Monthly Archives: June 2016

Pulse, Assault Rifles… What The Fuck?


Everyone is now asking those usual stupid questions: “What are the warning signs? What people should we be suspicious of?” Well, it’s pretty damn simple… the answer is… PEOPLE WITH ASSAUT RIFLES!

Funny how damn easy it is sometimes.

Got an assault rifle? Then you need to be watched. You are a suspect, we cannot trust you. What are assault rifles for? Killing lots of people. If you own an assault rifle… we must assume you are planning on using it for its only intended purpose. Sure, it’s your “god given right” to own one… it’s our right to watch you. What is the common link in all these crimes? Ideology? No. Mental illness? maybe, but… no. Assault rifles? Yep, that’s it! That IS the common link every single time. People with sticks just can’t wreak this kind of carnage… hell, people with simple 6-shooters can’t wreak this kind of carnage.

Things are not as complicated as we make them seem.

How long are we going to let a minority of pinheads complicate matters?

For those of you who haven’t been paying attention, let’s just add this up:

A minority of gun-nuts convince us we can’t make any laws restricting their right to own rifles and handguns.

Same minority of gun-nuts convince us we can’t restrict their right to own assault rifles.

Gun-nuts shoot people with assault rifles.

We let gun-nuts keep their guns.

We let same gun-nuts tell us the only way out is to let them carry more guns in public to shoot the gun-nuts with assault rifles.

So… the people who caused this problem, we’re now going to entrust to keep us safe and protect us from the very problem they caused?

And this makes sense to who? And we’re all gonna shrug and be OK with this?

We’ve been doing it their way for how long now?

How’s it working?

Not so good, huh? How long is everyone going to let those guys make the rules? Why is anyone still listening to them?

No… really, stop, think about that for a moment… how has doing it their way worked out? I don’t know about you, but I don’t see any benefits at all… I just see corpses.

The whole notion that “open carry” is the answer, that if more people had guns, these things wouldn’t happen… are you kidding?

So, just because a minority of angry testosterone-addled assholes want to go around stroking their little cocks (…er… excuse me, I mean “big guns”) in public… we all now have to live in the wild west? I, for one, do not want to live in the wild west. Do you want to live in the wild west? This is exactly what is happening in ‘Merica, a small minority of lunatics are condemning us ALL to the wild west, a small minority of frightened limp-dicked men are forcing the rest of us to live under the risk of constant massacres in a gun-slinging culture.

Again… it really is THAT fucking simple.

I have an idea… let’s just tell these nutjobs “NO… fuck off.”

This is madness. That is all it is. It is not a debate, it is not political… it is sheer madness.

This is all part of why I am a virtual recluse. It’s why I live out in the woods with no cable TV, no Facebook, no reality shows, no grim drab colorless ultra-violent dystopic Marvel (or DC) movies, no Twitter… I do not want any part of this madness. Seriously, if this is how people want to run their little world, pretending all this stuff is complicated, constructing this bizarre concept of “reality”… count me out. I’m much happier out here with the deer, the alligators, eagles, and all these sensible trees.

Wake me up when it’s over. Or, at the very least, don’t wake me up until everyone else wakes up.

Therese, the Lonely Otter


Therese, the Lonely Otter
by Barefoot Justine

Therese swallowed the last sugary sip of tea,
Turning towards the light outside, squinting,
She set her teacup into the saucer with a clink,
And looked across her table at the empty chair.

“Well, old girl, might as well go on out,”
Reaching across the table, she took her hat,
off the back of the chair where it always hung,
And shook yesterday’s leaves from its brim.

She never wasted any sunshine, our Therese,
And soon charged playfully from her well-kept holt,
Into the easy waters of the lake with a splash,
And rustled ashore through the reeds and grass.

“Quite a commotion up there,” she noted,
Dodging cypress knees as she followed the buzz,
Trotting across the old fallen log to the hive,
From a safe distance, she stood for a moment.

“Pardon me, how big and deep can loneliness be?”
Asked Therese of the cloud of busy buzzing bees,
In her experience, bees had precious little to say,
“Fine weather we’re having,” at best.

