DODGE TRUCKS ARE RELIABLE AND CAPABLE OF TOWING HEAVY LOADS

Dependable, capable of hauling heavy loads, and rugged, are the qualities I look for in a truck.  I have used all my trucks for work.  None of them has stood up as well as, Dodge has for me.  The other trucks all had one thing in common – rust.  My Dodge truck was rust free, when I traded it after ten years of dependable service.  It was an SLT model, loaded with all options. 

Dodge trucks are known for getting poor gas mileage.  My previous Dodge truck only got about seventeen miles per gallon, after I installed, four prong spark plugs, and a K&N air filter.  Prior to that, it got about 13mpg.  It was a V8, and outperformed any other truck I ever owned.  I drove it for ten years.  The heaviest load I towed was just about a ton (bricks).  I never carried more than a half ton in the truck bed; however, many of my, Dodge friends do.

The new Dodge truck V8’s, are said to be capable of about 20mpg, over-the-road.  Do not expect that to be normal gas mileage.  You might be more likely to get about 15mpg.  The new V8’s, can run on four cylinders while on the highway, if you have a light foot. 

I did serous research before buying another, Dodge truck.  The work I currently do as a landscape architect, no longer demands heavy loads and long cross-country voyages, on a regular basis.  Old Dodge trucks hold their value and there is a demand for used trucks, in good condition.

This time, I searched for a truck with good towing capabilities, and a smaller engine for better gas mileage.  Using the internet, I found the best asking price.  I spoke with, Robert Devereaux – an ex-Marine and three-time Iraq, VFW – at K&M Dodge, in Grand Rapids, Michigan.  I told him what I was looking for, described the truck I would trade toward the purchase price on a new vehicle. 

We made the deal over the phone.  I came in that day, purchased the vehicle and drove home.  It was the easiest deal ever.  I am not a salesperson.  If a person is shopping, I say, get the best deal wherever you can.  That being said, I enjoyed my purchase experience.  I do recommend, Robert Devereaux as an honest person to do business with, and I currently prefer Dodge trucks to all others, because of the service I got from my previous truck – it had no major problems, and amazingly, no rust in ten years.

My last truck was the quietist and most maintenance free truck that I ever owned, in forty years of truck driving. 

My new truck is a six cylinder.  It is actually quieter than my last one (that was a big surprise, especially after reading, Edmond’s review).  I usually haul only light loads, and tow less than a half ton, for short distances.  It is an ST with only the basics, cloth seats (comfortable), manual windows and locks, without cruise control.  Power is adequate for merging into traffic, or passing.   I would not hesitate to take it anywhere.  It is currently averaging about 17mpg; however, I expect that to improve. 

The normal Dodge warrantee is, three years or thirty-six thousand miles.  I purchased a lifetime warrantee, even though I drive less than I used to.  The paint finish is sealed and lower parts smothered in Z-Bart, to prevent rust.  I hope to have it in twenty years.

APPALACHIA POEMS

APPALACHIA POEMS

There are many legends in our valley.  God chose us.  She saved us.  We lived under our father’s image, chiseled into our mountain, the face of man.

If you looked upon the face of man, she looked rugged, centuries old, and her hair cloaked in white.  , Her shawl stretched for miles and covered great valleys where our families lived for centuries.  She was here, before we came.  Few people would ever see her, as she revealed herself.  Many touched her cloak, neither knowing her nor seeing that it was, She.   They were blind.

She came to me one evening in the middle of the night, and I slept by her side.  Many had died there, where she took me in and gave me life.   I saw her in a different way, and felt her presence.  She spoke very harshly.  I felt the wind in her voice as it tore at my cloths and whipped by my face.  Agiachohoc.

I told her of my love that was every bit as great as her cloak that covered her.   However, she would hear none of it that night, she turned me away.     I was tenacious and slept by her side, shielded beneath her right arm.  She covered me with her blanket while I slept.

The next morning as our father’s light crested, she was cloaked light blue, miles away, before sunrise.  She lifted her veil, exposing her beauty.  I looked upon her.  As radiant and splendid as she appeared, I asked her benevolence for the privilege to sit upon her right shoulder; while the sun rose to halo her head, where I could see the ocean, miles away.

Then, She, carried me back into her valley, where she healed my spirit and I gave her my love.  We united in spirit. 

