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©Dean Baker

Presidential Candidates – T-Rump, and I’ll Get You, My Pretty

Both candidates are symptoms, not solutions

Usually you would think the words ‘presidential’ and ‘candidate’ were significant, meaningful, as they’re meant to not only designate those running for election, but represent those with the qualities necessary to enter the process of attempting to gain the Presidential office.

Not this time.

The woman is gathering all sorts of celebrity endorsements to once again confirm that outside their performances such celebrities are mostly stupid. You know, morons – life-forms without a clue as to reality and its designations.
Never mind that she’s a proven and un-clever liar. Or that she’s profits from her political connections (quick, how do we make millions out of you working for the Government? I know, create a Charity! The public are morons, they’ll have to investigate, and by the time they do we’ll have muddled it all, and win the sympathy vote).
She’s a swamp of accusations, the accurate and true number yet to be determined. This alone ought to disqualify her.    

The guy talks like a collegiate, average, low normal knob. Someone with a gift for making money – apparently – yet who sounds like discipline to him is what he expects from his dominatrix, not what he applies to himself. Speech therapy is obviously a challenge when it comes to public presentations.

A reporter with special needs is mocked by T-Rump who waves his hands in the air and makes mush mouth sounds. What a genius. What dignity. The idea that he might be on his best behavior given that he’s running for election makes it scary. The fact that he probably was being himself shows a sophomoric sense of humor without a delineating and expansive sense of satire that is not so mean and dull. Maybe he could apply it to himself.

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And his Butt Buddy, Ann Coulter, states that he was merely “doing a standard retard.” She’ll be back at it soon, after she gets her face fixed. T-Rump bent down to pick something up, and she broke her nose.
Hopefully this is a phase. She’s proven clever, intelligent and proactive in her books – but for now she’s another millionaire indulging wanton disregard for anything other than her own beliefs.
Gone the way of Michael Moore.

Imagine other countries looking at the two candidates. Minus any caricaturing. The clownish, cartoon aspect of the bland evil of their special psychopathology is a fearful thing if they are truly representative.

Political discourse these days amounts to a Three Stooges’ pie fight.

The dignity of the potential President is compromised by the fact that anyone could expect at any time another eye gouging, chuckleheaded thrombotic spastic dance from either one with each deluded enough to believe they are succeeding in showing themselves as people of a solid core character, rather than the slinky aspects of a superficial snakes-and-ladders game with the country’s destiny on offer.

In the pre-election run-up, neither one qualifies as better than anything. In fact, they both look to be best suited for the category of the Victorian regard for children who were neither to be seen nor heard.
And in real terms: Those Who Do Not Belong In Office.. Unless They Are Handing Out Mints.

Somewhere in another version of reality we have candidates who we respect, who leave no doubt as to the depth of their character, rather than the spread of their personal machinations. Candidates whom we’d like to know.

Somewhere isn’t here.

Both candidates are symptoms, not solutions.

 

© Dean J. Baker

You – yeh, you – be very ashamed if you do not 0wn Tormenting The Monkey, 218 pages of fun, diatribe, informed opinion, and discussion.

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Europe, and Other Disasters: Our Lost Neighborhoods

I’ve enjoyed Europe. I’ve even considered returning for a visit. Not now.

The first time I went to Europe was to embrace the life of poets, writers, musicians, and artists originating from ‘there:’ that mythical place of ancient and new ways seemingly distanced from North America due to the ‘reality’ of life here, and the possibility of an intermingling of reality and Romance there.
I wanted Europe to stay in Europe. More so now than ever.

First time in England I was sitting with the family I rented a room from, with the BBC news on. The talk was of Chile and Pinochet in September, 1973 with a widely discussed notion that any time soon the USA would go in there, shoot Pinochet and set things right.
The mood wasn’t one of triumph, but a mood of mild discontent since another of the world’s stepchildren needed to be set right by Big Brother whether or not anyone else agreed. A sort of disenfranchisement, with the unspoken idea that this was something England ought to be deciding alongside America.

