The family just returned from a 10-day trip to Italy that included Rome and Milan. This is not a Lost Traveler article because I am no longer physically able or psychologically willing to put myself through the “there and back again” air travel process. I’ll pass the mantle of the Lost Traveler to the Amazon, if she cares to pick it up.
While they were gone, I lived the bachelor life. I had an entire city to “terrorize” in an attempt to live up to my “Godzilla” nickname, and I really didn’t care. I left the house a total of five times during the period. Two of those were mandatory visits to the corporate office. Two were grocery runs. The last was mandatory personal business that could not be addressed online.
Toward the end of my freedom, I began taking stock of my mental state. Other than the office, I had no pressing need to be anywhere. I could have gone to visit family or look up old friends I hadn’t seen for years. I could have seen a movie in the theater. The list went on and on. The more things I added to the list of possibilities, the more I wondered about how my attitudes toward the demands of interacting with the world have evolved.
The term “shut-in” is usually applied to a person who, due to illness, age or disability, is unable to venture out into the world. Meals on Wheels serves these folks by making sure they have a solid meal once a day and, more importantly, have the chance to enjoy a bit of human contact. When extreme weather alerts are so gleefully announced on TV, people are encouraged to check on their neighbors, especially the elderly. This is admirable human social behavior that helps keep people connected to others.
In my own case, I realized I had become a “shut-out.” With the exception of the demands of work, I had effectively disconnected from the world. The TV only came on if I was not otherwise occupied, and then only to watch a movie from my library. I was living my own “survival bunker” existence. I had no desire to go out, and even less desire for the “bother” of human interaction.
My existence was on “pause,” much like that of Henry Bemis in the Twilight Zone episode “Time Enough at Last.” Burgess Meredith plays Bemis, a bank teller who loves to read. He worked in a bank and hid in the vault to read during his lunch hour. When he emerges, the world has been devastated by a nuclear war and he is alone. He realizes he is free from all of the people who were constantly pushing and pulling on him and denying him time to enjoy his passion. In his ecstasy of freedom, he rushes to the library and begins salvaging the books he wants to read. Then he breaks his prescription glasses and cannot enjoy his books.
The experience of becoming a “shut-out” was much like that. I cannot describe my feelings as loneliness or depression. It was more a case of “my cup runneth over,” and I needed some serious silence.
The world didn’t shut me out. I pushed it as far away as possible. In a way, I suddenly understood why a person might choose to leave “home” and live in a barrel, or to go on strike and totally disconnect from everything beyond the immediate needs of the moment. I hope to find that silence again soon. Ten days was far from enough.
In 1990, I passed what was then called the Texas Commission on Law Enforcement Officer Standards of Education, also known as TCLEOSE or “T-Close,” exam and became eligible to become a sworn peace officer in the State of Texas.
It was a very different time. Police were generally well regarded in society at large, and most urban and suburban agencies required applicants to have military service or an associate’s degree. I had neither, so my life took a different path.
My time at the police academy showed me a hint of life on the other side of the badge, and my interest in things related to law enforcement has continued to the present. It also created a deep interest in the history and psychology of the profession and its relationship to various segments of the community.
“The Moon is Always Full” by David Hunter is one of my all-time faves. Hunter writes about his time as a sheriff’s deputy and presents a very human side of the job. If you can get past the mannequin story without laughing your backside off, somebody needs to hold a mirror under your nose.
“No Second Place Winner” by Bill Jordan is a treatise on the proper employment of the police service sidearm, and it provides a window into the mind of the border patrolman of the late 1960s.
“Guns, Bullets, and Gunfights” by Jim Cirillo is a bit “technical” for the casual reader, but “Jim Cirillo’s Tales of the Stakeout Squad” recounts Cirillo’s long career as a New York City policeman. Cirillo was also a member of the New York Police Department’s “Stakeout Squad” in the 1970s. The Stakeout Squad was a highly controversial unit created to hide out in businesses that suffered from the plague of armed robberies sweeping NYC at the time. Many of their confrontations resulted in an exchange of gunfire.
This was dangerous work, and “Tales” shows the human and professional side of the men in that unit. Probably the most telling passage is, “there are limits to each man’s ability to take stress. We started getting men going sick with hypertension. Several had heart attacks, and one of my brother officers, whom I had trained and whose nerve and utmost accuracy I had lots of faith in, died in his sleep of heart failure at the age of 36.” ~ Guns, Bullets, and Gunfights p. 58.
