
Reminding us all
We are more Than
any accountant’s tabulation
Without us there is no nation
And the first revolution begins
That doesn’t end
Merely by changing
The names on the doors
No more ruling classes
No more special access
A collection of sovereigns
Choosing when
to work together
First we must
Eliminate the corrupt structure
Level the ground
And build anew
A nation conceived in liberty and justice for all.

Keepin’ On

I keep on
Keeping on
But I always end up
Where I began
So what good does it do me
To stick to a plan
That never helps me
The things I’m hating on

Go ahead
Lecture me on practical
Lecture me on realistic
Tell me more bout aiming low
as a sensible solution
To problems towering
Why not tell me last time
Practical promises were delivered upon
While we’re keeping it realistic

Absent vision
Future’s just a calendar
If all you got for me
Is dollars, bullets and locks
You misjudged your audience
I don’t need a bribe
And I ain’t terrified
What I want is something
to believe in
to build

Why could my father walk on the moon
but we can’t get lead out of the water
Why do doctor’s have no borders
‘Cept those of my Health Care Plan
If have to pay farmers not to grow
to keep food cheap
how are people hungry
why are there empty buildings
while people lay in the streets
Everyone may not deserve the same
But why should some go without
while others got gold plated toilet seats

our leaders scream
bout enemies abroad
but no enemy
compares to the
damage we do
to our own side
As our own leaders
work to undermine
can I get a hope up in here
can I a vision of what is to be
instead of constantly hearing
gossip bout your adversary
How bout just an equal share of the shit we build
Is that not practical
Am i a dreamer
for thinking
that progress meant
all of us
working for
all of us

I dont want a revolution
I just want a solution
To the age old problems
Of hate, greed and corruption
With the elementary plan
Of sharing what ya brung
And everybody brings something
it works for playgrounds and potlucks
but not our politics
spaghetti western villains
In a Mexican standoff
Fighting to be
all alone

This ain’t nothin new
Not the problem
Not the complaint
Not the solution
Nor those with power
Refusing to do
Because they prosper
Off inequity
So we just keep on
Keeping on
Till we can’t take no more
Burn it all down
And the cycle starts anew

Pigs in mens’s clothing


Deplorable State

I am a straight white man
in ‘Murica
oppressed and disenfranchised
robbed of my birthright
my manifest destiny
has been stolen by
lesbians and Mexicans
and academics
with their scams
’bout the environment

My people used to rule
not like
“metallica rules dude”
we actually ruled
voting rights
property rights
the best jobs
all ours
and ours alone

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The Purple Ninja Chp3

Rise of the Purple Ninja

“The most perfect political community is one in which the middle class is in control, and outnumbers both of the other classes.”
– Aristotle

Detail Work

Coffee in her left hand, a black pleather briefcase/purse/handbag/medicine cabinet clutched in her right, Angela sauntered down the narrow street mesmerized by the glistening oak sign swinging on shiny iron chains. She smiled again, as she had every morning this week, at the tangible results of a few hours labor.

“It’s the details that make all the difference, little one.” her father, Leonard had said. As had his, Thomas and his before that, Maurice Gutenberg, founder of the family business. Sylvia and he had arrived in America with little else but copies of the stories from their homeland written in their native tongue. The homesick immigrants around them quickly bought their entire inventory. Then the Gutenberg’s bought it all back and re-sold it. Soon they were filling requests for other inventory. After a few months, Maurice realized he didn’t need something to keep him afloat till he got work for another man. In America, he could work for himself.

Artist Unknown

Der Hausirer by Unknown

It was her father, Leonard, decades later, who moved the business from their living room into an actual store front. He designed the oaken sign, hanging from 2 metal chains, attached to a flagpole, attracting the eyes of potential customers like a waving hand. He personally carved and stained the words “Buch Laden” into the remains of a quarter panel of a fire damaged door. June, 1979 they opened the doors.

Karla Rheims was a graduate student doing research into eastern european literature and the opening of a book store with a german name, holding an inventory of source material, caught her attention. They ended up spending hours together, after closings, working on her research and falling in love.

Just shy of 2 years later, May of 1981, they were married, and Angela was born to the happy couple in November. A miracle of sorts.


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The Purple Ninja Chp. 2

Dragons Breath

They crawl from oceans, to paint the caves/
But I’m working all weekend, I need to get paid.
– Conor Oberst


Heat radiating off the steam engine between her legs kept her warm, as the Purple Ninja weaved through traffic on her bike. A violet knit scarf covered her nose and mouth, the ends trailing in the wind off her shoulders. Traffic was thick and unpredictable as the bars let out, so she had to be extraordinarily observant as she slid between vehicles. Unfortunately she did not have time for delays of any type.

20131212-001718.jpgImage by Corboin

Pursuit was dogged. A small fleet of private drone’s owned by a bounty hunter known as Dragon, were hot on her scarf streamers. Flying just a few yards above traffic, the slight, grey, unmanned vehicles darted across the sky, seeking her biosignature, anomalous movements, anything that might enable them to identify a target.