Obviously the disenfranchisement has spread, with the origin being that of a spoiled child soiling itself in revenge against the better judgment of the grown-ups.
And now that the coming election has resulted in a lot of flailing about in regards to the candidates, Europe’s enjoying the discomfort, as they imagine it.

Meanwhile they’ve had their early warning, first from Melanie Phillips in Londonistan in 2006/2007 after the tube and bus bombings. And still other countries ignored the warnings, and what was revealed about the European infestation by Islamist terrorists.
It’s been exactly as if there was an incipient death wish amongst all the countries.
‘Let’s ignore our reason and go with the notion of our idea of fair play having more influence than nationalities, and their religious/political machinations of world domination.
Especially Germany. What perversity caused that nation to basically say, ‘Hey, over-run us. We miss it.’ Quite similar to the Canadian notion of cultural diversity working itself out as Multiculturalism as a symbol of just how advanced and good the incubating nations could be. Never mind the realities of importing people who were definitely not of a European caste of mind.

Examples of how this did not work abounded everywhere, as well as why it did work at other times. It worked when the host nations were serious about including those being absorbed; not having to consider the idea that they just might not want to acclimate, might not be grateful for a new life free of the troubles of the homeland.
Imagine during the late ‘60’s and ‘70’s if Irish immigrants decided it would be a good idea to openly organize themselves along the lines of the IRA. Fortunately the only morons doing so were the over-privileged so-called ‘negres blanc’ of the upper middle class and above in Quebec (FLQ), and assorted countries like Germany (Baader-Meinhof gang) and Italy (Red Brigade).
They aligned with the murderous anywhere, all the poor mistreated whiners in Cuba, Quebec, the PLO, etc., whose means of influence relied on indiscriminate killing and slaughter. Terror. Their useful idiots in North America were always and will always be empty heads whose need to feel alive is apparently only felt when they can inflict drastic change on others.

‘Useful idiots,’ as Stalin would say, because they are the unwitting tools of unacknowledged armies making backroom deals with the economy and the world as its run in whatever country at the time.
Sometimes it’s the smoke-filled rooms, other times it’s the blood wet sands. One usually leads to the other, though, in connections vague but traceable.

The world as it stands seems to have morphed into a fluid mass of black and white. Simpleness, for simpletons who cannot and have no interest in the differences between that, and a reality-based simplicity.

In the USA there are the bobbing heads of a carousel of broken-legged horses led by the circus barking of Donald T-Rump, the Populist. People believe T-Rump can win, will win, ought to win, fervently.
He couldn’t possibly have been slotted into the race by the masters of war as the 99%’s placating puppet, while other forces of greater influence as usual go to work less directly.
Europe laughs at the blatant and indulgent lack of sophistication of a Trump, and thus the USA. Meanwhile, they’ve been invaded and the ‘alien pods’ are set to germinate.

All this while Canada, and the USA accept Syrian ‘refugees.’ So from world Cop to world Babysitter. And no serious ideas of how to deal with either aspect: just enlarge the debt and spend.

The entire idea of going to Europe – England, Ireland, Greece, Italy – was they weren’t interchangeable.
You’d go to London with the idea it was London, not an anglicized version of Toronto, or New York. Thus, the reverse: when you returned home, it was your home.
Customs, appearances, eccentricities solely belonging to your country, city, town. And if you wished a reminiscence with concrete reminders you could always visit whatever part of the city contained those other countries’ ‘neighborhoods’.
But you didn’t lose yours in doing so.
To me that was the essence of visiting Europe – it stayed there.

Otherwise you’d lose your own unique country/city identifier, and in doing so become disoriented, lost.

Maybe that’s why what is occurring in the Anglo countries seems so at odd with what is expected. We’ve been displaced. We find ourselves strangers in a ‘lost neighborhood:’ our own country.
With the world pouring in, in physical realities and/or moods and influences, we’ve become the ‘dp’s’, displaced people. And there’s no place to go: we’re already here.

The invasion has already occurred through the ‘notions’ of a people lost between the idea, and the realities that constantly seem to intrude.

©Dean J. Baker

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Tormenting The Monkeyprose/political satires
The Lost Neighborhoodpoetry