During roughly the same period, Dallas, Texas had a unit similar to the Stakeout Squad with the same mission, to stop armed robberies and make apprehensions if possible. “Holloway’s Raiders” by Capt. E. R. Walt tells their story.
All of the books above talk about police officers putting themselves in the line of fire to protect law-abiding citizens.
What happens when the people being protected are neither law-abiding nor citizens?
I just cracked open “Lines and Shadows” by Joseph Wambaugh. Originally published in 1984, it tells the story of a special unit of San Diego Police and U.S. Border Patrol officers who patrolled the no man’s land of desert scrub and cactus-filled canyons between San Diego and Tijuana, Mexico. They were not looking for “migrants,” “wetbacks,” or “pollos”; call them what you will. They were decoys pretending to be illegal aliens crossing into America, and their targets were the bandidos and crooked Mexican cops who robbed, raped, and murdered those migrants. They were successful, but at a terrible cost to themselves.
“In 1982 three San Diego-area police officers underwent psychological counseling… the three officers in question were all convinced that disturbances in their lives were related to police service. At least two had experienced some episodes of weeping… At least two had thoughts of self-destruction, which is extremely predictable in police stress cases.” ~ “Lines and Shadows” p. 9.
Some of this might sound very similar to the PTSD experienced by so many of our active service members and veterans. It is exactly the same affliction.
The hate being directed at our first responders is unjustified. It is causing many to abandon their calling, and the replacements are often people who should never wear a uniform of any kind. Many of these replacements are the ones with something to prove to the world, the bullies, and the power hungry. I watched some of these misfits wash out of the police academy before they could become sworn peace officers. I’ve heard talk from some long-serving officers that made me wonder.
Law enforcement is a calling to serve others. Just like a firefighter or a member of the U.S. military, the good ones are there because they WANT to be. The rest, hard to say. It is a cross-section of society like any other organization. It is only as good as the standards to which they are held and the leadership they are given.
Before you hold up a sign, or scream into a megaphone, you might think about who you want to show up when your elderly mother needs help. A person who cares? Someone who is just doin’ the job and collectin’ the check? Or nobody because the job no longer exists?
Sadly, I had not heard my favorite band of all time was in the DFW area. Also sadly, the Amazon that used to live at my house was not due to arrive from Notre Dame until 8/1, and it was too late to change her tickets, so she could go along.
This was my first visit to the Arlington Music Hall, and even though it has a 1960’s atmosphere, it is a well maintained intimate little concert hall. They have a snack bar and a grownup bar to enjoy while you wait for the doors to open.
(The front doors are clearly marked for 30.06 and 30.07 restrictions, but they had armed security guards inside the building to make sure things stayed safe.)
I connected with my coworker. He shared another bit of information regarding the venue in that the best seats are in the balcony. I had a seat on the next to last row on the floor and there is just not a bad seat in that place. The person on the sound board knows his stuff. The performance was loud as all such bands should be, but the sound was balanced so cleanly, the distortion that comes from shoving everything to 11 and walking away was completely absent and you could actually hear the lyrics and the music beautifully.
We lost my long-time friend Stewart Huckaby earlier this year, and watching Buck Dharma and Eric Bloom move around the stage reminded me that they have been performing for at least 50 years. It really brought home the lyrics of “Don’t Fear the Reaper” and “Golden Age of Leather” because Reaper talks about facing one’s end, and Golden Age talks about meeting it on your own terms.
When I got home, I drank a toast to Stewart…
“He had no fear and he started to fly.”
Now he embodies the motto of the band because he’s…
For some years, I have thought of myself as “happily estranged from most of my relatives.” This was the unhappy result of some family drama, the roots of which have probably been forgotten by the participants, even if they don’t seem to forget the lingering animosity.
Lately I have been seeing more and more articles about family estrangement:
The majority tend to lay the blame at the feet of therapists who advise people to cut ties “for their own mental health”. “Political extremism” seems to run a close second in the blame game.
I can’t identify the root cause in my own case except I don’t like being around unhappy people who seem to delight in bringing others down with their endless exposition of their opinions and personal miseries.