So it went, indeed, the bees had precious little to say,
Nothing of interest to anyone apart from other bees,
She never fit in with the bees, then, who does?
Why, not even the most cordial of crickets.

It’s no use talking to bees, as everyone knows,
Besides, how could they know loneliness, the bees,
Swarming all together in their hives as one,
With God, queen, and all that dripping honey?

Across the meadow a cardinal pecked the grass,
Picking for ticks and singing all the while,
“Dear cardinal, how big and deep can loneliness be?”
The cardinal glanced suspiciously at her smile.

He hopped two paces away, then glanced back,
Where Therese sat perched on her hind legs,
the cardinal sang a wall of song between them,
Before he flew to his love in the bowers above.

“Not much use talking to cardinals either, I suppose,”
Therese trotted towards the water’s edge,
“They all tweet the same tired little songs,
And what could cardinals know of loneliness?”

Across the meadow came the proud turkeys,
Three adults and nine nervous young in tow,
“Not much use talking loneliness to turkeys,”
So, “Good day,” she said to them with a nod.

“Good day, old girl,” clucked the father,
“Splendid!” agreed Therese, “What a sky today!”
“Splendid sky, indeed… carry on…” the turkey bowed,
And on they went, plucking and clucking along.

Leaving Therese there under her silent open sky,
She sniffed a waft of honeysuckle on the wind,
Smiled, and started towards the winding dirt road,
Where often sat the old tired alligator.

He would know about loneliness, she thought,
After all, alligators eat all their friends,
Or so say the turtles, but Therese wasn’t certain,
So much that isn’t so has been said and said again.

“Hmmmm…” grumbled the ‘gator, belly to the ground,
As much of an invitation as alligators ever mutter,
Therese stood back a safe distance and cocked her head,
“How big and deep can loneliness be?” she asked humbly.

“Why do you ask me such things?” The ‘gator growled,
“I’m sorry, my Lord,” she said, slinking back,
“Get away from me, what’s an otter, after all?”
“Far less than an alligator,” Therese humbly bowed.

“Indeed,” the ‘gator hrumphed as he settled on his belly,
All in the swamp know, alligators need forever appeased,
Lest they snap and make quarrels, as is their way,
And everyone fears the alligators, don’t you know.

Busy on her way, she trotted alongside the iron fence,
And thought ‘I suppose when one is so toothy and angry,
One doesn’t have much time to feel loneliness.’
“Sun is sharp today,” she said from the muggy shade.

Nestling between the broad roots of an old live oak,
She closed her eyes and thought on nothing but silence,
And there she soon found her forgetting place,
A quiet place with no loneliness at all.

A place with no buzzing bees, nor a drop of honey,
A place with no cardinals to snub her honest smile,
A place with no politely gobbling rafter of turkeys,
And where no alligator anger shamed her questions.

“How big and deep can loneliness be?” It lingered,
But dissolved into her silence, then clear as a bell,
“Not as deep as the silence,” whispered the sky,
“Not as deep as the silence,” smiled Therese.

She opened her eyes to find the perfect stone,
‘Just right for cracking snails,’ she thought,
But she wasn’t terribly hungry, so she set it aside,
And looked above, and heard the cardinals singing.

They sang, “How big and deep can loneliness be?
How long can the darkest storm rain?
How hollow the hole in the holy ground,
Where no love, nor rain, can ever be found?”

Funny thing about cardinals when they’re singing,
To you and I it would sound like tweets and nonsense,
But Therese more deeply understood each word they sang,
Than would even the most golden throated of birds.

“How big and deep can loneliness be,” sang Therese,
And on her way she went, back to her wide open lake,
Towards her cozy burrowed holt, to wait for the answer,
Or perhaps, to wait for a friend, who knew.

“How big and deep can loneliness be?”
‘Surely out there some other otter must know,’
Thought Therese as she floated in the water.
“Surely some friend must come,” she cried.

Yet for all her questions, she knew: ‘Loneliness,
Is deeper than the waters of this or any lake,
Ah, but most certainly not deeper than the silence,’
“And never so big as the wise sky above,” she smiled.