My grandfather came to visit me one day.  I took him for a long walk to a place my father had once taken me.  We hiked upon a mountain trail until we came along the water’s edge.  There we sat, for a moment only to catch our breath.  I was young and eager.  He was much older than I, but there was spring in his feet.  His enthusiasm peaked as we hiked up toward the mountaintop.  We passed many caves while climbing.    Some were centuries old, while others less.  Carved for and by centuries; abandoned (the caves).

We pondered the significance, while we sat upon the crested mountain, when grandpa spoke.  He told me to look upon the water at the base of our mountain.    When I looked at the water, it was murky and brown.   I closed my eyes to look toward the sun.   When I looked at the lake, it was black.   But my eyes went farther, to the village in our valley.  Then, I lifted my eyes to the mountain beyond, and imagined how it would be at the other side.

Grandpa spoke.  He told me I would live to seek knowledge, beyond the mountains, to places he would never visit.  I asked him why.  He smiled and said we had much to learn.  Then I bounced down the mountainside.  My legs felt like springs.  While grandpa followed in a distance.  He called to me, warning me not to lead us stay, but I would not listen, and, we were lost in the valley, tired and thirsty, in the middle of the day.   Grandpa turned over some stones exposing before me, water.   He then displayed a compass.  Nevertheless, I found the trail quicker than he did.  

When we returned home from our climb, he looked tired and worn.  He looked upon the mountain and closed his eyes.  That was when he spoke again.  He talked about flowers that bloomed in spring and how they filled the valleys with color, only to wilt and fade, within hours.  Then he spoke of hearty flowers that were sturdy and endured many environments from our seasons start to finish, but they were often plain, sometimes containing healing qualities.  Another flower was slow to grow, but developed steadily over time, to bloom in fall.    He said that I could be that flower.

I told him about, She, the lady who wore blue.  He looked at me, with his eyes penetrating my soul.  He called her, Oombeketh, our native word for peace.  He pointed to, our mountain; and, She, appeared in white.   He told me that he would see her soon.   That could have been our last time together.  But he taught me many things, like how to live.  He taught me to look deeper than the surface.

I grieved for Grandfather, never knowing quiet what he meant.  We worked as a team.  He was kind and gentle, but firm; teaching me about life, and, to be a man.  Where others taught me differently, Grandpa encouraged.  He was tough, as  if chiseled off a glacier – and  there were many glaciers in the caves behind our home.  They were cold and dark, but not silent.  If one only listened, they might hear water droplets, plinking onto stone, covered over in ice.

Grandpa was my hero -- he could do no wrong.  I followed him everywhere.   He showed me how to survive.   I loved listening to his mellifluous voice; comparing it to a mountain brook, gently flowing over stones – although, I could barely understand his words.  We walked for miles, over the mountains, to settle in valleys hidden in the folds, taking time only to rest.  Our beds were fashioned from leaves.  We used the bows of elm trees in a grove, for shelter.  I sometimes called him, Pa Pierre.  Pa Pierre was different from everybody.  He seemed to be confident where others faltered.  Grandpa told me, I would never be alone; but, I would feel lonely, only in the city.  My spirit soared where mountains ruled.

Appalachia, I love you as forever, to worship at your feet, that we could see the tear in your eye, to watch the soldiers come, to make our nation die.  Where did you ever go that day, that day they cried, the day our nation died?  You ask me where I am and I stand before you, but you are blind as our nation unfolds before time. 

The legend says that centuries ago our land was deluged by a great flood.  Our fathers’ families fled to the great mountain to seek refuge while the waters surged around them.  In that way they were spared from drowning.  After the flood had subsided, our families returned to the valleys.  The mountain dawned a blanket of white as an extension of peace.  So it was our people were spared. 

For many years we worshiped at Agiachohoc.  We were with,  She.  She lived among us in our valley and we worshiped together.  But our history is equally as harsh.  For, as beautiful as the mountain valley was in summer, it was equally as horrific during our winters.  We traveled.  We hunted.  We fished.  Everybody lived for centuries.  And then, we were gone.  Vanished – forever in the midst of men, unseen and unheard.

I was dead to the world and into myself, lost in a fog and deep into wealth.   I was chasing a dream I should have not seen.  I was trapped in a world, and deep in myself.   And you died in my arms, when you put me to sleep, and I cried on your cheek, when I fell into the creek.  I was locked  in a world and deep in myself, chasing a dream I should not have seen. As I rounded a corner, sinking in dearth, seeking the dream and living in death, I was trapped in my world and deep in my dreams, living a life that no one had seen.  