This brings me back to the notion of “mental health”, but historically, the nuclear family was supposed to the be the safe place where people could go for solace, companionship, and acceptance. No, I’m not talking about some mythological 1950s “Leave It To Beaver” fantasy land. I’m looking back a bit further to the structure of aboriginal societies. Were they ideal? Not on your life. They did have the advantage of limited alternatives.
A group of hunter-gatherers or paleo-pastoralists only had each other to lean on, and that changes the dynamic. Many fantasy idealists look at these societies and say “If I don’t like it here, I can walk away. Vote with my feet.” You could, but there is a whole lot of nothing between groups, and you will be stomping through territory claimed by somebody on your way to utopia unless something along the way reminds you of your rightful place in the food chain.
This dependency on the clan did not eliminate the strife of everyday human interaction, but it toughened people up. It made them aware of the impact each member of the clan had on the rest of the community whether the affected parties were blood kin or not. Elders usually settled disputes before blood was drawn, but it was not always the case.
We have abandoned this model of belonging and we set forth into a world of hucksters selling happiness in a bottle or an ideology. Those hucksters are nowhere to be found when what we really need a big hug and a kind word, but another huckster steps up to offer us escape from the pain instead of the support to pass through it.
I’m not sure where we got off track as a society.
Accepting people for who they are, not mocking people for their perceived limitations had been a bedrock lesson in my youth. I walked away when people I thought I knew abandoned those standards of behavior when it became politically fashionable. Debate of almost any social or political issues is no longer tolerated at gatherings. Express the “wrong” opinion and the invitations stop flowing.
Makes me wonder if this is why those few family gatherings that still occur always seem to coincide with major sports events…
Long ago, an author could respond to Reviews posted on Amazon, and I made a few friends and contacts from reviewers I engaged with after “The Handbook of Modern Percussion Revolvers” was released.
That function seems to have been removed, and a person going by the handle of “Man in the Middle” left the following review of my book “Three Righteous Souls”, and I feel he deserves an answer.
I was hooked by the title. Who were the three righteous souls, and what made them righteous? The scenario is that power has mysteriously failed, resulting in a black mother and her two kids having to knock on an old white man’s door when their food and gas ran out while trying to get from Biloxi to Toledo. The man welcomes them in, and over time explains the ways of the world in such times to his visitors, while helping them survive and adapt.
One thing that impressed me was how easily our civilization, with all its rights and conveniences, could be stripped from us, and how little even the prepared could do about it. I’m still puzzled as to which three characters the author considers righteous?
I deducted one star only because the book ended with no resolution of the problem in sight.
******************************************
Greetings Man in the Middle and thank you for taking the time to read my book and even more for taking the time to leave a review. Such things mean more to authors than we can express.
The title of “Three Righteous Souls” is inspired by the Book of Genesis in the Bible.
In Genesis, Abraham bargains with God over the salvation of the city of Sodom while the man Lot gives shelter to two strangers at the risk of his own family’s lives. Were they, themselves, righteous men? If so, two righteous souls were not enough to save the city.
The title of the book is an invitation to the reader to consider their own answer to the question of who the righteous are, and do enough of them remain to save the world?
Tom had just fought off an attack by violent looters. Blood was dripping down the living room wall. He was exhausted by the ordeal and the effort of replacing the door ruined by his assailants. Then somebody knocked on his door.
Who can hang on to their humanity under such conditions? Who will not turn away a vulnerable stranger at the risk of their own life?
The story ends as a new world is being is emerging. What kind of world it becomes is still very much in question.
Thanks again, Man in the Middle. I hope you find this explanation satisfying.
Fine. We can play that game too. Buy physical media.
Why did DVDs and CDs vanish? Because the media companies can’t collect a fee every time you watch, read, or listen to the media you have paid for.
Stop supporting this stupidity!
I’ll start going back to the movies and subscribing to streaming services as soon as somebody starts producing something that’s actually worth my time instead of beating a railroad spike through my skull trying to convince me to adopt ideas I personally find reprehensible.
When I find movies from the 1940s-1980s that I have seen an embarrassing number of times, more entertaining than the current offerings, something is wrong with the product. I watched the original Star Wars Episode IV in the theater and it was amazing. I grew up on reruns of the original Star Trek, and never missed an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation. The Alien franchise, Peter Jackson’s Lord of The Rings and The Hobbit, Game of Thrones, and The Walking Dead were all excellent material.
