What Did Marshall McLuhan Say?

The new movies are arriving
faster than a BMW in a com-
mercial where the BMW is the
only vehicle on the road and
there are no stoplights. The
ads show all the fun — bomb
explosions here, automatic
rifle shots there, handguns
blasting away, bodies flying
up, down, all around and
every which way. The movies
star Hollywood’s favorites —
funny, handsome, in your
face stars with their guns
blazing and their cars chas-
ing and the audiences’ hearts
racing and then after shoot-
ing the final scenes, all those
super conscientious stars
meet up at a rally to protest
guns in America while millions
of people across the country
sit together in restaurants
and coffee houses and micro-
breweries not talking to each
other or looking at each other
but watching on their phones
their favorite movie stars blow
up everything and one, put-
upon, bullied white boy sits
alone in his bedroom staring
at the phone plotting.

It’s the Playoffs

It’s the playoffs and the
winning team’s cheer-
leaders were stacked
three deep behind the
commentators, smiling,
twirling their pompoms,
smiling plastic smiles
for however long the
commentary went on —
smile, smile, plastic
smile, twirl, twirl, twirl
and the billionaire own-
ers must have been
happy as the beau-
tiful, by and large,
blond cheerleaders
cheered and the one
percent loved it as
the grunts, albeit well
paid grunts, on the
field won or lost the
game and made the
one percent even rich-
er, win or lose, and
when the well-paid
grunts retire they have
may have a few dec-
ades before they lose
their brains or have
heart attacks and the
one percent smiled
as they got richer and
the cheerleaders kept
their plastic smiles as
long as the TV com-
mentators had them
as window dressing
and the one percent
wanted them to keep
those incredible smiles
and those unbelievable
twirling pompoms not
to mention their other

He Watched

He watched a PBS short
on pig farming which took
him back to his first church

in rural Kentucky and the
pig farmer family of gifted
kids, one of whom attempt-

ed suicide while in high
school and how he, in his
audacious, youthful ex-

uberance counseled her
out of her suicidal inclin-
ations while her indignant

sister confronted him with
his lack of expertise and
how he could ever think

that he could help her sister,
but he did, not by his skill,
but by the grace of God and

by the grace of God, she
went on to live a fruitful life
and then years later, he, the

then former pastor, heard
about her father’s suicide.
He just shook his head and

wondered what makes some
families tick and others not.
And then he thought, for just

a second, that if he were still
there, he could have helped
the pig farmer from taking

his life, except he was a lot
older and a lot wiser and
realized that he wouldn’t

have been of much help
and that the first time
had been beginner’s luck.

Nostalgia, Sentimentality, Democracy and One Billion Animals

I see TV commercials today
and I think of friends from yesterday.
I don’t know why —
is it nostalgic music; is that’s why?
Something reminds me of days on campus;
something triggers the hippocampus
to thoughts of years gone by
and friends, some who have died.
There is this one in particular
and that one who was really peculiar
and all of them who were precious
back in the day
and in my memory always will stay
and then I wake up and think
that internationally we need not shrink
but sober up, get over the sentimental past
and vote in this dangerous time,
for a democracy that will last
not to mention the one million animals
who have died in a blaze
and in our environmental haze
we need to wake up, wake up,
wake up!!!

Just Another Manic Saturday, Sunday, Monday

An ice storm rages along the Big
Lake instead of fluffy, lake effect
snow for skiing, snowboarding,
sledding, while dunes are wiped

away and million-dollar homes
are crashing into the lake and a
rain and wind storm cranks up
along the Gulf keeping walkers

off the shore and running for
cover, with a prediction of
seventy-mile-an-hour straight
winds arriving in the morning

with flooding all up and down
the eastern seaboard and mon-
umental snow storms rage a-
long the upper West and Mid-

west and it’s just another normal
winter day and the Farmer’s
Almanac didn’t even see this
coming — well, we can’t see

beyond the ice, wind and fire
and neither can Earth, Wind
and Fire. I guess the Bangels
were the prophets on global

warming, telling us (with sweet
eighties’ lyrics) that it’s just an-
other manic (Saturday, Sunday)
Monday. No, they didn’t.

The Desperation State

Rightwing, white, evangelical Christianity is desperate and has found a foil in Trump to advance its last-ditch, reactionary, racist agenda.

This isn’t about a simplistic, ethically shallow, either/or notion of abortion (Who relishes abortion? It’s complicated); that’s just a front so evangelicals can tout moral indignation and ethical righteousness while advancing their fear-based agenda.

Projection is a reality and the rightwing talks about the “Deep State.” There is no Deep State, but there is the Desperation State that wants to take over America and return it to the imaginary white, halcyon days of Ozzie and Harriet, Father Knows Best and the Brady Bunch.

We need to do our due diligence and vote the whole bunch out and quit giving a voice to the fear-mongering of white evangelical Christians. The second Tuesday in November can’t come soon enough.

I just hope we don’t get into a huge blowback situation that will escalate into another horrendous, avoidable war resulting in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of lives of God’s children, including two of our own who are in the military.

Where is sanity?

We Americans are smug because there isn’t a nuclear bomb that can reach our shores — but such a day is right around the corner.

If we as a nation can’t be proactively ethical in relation to Middle-Eastern nations, we, at least,  could act with enlightened self-interest instead of unenlightened callousness and a brutality that begs for blowback.

The Lug-Nut

A lug-nut she called him
and he was feeling grim.
And then he felt glad
and no longer very sad.
While she meant to harm,
he raised a victory arm.
Without such a nut
the car goes caput
and all the wheels
come off with a squeal.
And then he gave heed;
Washington does not need
more empty-headed pompadours
but lug-nuts galore
to save our democracy.

The Child King of Chaos

[ key-os ]

a state of utter confusion or disorder; a total lack of
organization or order.

The child-king maintains power by creating chaos and
pointing at everyone else to blame. This is the way
the child-king maintains control.

Angst, angst, angst.

Welcome to the wonderful world of American chaos
instituted by the child-king while we, in response,
desperately grasp at and try to maintain the illusion
of rational reality and order in order to cope with
the fearful state of what such chaos might mean.

Angst, angst, angst.

It is something to which we, like parents of an
out-of-control child, cling in order to cope
with the fear of the actual reality of chaos
and its dreadful, dire, potential consequences.

Angst, angst, angst.

The American government is out of control
and we need to face up to the fact that we are
being led by an out-of-control child-king of chaos.

And where are the adults? Please, where are the adults?


Angst, angst, angst….