The Putrescence That Lurks In The Bowels Of Fascism


Bannon and Trump are sharing the presidential bed.  Melania must feel left out.  She gets a cot out in a hallway somewhere.  While Melania tries to catch some Zs, Bannon and Trump giggle under the sheets about their egregious takeover of America.

The Muslim ban is the first step in a calculated death-march planned by Trump and his rich cronies.  They pine for a fascist regime in the United States.  This is not hyperbole  or conjecture.  Fascism is on the rise.

Trump already wants to silence journalists.  He wants to cut funding for the arts.  Same goes for scientists.  These are strategic maneuvers.

Undermining the credibility of fact-based journalism leads to the rise of propaganda.  Cutting the arts leads to the rise of regime-controlled imagery.  Denigrating science, and the scientists who defend and enrich science, leads to the rise of a nefarious government that no longer believes in non-biased research or objective knowledge.

What famous author talked about all this stuff?  What’s his name again?  Oh yeah…George Orwell.  2017 is looking like the new 1984.

We shouldn’t applaud Trump for following through with all his campaign promises.  All the promises were designed to create division.  “Make America Great Again.”  Yeah right.  Trump just wants to watch it burn.

Trump promises to bring jobs back to the US.  What an empty, deceptive promise.  We’re talking about a guy who was raised with a golden spoon.  He has no idea what middle-class or poor americans want or need.  He is totally out-of-touch.

It is wholly necessary to oppose Trump and Bannon’s brand of fascism.  And it can be done with the tools we have.  It can be done with peaceful, fervent protesting.  It can be done with facts.  It can be done with music.

The will not to be silenced is crucial.  The people need to create a greater vision than Trump can handle.  A vision of unity, dignity, respect, and intelligence.

Four years seems like a long time.  Four years with a malignant narcissist stealing all the headlines seems like four years of collective dyspepsia to me.  But let’s remember the words of Lao Tzu:

A swishing wind does not outlast the morning; pelting rain does not outlast the day.  Who makes these things but heaven and earth?  If heaven and earth cannot maintain them for long, how can man?

Everything passes.  This includes Trump.



blizzard-in-broxa-forest-glenn-marshallSometimes it comes in like a lamb.  Sometimes it comes in like a lion.  Sometimes it comes in like a hyper-charged, raging bull from Dimension X.

Snow.  Got to love it.  You can throw it.  Sculpt it.  Shovel it.  It doesn’t disguise itself.  It doesn’t flirt around with the idea of deceiving you.  It simply falls from the sky and covers all the multifarious surfaces of the city.

I think it’s cool when it brings a city to its knees.  Bad roads.  Low visibility.  These aren’t necessarily evil things.  Slowing down is a good idea.  We are too movement-oriented.  We always need to move.  Ants can do that, I say.

A few weeks ago, I had the inimitable pleasure of watching large snowflakes descend from a black sky.  So much chaos.  Shifting patterns of white ephemera.  There was something so simple about watching those snowflakes.  It brought me back to my childhood.

I can’t wait to take my daughter out into the white fortress.  So many snow angels to be made.  So many snow mountains to be conquered.

The Cultivation Of The Organism Of Delight In Times Of Uncertainty

solstices-and-equinoxes-smallWe enter uncertain times.  We don’t know whether Donald Trump will seek to implement his divisive campaign rhetoric.  We wait for the construction of a wall, the deportation of Muslims, and the dismantling of lesbian and gay rights.  We wait for his decisions on many important topics.  We want to know if his vitriol and impulsiveness will get the best of him.

Every evening when I return home from work, I find my precious daughter on the couch.  I can see her eyes absorbing everything.  I can see the movement of total innocence in her eyes.  There must be a sun in her brain that is always illuminating the inner shores of wonder.  I think to myself, “what kind of world will she be immersed in twenty years from now?”