You gave me your life when  you gave me a dream, deep in my heart that I’d never seen.   I was picking on cotton, deep in the south  wandering how and far and about.  And you gave me your love and you set me about.  You taught me to hate and you taught me to love.  You gave me your heart and I give you my soul.         I was down on my luck, deep in my dreams, dead to the world, not to be seen.  And, you gave me your home when you gave me your name, lead me to riches took me to fame, and you showed me your art, we were never to part, while deep in my heart, you were calling me still.

  There was sister Suzan she was ringing a bell, talking of heaven, going to hell, taking a toll on my mortal soul, and then breaking my heart and then throwing me out.  As I rounded a corner deep in my thoughts, fell into debt and had broken my neck.

Then you came in my life and you gave me your heart and you gave me your love and I gave you my soul.  But, a servant I’d be if not for thee.  You taught me your love when you showed me your soul.  While you showed me your art while you mended my heart,  I was there in your arms to be held, to be well.

HOW TO BALANCE A BUDGET

Some years ago, I figured my first strategy for making money.  I saved pennies, picking and lugging five gallon buckets of choke cherries to make wine.  I made my first batch at age six.  At the end of choke cherry season, I had saved fifty cents.   The palms of my hands were stained black for months.  I could not afford a pair of shoes, but I saved it in my only draw.  My father made less than one-hundred dollars a week back then; however, my mother also worked.  In fact, we rarely saw both of them together at once for the majority of my childhood.  They must have met at night, as Mom’s goal was a dozen children.  She did not quite get there, but came close.

The next year I figured how to turn fifty cents into five dollars.  I made a deal with Dad.  I offered to make wine for five dollars a barrel.  Dad not only accepted, he upped the ante and offered ten for two.  That worked in my favor.   I bought sugar on sale, and borrowed  yeast from under our sink.  With as many children, Mom had to improvise.  We made bread.  The wine was my secret.  I even hid it from, Dad.  There was a vacant closet in the chicken coop.  I placed the barrels beside the storage unit and covered them with a cheesecloth and an old dirty tarp.  I could check it daily, with a rusty ladle that I washed in pump water, for sanitary purposes.   

The first few weeks were futile , since it had to ferment.    The concoction wasted away in a corner.

Weeks later, I remember sampling.  I thought it tasted as bitter as the chokecherries.  I added more sugar.

I completely forgot about it.  By the time I’d mustered nerve to draw a sample, it was January. 

Sometime in mid afternoon, New Years day, we had just finished the family feast with several aunts and uncles.  Dad took my uncles into my bedroom where he kept his new 3030.  They went to sight it in at the gravel pit, a short hike across the street.  The moms and girls forgot about the boys for awhile and we split up.

My cousins went outside with me.  There was not much to do in the cold, but shovel snow in the driveway.  It was too cold to make snowballs.  The girls did not want us inside, so we went to visit the chickens.   My cousins saw treasures stacked into the storage area, an old wooden rake with wood dowel tines, a manure shovel, and other garden tools. 

I remembered the barrels and thought I might try a sample while we were there.  I dipped a ladle and we each sipped.  It was cold and sweet and had a warm feeling in the throat.  I did not like it.  They did.  In several minutes, they were rolling on the floor laughing.  Suddenly our cold, dismal,  snowy winter turned to summer.   We were having the times of our lives.  We used a manure fork and shovels to pile snow.  Then we built a huge igloo that we could stand in.  Life was great!  I was ten dollars rich.

Dad was a man of his word.  When the men came home, I suggested that he might want to try the chokecherry wine I made for him, which he did.   My uncles sampled it as well, followed by my aunts.  Everybody got into the act, even baby Thom.  We celebrated deep into the night, before everybody left for home.  I hid the money under my mattress, and it stayed there.

THE GOOD NAZI WITH A BAD BOY

World War II spawned a new mistrust on a global basis, as members of the pure party set out to conquer their world.  God made them.  They were chosen -- the children of God.  Then, spread ordure like a fungus that covered everything.   That philosophy quickly fizzled, like ice cream going south.  Miners suddenly had jobs, as equipment was needed in a hurry. 

The guys that did not have jobs, got drafted in the Army.  Everybody had jobs.  They hired sick people to work.  Most everybody missed one important point.  Our geographical location was kind to us in that event.  Nazis squashed everything they touched.  The Japanese incident in Pearl Harbor is still heavily debated.  We later made friends and made up; as, it was rather a misunderstanding.   

