“Law” by Charles Bukowski

[One of my favorite Bukowski poems.]

“Look,” he told me,
“all those little children dying in the trees.”
And I said, “What?”
He said, “look.”
And I went to the window and sure enough, there they were hanging in the trees,
dead and dying.
And I said, “What does it mean?”
He said, “I don’t know it’s authorized.”

The next day I got up and they had dogs in the trees,
hanging, dead, and dying.
I turned to my friend and I said, “What does it mean?”
And he said,
“Don’t worry about it, it’s the way of things. They took a vote. It was decided.”

The next day it was cats.
I don’t see how they caught all those cats so fast and hung them in the trees, but they did.
The next day it was horses,
and that wasn’t so good because many bad branches broke.

And after bacon and eggs the next day,
my friend pulled his pistol on me across the coffee
and said,
“Let’s go,”
and we went outside.
And here were all these men and women in the trees,
most of them dead or dying.
And he got the rope ready and I said,
“What does it mean?”
And he said, “It’s authorized, constitutional, it passed the majority,”
And he tied my hands behind my back then opened the noose.
“I don’t know who’s going to hang me,” he said,
“When I get done with you.
I suppose when it finally works down
there will be just one left and he’ll have to hang himself.”
“Suppose he doesn’t,” I ask.
“He has to,” he said,
“It’s authorized.”
“Oh,” I said, “Well,
let’s get on with it.”

Southern Christianity, Vs Yankee Zionism

I grew up with a Southern Christian father, and a Zionist Yankee mother. She never made it up North, lived in Texas all her life. Her great grandfathers, both side, shot zionist baby raping Yankees. But she was a Yankee Zionist.

After the war was over, the Zionist Yankees infiltrated Southern Churches with their Zionism disease. My mothers grandfather, who partially raised her, was indoctrinated, and he beat it in her head.

Father was exposed to the Yankee Zionist “Christian” teachings, but for the most part, had as little to do with them as possible.

The purpose of this piece is to give the reader a short history of the differences between the two “Christianity’s”. Continue reading

Bob Dylan is a Zionist

Sad to say, but he went over to the Dark Side.
That’s where the money’s at, ya know.
Not that he needs it,
But that’s where the power is also.
That’s where the elite hobnob.
That’s where you go if you really want to feel important.
How do you get from here to there, you might ask.
How does one find their way down to the cross roads, you might wonder.

Well, you gotta know what lies at the heart of Zionist mythology.
You gotta know that Israel is the innocent victim
Of irrational and vicious persecution.
You gotta trust that Israel struggles just to survive in a hostile world.
You gotta truly believe that Israel has made a garden of paradise in the desert sand.
You gotta have faith that Israel took crumbs and made wealth;
That Israelis have no place else to go;
That they are unfairly accused of being on their neighbor’s land;
That Israel fights alone, struggling just to exist.
Continue reading


Hey Southern Patriot, serving in the USA military, you are the ass hole zionist yankee scum, who you hate, because they gang banged your great-great grandmother and great grandfather when he was ten! You are the raping murdering scum, attacking a people who did nothing to you! Maybe the damn yankees were right. Maybe Southerners are too stupid to have their own government.

I know by now that you Naval Jack waving Buba’s are thinking what you would do to me if you could get you hands on me. I know you have swelled with indignation that any ass hole would question your Southern Pride. Well, if you are serving in the US military, and saluting the damn yankee rag that flew above while the yankee bastards gang raped your ten year old great grandfather, then as far as i am concerned, you can stick your Southern pride up your Zionist Yankee ass! I did not come to this lightly. It is not with self righteous pride, that i look down and say this. Because i was a zionist yankee doing to another people, what i hated the zionist yankees doing to my Southern people. I my self, had to grasp my shoulders, and forcefully jerk my Southern head, out of my Zionist Yankee ass.

Here is how i did that. Continue reading

The Impossible Distance

On the TV I watched them marching toward the border
row upon row of them in the hot bright sun
they marched without guns
without tanks and missiles
although some
like the shepherd boy David
did pick up a few rocks to hurl into the impossible distance

I watched them stream down the green hill toward the heaps of dirt and wire
I saw them
old and young
walk toward the occupied land
I saw them come closer
close enough for the heavily-armed occupying force to have them in range

From a distance
behind the barbed wire
with the occupiers
where the cameras that showed the scene were set
I heard the dull pops and parps of the guns as they fired

I saw the marchers kept streaming down the hill
although the first wave was now breaking in disarray
I heard the guns again
I saw some marchers fall
others scramble back
and still more coming down

Pop Pop Parp
The dull sounds
intermittent – careful
The bullets whizzed across the distance
the impossible distance
which no stone could traverse

The bullets threw up clouds of dirt
they struck flesh
I saw bodies twisting and going down
the march became a rescue party
the dead and wounded were lifted onto sheets and stretchers
as the bullets kept coming
dull – intermittent – careful
Pop Pop Parp

as many lay dead
as many lay bleeding in bright hot sun
across the distance
from behind the barbed wire and hot-barrelled weapons
I watched the canisters of tear gas sailing through the air
trailing streams of smoke
they landed on the dirt and the green grass
and spewed their painful irresistible fog