It’s easy to go full-on dystopian in our prognostications.  I would like to think otherwise.  I feel that free-thinkers and mavericks of the imagination will point us beyond the political cul-de-sac we seem to be headed towards.  Bright minds and hearts always wait for the right time to strike effectively and honorably.

The world is a projection of consciousness.  We aren’t incarcerated in a world of grim ideologies.  Our level of awareness determines the type of world we perceive.  We must keep this truth in mind.

I propose two things:

  1. We get in touch with that innate happiness, that wisdom unsullied by the passing of time.  The sun within the brain, so to speak.  We let this innate happiness do its thing.  Let it fly, sing, dance.
  2. We build the body politic around this innate happiness and spread the good news of, “unity in diversity and diversity in unification.”

Everything doesn’t have to go off the rails.  We don’t have to inherit the wasteland.  The true test lies in the future, yes.  Minds and hearts shall come together.  Solutions shall come to the brave and intrepid.  Eureka moments and synchronicities shall guide.

We may end up seeing the fracturing of Big Government.  The working class have been lied to by Drumpf.  I don’t see him being a man of honesty and integrity.  A flagging economy will not be bootstrapped to a level of unparalleled supremacy by a charlatan.  Once the working class realize this, they will revolt with the Muslims, the Lesbians, the Blacks, the Scientists, the Poets, and anyone who cares for that matter.  This revolt will lead to a sea change in how government is perceived.  Out of the ashes of a fractured and burned governmental body shall arise the phoenix of a new government.  A government that actually works.




DMT Dream

terence_cosmo-codeDMT dreams have a special seat in the theater of psychic events.  Not quite at the back.  Not quite at the front.  A balcony seat, maybe.  Or is the DMT on the stage?  Or waiting behind the curtain?

Enter Terence McKenna.

He hands me a sheet of paper.  He explains to me that DMT is on the sheet on paper.  I see nothing.  He steps closer to me.  He points to the chunks of peculiar glass splayed out before me.  “Oh,” I say.  “There it is.”

The bowl is loaded.  McKenna gleefully lights it.  I am informed to hold in the noxious smoke as long as humanly possible.  I hold.  Lights appear in my peripheral vision.  Reality quivers a little.  Faces next to me morph.

The feeling fades.

McKenna loads another bowl.  “Hold it in longer,” he insists.

I hold.  I hold.

The trapdoor of reality opens up.  I fall through strata of a dimly lit hyperspace.  It seems like I am in a bloated nerve of expanded awareness.  The fall is enjoyable.  The fall eventually leads back to the room.  I am back at baseline.

I report back to McKenna.  “I didn’t see any entities.”  He seems a little disappointed.  He sits down and prepares for his own departure into the DMT realm.

Exit Terence McKenna.



The Clown Gets In.

homepage_large-68309225The US election results are in.  Donald Trump defied all the odds.  Donald Trump is now president.

The narrative created by liberal media outlets was not in sync with the fevered pulse of the nation.  They intentionally minimized the influence Trump was having over the average american.  They made it seem like it couldn’t happen.  And yet it did.

Racism is still an issue.  Not just in the US.  It is an issue here in the Great White North.  The utopian portion of my brain would like to think that people of all creeds and backgrounds could get along, but the rest of my brain knows this is not true. People, sadly, will loathe other people.  This is just the way things are.

A universal education system is sorely needed in the US.  People need knowledge to evolve.  People need to evolve beyond the level of ethnocentrism.  We no longer live in a world where ethnocentric rhetoric or hate can or should survive.  Ethnocentrism is a threat to the survival of humanity.

I know Donald Trump can’t fulfill all his maligned and deplorable campaign promises.  They are just too outrageous.  He will get away with some things, though.  The world should prepare for a narcissistic boy-man with a bad temper.  That will not change about him.  He is still all about himself.

I guess we will just see where this goes.  It may go way down before it goes up again.  It’s best not to panic.  Brighter days always come when we least expect them.