Had we not existed on the cusp of a wilderness, we could have fought the war in, America.   Our distant location to a negative tumultuous event saved us.   People forget.  Today’s supersonic and futuristic devices allow world travel with ease.  Anybody can travel anywhere – theoretically. 

The war gave people work, but not the type of work that many men wanted.  The galley was a coveted place.   Most guys were randomly placed on the front lines to endure horrific sequential events.  They did not usually have women up there.  By the time they reached places like, Buchenwald, they went insane.  There were horrific consequences for POW’s.    Many of those soldiers were left permanently with war’s etchings.  Lots of soldiers became alcoholics. 

Not much was mentioned about the core  of what fought in the war, everybody was together; however, some were separated by race or color.   Native Americans hardly factored into the equation.  Truth is, they were there in great numbers.  It is common for, Appalachians as most have Native American ancestry. 

Most war survivors returned home, including some Nazis, and immigrants in search of a better life.

Fast forward, to a situation that came to light in, California.  Dad was a contractor in a plush neighborhood.  People like him.  He was reliable and people depended upon him, because they could.  Nevertheless, worked dried up; and there was nothing to do, except become a Nazi.   Dad was an exceptional Nazi who helped organize his neighborhood.  He was a leader and spokesman for the party.  As a spokesman, Dad gave TV interviews, espousing his charismatic wisdom.  Nazi philosophy, according to interviews is channeled hatred for races not Caucasian.  His Nazi utopia would be a combination of banishing and slaughtering all others; however, he was a nice guy and everybody loved him.  He was a good brother, father and family man.  

Dad was a family man and spent some of his time teaching his son about being a good Nazi.  They went on camping trips, intimidating and pistol whipping would be border crossers, before they could make it into town.  The son learned some hard lessons early in life.  One time while Dad slept on the couch, Jr. cocked a pistol and shot him in the head.

Cops say the kid was a bad seed – born evil – that is what everybody said when they interviewed Dad’s friends and relatives.  We could assume that.  They said that in school and everywhere.  Some kids are demons and should be cast off and forgotten. 

Police who interviewed the child, too small for prison garb and with lacking compassion described the deed in detail, explaining bluntly that Dad needed to stop beating family members, while he was drunk.  It was just a matter of time, they said before Jr. would use the gun, Dad taught him to discharge.  That is the story investigators told.

I guess we should take the word of experts who trained as professionals; and we need to believe Nazi behavior is acceptable for young children.  It reminds me of a question, Should Islamic law be allowed in, America?  – That has been circulating the internet.  The answer is no.  We in, America should live under our Constitution and Bill of Rights. 

RUN CHRISTIE WALK

I woke up in a great mood to start thinking about, Christie jokes.  He visited the Regan library, and found him in a mound.  He could not decide between, Sarah Lee and Mrs. Butterworth for Vice President; and he exercises on the Milky Way.  It is hard to make light of such a big subject.  That is about all the humor in it.

He got my attention when he said it is none of our businesses that his children are in private schools.  It reminds me that the mayor of, Lansing made a similar type comment while he ran for, Governor.  The question was in poor taste.  Everybody knows that, nobody sends their kids to public schools, if they can afford otherwise.  Kids in private schools with poor grade averages are preferred to public schools’, Valedictorians.  Money goes a long way to financing education.

Many people seem to like, Governor Christi, including celebrities.  He cut the budget on public education.  His children do not have to go there.

I know less than a paragraph on the governor.  My concern, he makes decisions that do not apply to himself.  Nevertheless, that channel of thought is normal for politicians who want the best for their families.  We need to focus on what is happening to most people around the globe, and initially in our country.  Our government is due for a national audit, to see where so much money was spent; also, a committee needs to form and decide what to do about it.  Real issues are about, government waste and lost jobs.  We need to start a real employment office.

There is literally tons of work, as massive flooding damaged structures and altered landscapes, as well as neglected maintenance.   Fifty percent of adults under twenty-five, are unemployed.   Our government is telling us, we are broke and in debt, but there is security on, Wall Street.  That is, Demagoguery.  Somehow, our level of plebian taxation is afflicting our, Social Security.  That is misrepresenting our poor and working class, at the time when assistance urgent. 

AMERICA WHY LOVE IT

I spent a day visiting car buffs.  There is a mall in Grand Rapids where they have an old VW, of 60’s vintage, the utility golf cart version.  It is a 60hp, rear engine, with the gas tank in the front.  Its Spartan interior reminds me of an old, Triumph series 4 that I drove into my early adult hood.   The cockpit had only a couple of bucket seats – not even carpet covering the floor – not even a radio.  It was shod with, Dunlop SP57 radial tires, before radials were popular.  The tires gave me the advantage of high-speed corners. 