And more and more of it is being removed from streaming catalogs and access is increasingly dependent upon licensing deals rather than ownership. I constantly get notices from my only streaming service talking about these things being removed. Fortunately, I own all of them on DVD.
I also see the same thing happening with books. Many classics are being published as outlandish coffee table editions that are impractical to actually hold and read comfortably. I suppose they’re meatn for your friends to use as coasters while pretending to be impressed at the breadth of your intellect or something.
Many news articles talk about the decline of reading brought on by young people endlessly “doom scrolling” the internet. I’m not convinced this is real news. Sure, smartphones have done nothing for reading skills and attention spans, but I also know that doom scrolling is a drug to stave off boredom.
Young people want entertainment. Entertainment that makes them feel something. Entertainment that engages them where they are in life. It may be the need for escapism. The thrill of a dark mystery or nail-biting thriller or a fluffy romance. Where is this entertainment offered in the sea of socio-politically charged drivel coming out of the corporate machines? Independent producers are meeting this need.
This is the Golden Age of the Indie. The “Pirate”. The “Rogue.” The “Outlaw.” Creators who have mostly abandoned the traditional publishing industry that refuses to buy our wares due to their political directives.
J.K. Rowling could never be published today. Frankly, I’m surprised her books and the films weren’t locked in the bottom of a disused filing cabinet and buried in soft peat years ago. Numerous small presses are emerging to fill the void created when TradPub abandoned the books that made reading fun for kids and adults. Raconteur Press happens to be my fave.
If you are dissatisfied with the sludge on offer from the media corporations, please check out Independent authors and small press publishers. Indies will write because we MUST write. It is a psychological thing. If you see someone sitting at a table with a bunch of books, please stop and talk. Buy a book. Most importantly, if you enjoy our work, please, please, leave a review.
Help us put the screws to the media corporations by embracing the Independents.
I sit here on July 5th after watching the ersatz patriotism of the Industrial Propaganda Media grind out drivel for twenty-four hours. David Muir climbed the Statue of Liberty. Various so-called singers spewed their “melodies” and shook their spandex-clad anatomy. Funny how the only ones singing about the greatness of America were the country singers, and sadly, not all of them. The show was constantly interrupted for non-updates on Swifties breathlessly sweating outside Madison Square Garden hoping for a glimpse of…something?
Up until July 3rd the only media talking about America and her people in a positive light were FIFA fans from other countries. I haven’t watched today’s news, but I’m sure the negativity train left the station at midnight, and The Message was fully restored by 12:01 this AM.
“Don’t kill the messenger” was obviously a response to a tendency of autocrats to do that very thing upon receipt of unsettling news. The poor bastard that ran all the way from Marathon to Athens to deliver news of a victory and died for his troubles doesn’t count. He died selflessly bearing happy news.
With Industrial Propaganda Media pouring an endless sewer of The Message into every corner of modern life, it is little wonder the town crier has been drowned out. People are simply choosing to disengage because they are fed up with being constantly Orwelled.
Disney bought Star Wars and used The Message to pervert a highly lucrative franchise into something nobody wants. They can’t even fill up the Star Wars-themed hotel in Orlando. The Marvel Universe used to be a guaranteed cash cow. Based on declining audience numbers, it would appear we can’t even have superheroes anymore. The Message says, “Everyone Must Be Equal AND Have Equal Outcomes.”
Superman used to fight for “Truth, Justice, and the American Way!” Captain America used to be an icon of American strength and greatness. Where are these ideals now? Who murdered them?
What happened to striving for excellence?
A little Natural Talent maybe, please?
Can we get some Content of their Character?
On the other hand, this constant barrage of The Message is creating an interesting opportunity for those of us who refuse The Message to claim some attention from ordinary people.
Folks who just want some escapist fiction to drown out the negative noise from the rich entitled morons screaming about how much America sucks and how her people are racist-Nazi-scumbags. (I spell relief: Raconteur Press & Based Book Sale)
Winston Smith could not turn the telescreen off, but he could turn off the sound, and he did.
America, we can do the same. We don’t have to listen to the voices from the telescreen belittle us.
We are a proud, kind, and generous people. We are not perfect by any means, but we keep trying.