Now at last
the marchers
who had kept coming in the face of the bullets
turned and fled
carrying the dead
the dying and bleeding
they ran back up the green hill

Then suddenly the scene shifted to an anonymous government office
where a comely young spokeswoman
speaking crisp American-accented English
explained that these unweaponed marchers
walking in the hot bright sun
posed such an overwhelming threat
to the heavily-armed occupying forces
behind the walls of barbed wire
that there was no alternative
no other choice
but to open fire across the impossible distance that no stone could traverse
to fire into the unarmed crowd
to fire again and again and again and again
to watch them twist and fall into the mounds of dirt

No Choice
No Alternative

Her appearance on the screen lasted
as long as the time given to the marchers and their dead
the reporter
who was standing near the border
behind the barbed wire
who had seen it all with her own eyes
dutifully concluded her piece with geopolitical context
one side says this
the other says that
plots and machinations lie behind every public outpouring
but even given all that
even she
speaking as the marchers were fleeing from the noxious clouds behind her
even she
could not avoid the obvious question—

Why use the tear gas last?
Why shoot first?
Why fire into the bodies
into the unarmed marchers
and kill them
when all along you were equipped with the proven means
to disperse them without death and blood?

It seems then
there was a choice for the occupying force

And they made that choice

The choice to kill
to speak with death and blood across the impossible distance

Pushing Freedom

“We” are pushing freedom to the world and daring them to oppose it and bribing them kindly to accept it and dropping death on those who refuse it.
Ours is but a dumbed-down imperial culture that doesn’t want to come to terms with the systemic and structural reasons for its decline.
Language is an invention that makes it possible for a person to deny what he is doing even as he does it.
War Crime is now completely normalized in amerikan politics and amerikan society.

It’s what amerika does.

It’s what amerika is.

And “We” don’t care.



Distilled further into todays American English, if you want to be the dude with the biggest, baddest balls, if you want to say i have to give you a hell of a lot of my pay, so you can “protect” me from this month’s flavor of boogie man, if you are perhaps going to get my ass killed in one of your wars, to steal other peoples wealth and labor, so you can prove one more time, you have the biggest, baddest set, then, DAMN IT! LEAD!

If one goes back to the time of Noblesse Oblige’s birth, it was this. Take Scotland. Part of my heritage, so i studied their history. Many Scottish kings did not rule for more than six months, a year. Why? Because when there was a battle, the king was expected to have his ass out in the front. The average Scotsman did not have a whole lot. He may or may not own his own land, but even if it was said that he “owned” the land, he owed his sword, (or axe as the case may be), to the local “Nobel”, who was expected to show up with a set number of men to go into battle when the king called. So poor farmers, often found themselves forced into battles that had nothing whatsoever, to do with anything at all, that remotely mattered to them. Hell, they were one meal from starving a lot of the time. The only exception would be when another Noble decided he wanted your kings little corner of the world. Invaders were not kind to the natives. Had to fight for family and survival. But many of the battles were just two nobles, trying to prove who had the biggest, baddest set of balls. Now if your “king”, was going to get you killed to prove he had the biggest, baddest set, then by god, his ass was expected to damn well lead! And they did, And they died. Whatever else they might have been, spoiled, arrogant, greedy, they were damn well MEN! They had BALLS!
The poor SOB’s who had to die for the “elites”, At least had that! They died following a real leader. One who was not afraid to put his own ass in harms way, for whatever arrogate or hair brained reason he thought of next! At least he had that. That is where and why, Noblesse Oblige was born. You want to call yourself a leader? Well damn well lead! Continue reading


Sammie and the Multi-poo

I may only be a dog its true
But let me give you a dogs view

You seem bent on killing off your kind
Seems to be the only thing on your damn mind

Humans start wars by lying their asses off
You’ll must be drafty in the loft

Man spends all his time and energy
Trying to kill everyone else you see

You sacrifice your children to an angry war god
Who sends them back broken, dead, without even a nod

If i may kindly ask of you
Kill your own asses without blowing up the earth too
Course, thats just a dog’s eye view

Samantha Carleton, Cocker Spaniel, Daddy’s Girl

As translated by Daddy

In Memory of Jerry

Before me lies the man I have killed. What did I kill him for?

He lies there dead and gory. What fate had cast him here? Who is he?

Perhaps he, too, like me, has an old mother.

How long will she sit on the doorstep of her squalid little stick shack in the evenings,
looking southward to see whether her beloved son, her breadwinner and worker,

is coming home?

Had I given up all that I loved, all that was dear to me,

had I made this thousands of mile march out here,
suffering from hunger, cold and the blazing heat,

did I lie now here in such agony, merely for the sake of taking that poor man’s life?

What useful objective had I achieved apart from this murder?

His face had gone. It had slid off the bones.

The ghastly skull, fixed in the eternal grin of death,
was more repulsive to me than ever before,

although I had often had occasion to handle skulls and bones.

This skeleton in uniform with shining buttons made me shudder.

That is war, I thought, there is its image.

The frailty of everything revealed at last.

Old and troubling issues resolved into nothingness and night.



By Siegfried Sassoon

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.