In Grand Rapids, the old VW shares nothing in common with, Triumph other than devoid of every creature comfort.   It looks like a weird attempt to imitate a jeep.  The cockpit is open.  It resembles  a stick shift, rectangular bathtub interior  finished in Z Bart, with two bench seats.  Both seat backs are diminutive.  The rear seat looks like they designed it for toddlers, without seatbelts.    The paint is bright yellow, including the hub -less wheels.  It is roped off so that one can look, without sitting in it. 

On the passenger side, there are several chairs where guys can rest their backs and wag their tongues.  Two brothers, Ike and Randy told me stories about their youths.  The early Willis type vehicle had a crank starter similar to a T model car.  They used it for hauling scrap.  Later they bought a larger truck for their business.  Ford seemed to be a favored vehicle.  There was a limited edition in 1948 that had the optional V8 and that emblem.  The six cylinder cars had just a flat chrome line across the trunk base.  Somehow, their car had the flat line, lacked the V8 emblem, but possessed the eight cylinders. 

Ike told me that Randy changed the oil once and used a non-detergent brand.  He was driving down a hill and decelerating, when he noticed a trail of blue smoke that signaled the engines rings worn out. 

My favorite car was a, Pontiac Judge with four-barrel carburetors and a transmission capped with a Hurst stick shift.  Awesome!  It was white, with black leather interior and bucket seats.  I loved the tuned exhaust sounds resonating from the back end, and the thrill of rum running trips through New England. 

They do not build cars the way they used to.  Triumph was the first car I ever bought that had seat belts.  Radios were a luxury.  Air conditioning was optional for expensive brand cars.  Most of those things come standard on today’s cars, except, Porsche and some high-end racers.  Cars today offer more comfort and styling.  Tuned suspensions and mid mounted engines that propel vehicles are far superior.

Ike and Randy worked at, Brown Paper Company (later, James River).  Brown Paper Company was a worldwide maker/distributer of, American products that once included pharmaceuticals.  Brown Company, was where, James Corbin invented paper towels.

I started working at, Brown Company when I was fourteen.  They used to get giant snowdrifts on top of the huge factory buildings, in winter.  If the drifts got too high, the buildings might collapse.  The ladders had to go up three or four stories to the flat roofs.  They were made of wood, by millwrights.  In order to make ladders that tall, they belled the bases, and the ladders narrowed at top.  It was an asset to be thin and light, as one could climb the ladders, to shovel snow.  That was one of my jobs.

Memories of, Brown Company, and climbing those narrow, creaking, icy ladders in freezing snowstorms, are like yesterday to me.  The ladder top was just tall enough to touch the building top ledge.  I had a manure shovel  in one hand and would start shoveling my way onto the roof, just enough to stand and shovel.  I would dig an area about half the size of a room, while throwing snow over the building side. 

A long rope was tied to my waist.  At the other end, a wooden snow scoop was fastened.  When I cleared enough room, I hoisted up the snow scoop, using the top rung as a pulley, and the ladder sides as runners.  It could take a few days to clear snow from all the factory buildings.  By that time there was another snow storm.  There was steady work, shoveling snow for the winter.

We worked in small crews of three or four guys.  By the time we cleared the roofs, it left a mound of snow, reaching like a slide, to the building tops.  We mounted shovels and snow scoops, sliding to the bases, while some preferred to slide on their feet.  Nobody used the ladder as a decent. 

By the time I was old enough for the service, Brown Company had been sold and, James River was already parting it out to the south and overseas.  There was not much to come home for, no hero’s welcome, no place to work.  My only choice was to start walking and hitch hiking across the country to find work wherever it would be.

Fast food restaurants were not popular, as they are today.  People liked to sit and enjoy their food.  I could cook and wash dishes while crossing the country.  That helped keep me alive.  Sometimes, strangers would take me in for an evening.  It was a way I could shower, shave and change cloths.  Work was hard to find.  Factories were downsizing.  People were losing jobs.  Many people, who were working, did not notice the decreasing job market, as they were gainfully employed.  Finding employment was more difficult for newcomers.

At one time in America, it seemed like half the country worked in factories.  Today, there are less than nine million factory jobs.  I saw factories close and jobs lost across the country.  It was comparable to a falling stack of dominoes.  Fifty percent of working class people under 25 cannot find jobs. 