We refuse to settle for what is, and as long as we keep reaching for the Dream, we will remain a place very few ever try to escape from. Can you honestly say that about any other country in the world?
“Nobody ever wanted to escape to Romania.” ~ Victor Suvorov, former Soviet Intelligence Officer
Freddy from Germany crossing America. The Japanese trying BBQ brisket and Tex-Mex food for the first time. The Tartan Army playing bagpipes on the way to the games. The hundreds of thousands of people who discovered Hidden Valley Ranch Dressing. These people are taking stories of our America home.
Those stories will fly in the face of The Message barrage, and they will be effective because those stories are being told from first-hand experience.
Americans are NOT racists.
People of Color are NOT being kidnapped off the street by ICE agents for not having their papers on order.
People are NOT jailed for speaking out against the American government.
A long time ago I saw a bumper sticker that read: “I may not like what you have to say, but I’ll fight to the death for your right to say it.” That is the First Rule of America as it should be for the world.
I’ll end this with the words on a truly great American patriot:
“I feel that my country has gotten a bad name, and I want it to have a good name. It used to have a good name. I sit and wonder sometimes who has given it a bad name. You are the only people now who can give it a good name, and I want you to take good care of my country and respect it.” ~ Tatanka Yotanka aka Sitting Bull
It was October 2024, and I was sitting in my booth at Dallas Fan Fest smiling at the shoppers and cosplayers wishing someone would stop and buy my first novel Ladies, Fish, & Gentlemen.
A woman saw the book and came over. She picked up the book, read the back cover, and asked, “Does the reader find out about the fish?”
I was dumbfounded, which is a very rare condition for me. I explained that the title is a lyric from a song. Unfortunately, that was an inadequate explanation, and she left, but the question has bugged me ever since, so today I think I will offer some insight into the backstory of the book that began the Ladies of Los Cristobol trilogy. (Book 3 “Nexus of Crisis & Origin of Storms” is well underway and should be out in 2027.)
In the front matter of these books, you will find a dedication with a list of names:
Constance Markievicz (This lady should have made the list, but writers are only human.)
For many people history is a drag, and that is due to the way it is taught in public schools. Memorize a few names and date. Here take the test. Move along. This method misses the point and beauty of humanity’s rich story. All of these names are women who spat in the face of social convention, who became leaders of their peoples, or were so audacious they left an immortal mark on the history of the world.
I was reading articles on Mr. Tompson’s website when I came across his piece about “The Valiant Ladies of Potosi” as in Potosi, Peru. These ladies were something of a local legend from Potosi’s boomtown days. A bit further on, I found more articles about some truly outrageous and “influential” ladies, but the piece about Ana Lezama and Eustaquia de Sonza stuck in my mind waiting for the right something to come along.
In addition to studying history, I am a bit of an audiophile, and the sci-fi inspired ballads of the bands Rush, Iron Maiden, and Blue Öyster Cult are some of my favorite classic rock artists. The story implied, but never told, in Blue Öyster Cult’s theme album “Imaginos” struck me as a great setting for an adventure story.
Two tough as nails chicks, meet awesome setting, and a novel emerged.
“Ladies, Fish, & Gentlemen” is part of the hook for the song “Subhuman” that originally appeared on Blue Öyster Cult’s “On Your Feet or On Your Knees” live album. It was renamed “Blue Öyster Cult” for the “Imaginos” album.
Writing this book was great fun. It contains many nods and tributes to various people and things that have brought joy to my life. Even Iron Maiden’s mascot “Eddie” makes an appearance.
Along the way, I realized the story was too big for a single volume, so “Signs of Venus & Of Mars” followed. In keeping with the first book, the title is another lyric taken from Blue Öyster Cult’s song “The Great Sun Jester” on the “Mirrors” album.
Book 3 returns to the Imaginos album for its title “Nexus of Crisis & Origin of Storms”, a lyric from the song “Astronomy”.
I hope this insight into the inspiration behind the story was interesting. If nothing else, the links provide some great historical reading and fine tunes to enjoy along the way.