1 of the automatons caught sight of her. Then they all did. In formation, they dove towards her position. She feigned right then cut hard left between a the front end of a taxi and the rear of an SUV. Horns blared. Unfazed, they went left. In the middle of the intersection, They surrounded her. A chorus of car horns wailed in protest; of the traffic blockage, not her plight. She spun a full 360 seeking egress. There was none. Each drone took a road, hovering between her and the approach. The primary hung above, a spotlight from its underbelly highlighting her.

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Libertaria Chp 2

Opening Night

The thermostat read 90º, which would be fine if not for the 80% humidity making it feel like they were standing in an open air sauna, fully dressed, surrounded by fat people. The fact that it was 7pm and still this hot only made the situation more irritating. Jake mopped his forehead with the sleeve of his blue sports coat, took a breath, and continued to eye the crowd as they filtered through the gate. Straightening his black top hat, he ran his fingers across his freshly trimmed beard, down the front of his bloused shirt, finally resting his thumbs in the empty belt loops of his loose fitting black, leather pants. He looked down briefly to be sure his alligator shoes retained their polish, then returned to counting ticket sales.

20131205-002224.jpgHamilton V Burr

It had taken surprisingly little convincing to get the Valero Brothers, owners of the largest refuse removal company in town, to support his plan. They provided land, and the money for a security detail, lighting, and seating. But just for the first event. Either he showed a profit right out of the gate, or they were done. And if he did not repay their ‘investment’, well, he was probably done. From the looks of the turnout, that was not going to be a problem.

A large open field, zoned for warehousing that had never been built, was held by a company that the Valero’s were associated with. On either side of the field, a set of rented metal bleachers, 5 rows high, seating 20 each row, had been placed. In front of each set stood a transparent, bulletproof, wall, 10 feet high and 22 feet long. Racks of lights on extendable aluminum tripods 12 feet high, encircled the field, shining their light towards the center. Groups of teenage mexican boys hurriedly worked around the bases, securing the tripods to the ground with wires.

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The Purple Ninja, Chp. 1

An Example Must Be Made
Stephan Jensen, candidate for the United States Senate,
vice-President of his father’s lumber company, and fair-haired
bearer of the square jaw, stepped onto the platform at exactly 1:35PM. The crowd, group really, there were maybe 100 of them gathered on the grassy spot known to a few as Eakins Oval, applauded for exactly 30 seconds. He smoothed his red tie exactly once. He licked his lips twice, took a half step forward, laid both palms evenly on the podium, and spoke in a low, calm voice. “My friends and fellow citizens, our nation has come to a cross roads and we must decide which path to follow. Some say the way I offer is too difficult. That we should take an easier path. That those who are strong should be required to ease the burden of the weak.”

20131123-150901.jpgBy Tonnis

In the trees, to the north east of the parking lot, a magnifying glass secured, unobtrusively, to the side of a branch, was just starting to catch the afternoon sun in its lens.

Jensen continued methodically,”Behind me stand monuments for 2 of America’s great cultural heroes, fact and fiction.” He did not mention the art museum they adorned, filling the entire background, “George Washington as General of ragtag rebel forces fighting the most powerful military of his time, and Rocky Balboa feeling victorious just training for a title shot which even he did not believe he could win, the odds were so long.” Here Candidate Jensen stood a little straighter,raised his palms to include the group, and raised his volume, just a little.

The sunlight, those waves being cast through the magnifying glass, narrowed and intensified, focused onto a narrow rope laying on the ground. The far end had been staked to the ground with a silver mountain climber’s spike, currently hidden beneath a small pile of leaves. The near end tied to a 1 foot wide, 6 foot long, green and brown, rubber band. The ends of the giant rubber band, in turn, had been staked high on the trunk of 2 trees just a foot in front and to either side, creating a triangular shape, or more specifically, a slingshot. A red balloon sat in its cradle.

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A Plan for US

A Plan for US by JD Adler and C Schmitt A call for an Article 5 Constitutional Convention so that the people can impose reform on the government. Bookstore Table of Contents Washington’s Farewell Address    4 I. The Case for a Third Continental Congress    13 II. Amendments    14 Political Accountability    15 Campaign Finance Reform    17 […]


Chapter 2: Nathan

Officially, you had to be 18 to work. But that was a privilege which belonged to the upper castes. For the children of workers, making money began when you could count. For Nathan, it had always been the hustle. He was a smart kid, quick witted. He never missed an opportunity when it presented itself, and that made him successful on the street. Some days he brought home more money than his father. Not that that what was saying a lot. Even in a lucky family such as Nathan’s, where both parents had decent jobs, there was barely enough income to maintain the small 3 room shack they lived in. Not that he had spent much time there in the last 2 years, anyway