The Billionaire And The Big Rug

Donald Trump

A rug usually hides the flawed aspects of self; the dirty and repulsive things that violate the antiseptic inner code.  One could sweep things under the fridge, but that is always risky business.  The dirty, repulsive things could corrupt the food.  So, the rug is the dumping ground.  It has the distinguished pleasure of having its underbelly covered in cast-off flaws.  Poor, poor rug.

Now imagine a big rug.  A rug made for a nation.  Picture the underbelly of that rug.  Picture the festering multitude of cast-off flaws wriggling like worms.  Gross stuff, right?

Now picture Donald Trump picking up this nation-rug, picture him eviscerating the contents of the underbelly, and picture him tossing this stuff everywhere.  Sadly, this passes as politics for Donald Trump.  No policies are being expounded upon.  No progressive, thoughtful ideas are coming into the fold.  We are simply witnessing the brutal unpacking of a nation’s shadow.

This act has merit in the hands of the right person.  A nation can be healed by the right hands.  There can be a graceful unpacking of a nation’s shadow.  With the right hands, though.  Quite obviously, Donald Trump doesn’t have healing hands.  The stuff of nightmares only turns blacker in his hands.

Donald Trump says he has the right to grab any woman, anywhere, and at any such time.  Folks, we are dealing with a personality that has no qualms whatsoever with predatory sexual behavior.

No policies.  No thoughtful rhetoric.  No compassion.  Just rage and shadow-tossing.

The time has come to stop Donald Trump.  I am hopeful that he will be stopped.


Milky Way Ramblings


My head feels inflated.  Pressure at the base of the skull.  It’s like someone put a bike pump hose into my ear and then went to town.

Sitting in the park.  Sweating.  The geese are perpetually in search of food.  The pond is dirty.  Wavering reflections in brown water.

Pokemon Go really has people on the move.  I don’t get it.  They call it, “Augmented Reality,” or some shit.  Whatever happened to just enjoying a walk in the park?  Now people need to be stimulated by something other than the given.  They need a slew of manufactured distractions.

The binary jungle of manufactured distractions…

It’s truly strange to watch people so glued to their phones.  When did we get addicted?  People can’t turn themselves away.  Drugs come in all forms, I guess.

I think we have become addicted to the mediated moment.  We need media.  Media is the new oxygen.  The outdoors, the green expanse, can be maimed and crushed and fed to wild gods.  We wouldn’t care.  As long as the venerable phone lives on.

I need to find a way to enjoy the simple things again.  Ink dropping on paper in the park is one of those simple delights.


A military stockpiles weapons.  A mind stockpiles nonsense.  A military finds an enemy to use the weapons against.  A mind finds an enemy to use nonsense against.  Weapons kill civilians.  Nonsense kills relationships.

A mind stuffed with nonsense is like a kettle that has been forgotten about on a hot element.  It can boil over at any moment.  Tumultuous emotions can start running the show.  Bedlam can grab the joystick.

Purge.  Purge.  Purge.  The mind has no need for nonsense.  The mind needs vitamins—integrity, passion, love.


I haven’t showered.  My reflection is very telling—hair skyward, ruffled clothing, a bewildered expression.  I am Wild Man.  An anthropological conundrum.  Homo Messy-Suburbinus.

I am Wild Man.  In my dreams my body detaches itself from a tree and wanders the planet in search of peculiar experiences.  I gorge myself on apples that have fallen in some dude’s front yard.  I bathe in man-made lakes.  I spurn newspapers.  News, for me, comes in the form of butterflies.  I take in the raw culture of the ecosystem.

There is a charm to the Wild Man archetype.  Sure he smells.  Sure his teeth look rough.  Sure his Old Navy t-shirt has seen better days.  But he sees through the dross, man.  He is sophisticated in the ways of being uncivilized.  He has a degree in being “down-to-earth”.

And that’s what we are all trying to do: get down to earth.  Feel the earth as a living, uber-organism, and respect the laws of her raw culture.