The Old West is American romance writ large, and a common stereotype to the rest of the planet. Like all romance, the western genre of literature, film, and TV had unbreakable rules, and Rule 1 states: The man that abuses women, children, and dogs will meet a nasty fate by the end of the story. There are no “extenuating circumstances”. “No “troubled childhood”. No “cultural” exceptions. A man lived and died suffering the earned consequences for his actions even if he refused to accept his responsibility for them. Some modern people with grossly stunted emotional development would call this “Toxic Masculinity”, but what is the purpose of masculinity if not the protection and nurturing of the family and community.
Dare I say, “husbandry”? Yeah, I said it, and if this wasn’t a family-friendly blog, I’d tell the emotionally stunted person who might be reading this what they can do with their opinion, but it might make them cry.
The role of a mother is to birth the next generation, and help them find their feet.
The role of a father is to make sure they survive long enough to grow to adulthood and to teach them to survive the nastiness out there.
Your humble correspondent has been following some unusually disturbing events in the UK that bears on the above concepts said because, borrowing from Mr. Thomas Jefferson, the role of government is to “Provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of Liberty for ourselves and our posterity…”
Yes, I know that’s from the Preamble to the Constitution of the United States of America, but the concept is valid regardless of the source. Much like the relationship of parents and children, the government of a nation must put the welfare of the citizenry first or it loses legitimacy and MUST be replaced. Peacefully if possible. Violently if necessary.
The Crown’s government over the past fifty years has at least abandoned its post if not aided and abetted in crimes against humanity by failing to protect the citizens of the nation. The news is reporting that filthy sack of bollocks Kier Starmer will be stepping down on Monday (6/22). Sadly, he will not be perp-walked in front of cameras and left dancing in the air along with the rest of them.
In case you have no idea what I’m ranting about, let’s cover some recent events.
“Mayah Sommers is just 14 years old, but her name is already echoing far beyond Dundee. Dubbed the ‘Young Queen of Scots’ online, the teenager went viral after reports surfaced that she had confronted alleged migrant attackers with a blade and an axe.
What began as a frightening local incident quickly spiralled into an international debate about migrant crime, state failures, and the courage of young women forced to defend themselves in the absence of authority.
According to witnesses, the confrontation involved migrants who had allegedly been harassing her, with one reportedly recording the encounter. Police Scotland later confirmed that a 14-year-old girl was charged and would be reported to the authorities.
Yet instead of condemnation, Sommers’ arrest ignited fury online. Critics argued that a child should never have to resort to carrying weapons to feel safe. In modern Britain, however, pepper spray and even basic self-defence tools are illegal, leaving vulnerable young women with no legal means of protection.”
Ilia Belov, 22, claimed he confronted the girls after receiving abusive remarks and said he saw one of the girls with a knife in her waistband before the assault.
His sister Nadjedzha Belova, 20, previously admitted assaulting a 13-year-old girl by seizing and pulling her hair, dragging her to the ground, and striking her on the head to her injury during the incident.
The pair will be sentenced at Dundee Sheriff Court on 5 August.
The court heard that Belov had said “hello sexy, I’ll show you a good time” to the girls while walking past them in the Lochee area of the city.”
The killing of 18-year-old Henry Nowak in December drew renewed attention after the killer was sentenced to life with a minimum of 21 years in prison on Monday, and following the release of a video showing police dismissing Nowak when he said that he had been stabbed.
The killer, Vickrum Digwa, 23, who is Sikh, had reported to police that he was the victim of a racist attack by Nowak, who was white.
Officers who arrived at the scene on a residential street in the southern England coastal city of Southampton appeared to take him at his word. But the court determined that Digwa had lied about being the victim of racism.
Prime Minister Keir Starmer said he was sickened by the video and said there were questions to be answered about how “accusations of racism informed the decision-making in this case.”
The report, spearheaded by Restore Britain leader and Great Yarmouth MP Rupert Lowe, suggests the gangs “operated with either the active or passive consent of public authorities”.”
“The scale of the crimes committed is staggering. It has been previously established that, at the very least, 250,000 young white girls have been subjected to repeated rape, gang rape, trafficking, torture, pregnancy, forced Islamic conversion, and lifelong trauma. The true number is probably higher.”
“ In court records and official inquiries, around 87% of those convicted in these group-based child sexual exploitation (‘CSE’) cases bore distinctively Muslim names… Dr. Taj Hargey, an imam with the Oxford Islamic Congregation, believes the true proportion of gang members who are Muslims to be around 95%.”