Gotham City was spared the hurricane Irene’s full fury, but that may not spare, Wall Street; as people are protesting in the streets, they are lighting an international candle of hope there will be changes made.  We need truth and transparency in government.  Government in America needs to be fair.  It must consist of people, in poor and working class communities, to coincide with the present structure .  Social Security needs to be set into a special fund, for the specific purpose of assisting aged and retired persons.  People do deserve health care, and poor people are the norm, not the exception.

The demographics of leadership have changed.  Gotham City is currently the world’s richest city.  Washington DC , is secondary to Wall Street.  When the hurricane dumped water on everything, including, Wall Street, they survived to forget about the massive structural damage, and all the poor people who were devastated.  There was never an audible offer from, Wall Street to lend a hand or back to shovel or machine.  No offers of help were made.  They forgot, Irene.  They wonder why we are there to protest. 

Randy, Ike and I parted ways, just as we had met. We were destined to be there.  I needed to touch base with older memories.  We left in opposite directions to separate doors.  They walked back into their neighborhood.  I got into a, Lemans Ford and headed to, North Korea, Michigan.

HOMELAND SECURITY

Every so often – more so these days—you read about heroic deeds executed by an officer.  There are probably more articles written about officers.  Enlisted men are uniform.  They live in barracks and sometimes in trenches.  Their positions are closer to the front lines.  They work together and depend on each other.  More enlisted men do more heroic deeds than officers do, yet fewer are recognized.

At home, they meld into communities as ordinary citizens, while officers proceed into our government jobs and offices.  Not many years ago, men got drafted for war.  It is interesting that by the time our second world war climaxed, more men (and women) enlisted than were drafted.  The important point is, whether drafted or enlistees, men had jobs.  People were friendly. 

Fast forward to, Vietnam war and beyond.  Bureaucracy historically favors officers and their children.  They survived OK, while enlisted ranks took a pounding.  Protesters rallied.  Our former officers got razzed, and ordered executions.  Enlisted troops quickly realized the senselessness of those orders (we are not, Chinese).  Some refused orders, while others joined in the action.  They were mavericks.  The protesters were mavericks as well.  People got involved.   

Things got a bit more complex.  Guys coming out of the, Vietnam era were less likely to find good jobs.  More of them became street people.  They were less welcome than soldiers of the second war were.  People ignored them.   Businesses would not hire them.   The war was bad.  They were bad.  Ex soldiers either buried their pasts or ended up on the street.  Many of them wandered while looking for work.  It was difficult to find full time employment.  Factories were moving south or overseas. 

The exodus was in full swing by the time, Dick Cheney and George Bush declared war on Iraq, with the blessings of Congress.  We had a new army of volunteers, downsized.   They sent our national guard instead.  Most of those soldiers had jobs before that.  Those jobs were gone when they came home.  Many had their homes repossessed.

 The mass displacement includes women, something unheard of in our past.  Years of wars have left our communities stripped of integrity.  Entire neighborhoods boarded.   Abandoned factory shells remind us of our past, while openly decaying.  People attend schools in hopes of getting ahead, while others cannot afford school.  Graduates often find diminutive jobs that share nothing with their educations, while spending years paying off student loans.

Everything in Washington seems to be on hold.  Our President has a record low rating, according to pollsters.  That is what they want us to believe.  It is reasonable to think.  There is no economy for more than half the people in our country, at a time when former officers and corporate tycoons want to end, Social Security.  It has many people questioning the logic of a government administration that operates like a giant, Ponzi scheme. 

Rumors that the Pentagon controls a lion share of our budget are hard to dispute.  Yet, they want to cut, Social Security, end our minimum wage and health treatment for our working class and poor.   They want soldiers and workers to create their own retirement plans (generally packaged into losing IRA’s).

We are running out of money.  Our state is broke.  The country is broke.  We have, Homeland Security.  Miles of tunnels, forty feet below sea level snake under landscapes.  Super transit systems ferry daily passengers between, New York and Washington DC.  There is more sophistication in the NYPD than in the entire FBI.  Cameras are omnipresent, while computers and police monitor them.   We have, Homeland Security.

They said the last earthquake did more damage than they anticipated – millions of dollars – not to mention the hurricane that sent torrential downpours up the coast.  It took lives and destroyed homes.    The footage covering massive mudslides, road washouts, and missing people, is a distant memory.  Wall Street was spared!