“Police forces ignored repeated reports, criminalized victims instead of perpetrators, destroyed evidence, and allowed known rapists to walk free on bail. Social care services undermined protective parents, placed children in trafficking hubs inside children’s homes, closed cases despite clear indicators of exploitation, and retaliated against whistleblowers. The NHS recorded genital injuries, multiple sexually transmitted infections in children as young as 13, pregnancies caused by rape, and suicide attempts, yet discharged victims back to their abusers without safeguarding referrals or trauma care. Schools observed older men collecting girls at the gates, heard disclosures of rape on school premises, and responded by excluding victims rather than protecting them.”
“Political correctness, fear of accusations of racism, and fear of losing electoral support from certain demographics have taken precedence over the protection of British children.”
Riots in Belfast
“Homes and vehicles set on fire; water cannon deployed; more than a dozen police officers injured; and an atmosphere of fear has descended with reports of people being threatened for having a “different skin colour” and families being put out of their homes “because they’re black”.
It all came after a knife attack in Belfast on Monday night, for which a Sudanese man has been charged with attempted murder.”
Scottish Reprisal – Shocked! This is My Shocked Face.
Five men – two aged 22, and others aged 24, 27, and 39 – suffered a range of injuries. Three required hospital treatment. None of the injuries are said to be life-threatening.
Prime Minister Sir Keir Starmer had said the incidents appeared to have been motivated by “anti-Muslim hatred”.
He added: “My thoughts are with those who are injured and I thank the police and the emergency services for their response.”
Police Scotland confirmed a 36-year-old has been charged – and he will appear in court in due course.”
How horrible does the situation have to be for this image to be understandable?
When the leader of the Wampanoag Confederation of North America aided the English settlers of Plymouth Rock, I cannot image he anticipated what would become his nation in the years that followed. He should have let them starve.
Britain has been invaded with the assistance of their own government. I don’t hold with much His Majesty’s Government has done over the centuries to the Scots, Irish, and Welsh, but to intentionally, and with malice, replace your own people is just sick.
I think about the weapons and ammunition that must still lie buried under garden sheds in Northern Ireland. Relics of “The Troubles” and the Easter Uprising of 1916. I also consider a program from World War II called “American Committee for the Defense of British Homes”.
This group called on American citizens to donate privately owned weapons and ammunition to Britain for home defense against the possible German invasion. The response was supposedly very enthusiastic.
Maybe its time has come again, but only the British people can decide they have no other choice.
America has stopped our own government-sponsored invasion temporarily, but this is just a lull in the battle. There are roughly 350 million people in America that own roughly 450 million firearms. Most of those are in the middle of America. If the wrong people come back into power, and Replacement Inc. resumes operations, I fear something horrible may happen.
“Never give in. Never give in. Never, never, never, never—in nothing, great or small, large or petty—never give in, except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to force. Never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.” ― Winston Churchill
God save the British people and the Devil take their government.
I have been spending some time on the social diseases listening and interacting to learn what people are thinking about things related to writing and traditional publishing vs. independent publishing. A common theme I keep seeing is a “writer” complaining about how hard the writing process is. I seem them obsessing about page counts, word counts, and technical fiddly bits more than putting words on a page.
I try to cheer the people announcing book deals or launch dates and to encourage the strugglers, but I am mostly reminded of a Dorktower cartoon by John Kovalic where his writer/cartoonist character Matt is lamenting about not having time to write because he’s too busy posting about writing on the socials.
Nobody said that any creative process was easy. Otherwise, everyone would be an artist, and our cities would be covered in ugly graf… uh, I digress.
In any case, the process should be fulfilling or maybe you need another hobby. I’m not saying anyone should quit writing. For some it is their primary emotional outlet. Go forth and conquer by all means. For me, it is an escape. Even when I have a bad case of writer’s block, I have something to take my mind of whatever part of life sucks most at the moment. Sometimes that’s how we get through the day without screaming at people. For others, reading is their escape, and we authors really appreciate you.
To that end, contest season has returned, and I’m excited to share some new pieces with the world and hopefully garner some official recognition to add to my author’s resume.
My current employer sponsors a local contact through the North Texas Business Council for the Arts. Their contest has a category for “Collaborative Fiction” that requires three authors to participate on a single piece. A few years ago, I rounded up some co-conspirators and we hashed out the piece below. It did not place in the contest, but it was a lot of fun to work on, and it is too good to languish in a dark file. Hope you enjoy it as much as we did in bringing it to you.
Strange Dreams
By
Erin Patzewitsch, Maribel Zapien, & Michael Morgan
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Shocking Truths, with your host Hugo von Leydenjar bringing you stories of the bizarre, the fantastic, and the occult. With us tonight are four people with extraordinary tales to share—tales that will make you want to never close your eyes again.” Hugo puffed his Camel for a dramatic pause. But first, a word from our sponsor…”
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Hugo comes back on the air, “Ladies and Gentlemen, do you know anyone who sleepwalks? Common wisdom is to never wake a sleepwalker, but why?” Hugo pauses dramatically. “Tonight, we explore the mystery of somnambulism, and the possibility it really isn’t “all in the sufferer’s heads”. Our first tale comes from Schenectady, New York. Benson Addlepate and his wife Maureen. Tell us about your experience.”
“H-Hello Mr. Von Leydenjar. M-m-my name is Benson Addlepate. My wife and I went to bed on January fifth like normal. I-I never sleepwalked before in my life, I know I was asleep when I felt something come over me. My eyes opened, and I could see myself getting out of bed and walking out of the house.”
“He was just in his nightshirt!” interjected Maureen “And it was blowing snow!”
“I felt fine, wasn’t cold one bit” Benson continued. “I was walking quickly down the street watching the snow all around me. Then I started to get worried because something was making me do this. I wanted to go back home, but I could not make myself stop walking. Then I saw the house, The Myrtle’s house at the end of the block was on fire! I couldn’t help myself; I started running toward the burning house!” Benson broke down. His in sobs faded as he walked away from the microphone.
Maureen took over, “The firemen found him kneeling in the snow with the Myrtle family all around him. They said he broke down the front door and carried them all out, but he don’t remember any of it. The mayor called him a hero. Gave him a medal and everything!”
Benson returned to the microphone sniffling, “It’s true. Suddenly I woke up on the Myrtle’s lawn freezing. I don’t remember none of it.”
Hugo puffed his Camel, “That’s quite a story Mr. Addlepate. What do you think was responsible for your behavior that frosty night?”
“I-I really don’t know,” Benson replied. “Some say it was an angel guiding me, but whatever it was, it wasn’t me that done that.”
“Could it have been a case of divine intervention? Maybe something else? The mystery continues after we hear from our sponsor!” Hugo turned off his mic as the jingle singers took over. “Thank you for sharing your story, Mr. and Mrs. Addlepate. Alice will see you out into the studio audience. Alice, please show in the next guest.”
“Roommates Mia and Elli bring us our second story from Bugtussle, Tennessee. Welcome ladies. Mia, perhaps you could start. Tell us about that eerie night.”
Mia’s voice had a nervous giggle behind it. “Well, it was a clear night with a bright full moon coming in the window. I woke to the sound of footsteps. Ellie was moving all over the room like she was looking for something like a woman possessed.”
“I don’t remember any of it!” Ellie burst in. “Mia told me I was collecting art supplies from around our apartment and settin’ ’em up in the living room. It’s strange because I’m really shy about my art.”
“She started painting, and it wasn’t like Ellie at all,” Mia continued. “It was bold with big, loud colors. Not like Ellie at all. It was like someone or something else was guiding her hand and I couldn’t help but watch!”
“And the painting itself?” Hugo asked. “Ellie, what was it like when you woke up?”
Ellie paused, searching for words. “It was a vibrant, abstract painting. It was a shock. I felt so moved but also kinda disconnected from it. It was like I found a deeper, more expressive part of me or something else came alive within me.”
Hugo interrupted gently, “It seems both of you encountered something extraordinary that night. Mia, could something supernatural be at play?”
“I don’t know what to believe,” Mia said thoughtfully. “Something powerful was definitely with us, maybe it guided Ellie to express things she never could consciously. The power of the painting was undeniable.”
Hugo resumed his deep, resonant tone. “Ladies and gentlemen, what we’ve heard tonight might challenge our understanding. Hidden depths within us? Or something… beyond? It’s clear that the world of sleep is far from understood. Please join us next week. We will visit with a man who douses for oil. The Witching Hour with Elvira Petersen is next, right after this word from our sponsor…”
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