"DEATH, and PIE"

 

"DEATH, and PIE"

If you are anywhere within 50 miles of a multi warhead hit on a major city read no further.

You are dead...period.

This from direct blast injury from being buried under burning wreckage asphyxiation as all the air is sucked up by the multiple fire storms that will soon congeal into a vast regional blaze.

If you are 100 miles away your chances would be 1 in 40. This for immediate survival. Your dangers will be break down of order, and the radioactive frontal waves from the firestorms that will in a few hours reach you.

Your life expectancy increases the farther away you go.

If I 'had' to be in a state that was hit I'd want to be a minimum of 200+ miles from the many ground zeros. Even then I'd be on the move to get further away especially if the winds were in my direction. We must remember if a nuclear exchange between the major powers happens it will not be 'one' mere bomb from a plane.

This the cold war stereotype of attack.

Whole squadrons of ICBMs will be assigned to hundreds of individual military industrial financial, and yes 'cultural' targets. This is intentional.

Understand this kind war for both sides is to the total destruction, and death of your enemies. The idea is to utterly destroy not just the military economic, and political centers, but the whole complete culture. The traditions histories peoples. To wipe you, and the memory of you from the face of the Earth.

That is the true purpose of Nuclear war.

That said you must know that each target will have 10 to as many as 50+ warheads hit it. Especially if a military area or political center. For example. After the cold war when the Soviet achieves were for a short time open to western scholars we discovered that the Pentagon alone had 30+ warheads of varying strength targeted on it. NYC in excess of 300.

One has to think in such terrible terms. Imagine the un-imaginable if you even have the slightest hope you're going to survive.

Bottom line...

If you can see it or hear it you are immediately dead or dead in hours.

However a terror nuke is another matter.

This may be "just" the spreading of radioactive dust over a distance of 5 to 20 miles. That or a low yield radiological explosions at several regional locations. Each with perhaps a quarter+ the force of the Hiroshima bomb.

These are "survivable" for many if circumstance is with us.

If somewhat favorable conditions are met. Perhaps half the population of the target city (s)  'may' live. If not then just a fraction may "exist" with traumatized shortened post strike lives. This of course because of blast injuries emotional scaring's, and radiation induced cancers in the next 10 to 30 years.

That's it in a nutshell for a "Terror Bomb (s)".

Things of course can vary widely because of type of warheads weather time of day social resilience, and local ground conditions.

...That said "Who wants Pie!"

"A Race War What If..."

In the context of dominate cultures persecuting smaller ones. Example White law makers making Cannabis use a crime. Though used to heal pain for thousands of years it was criminalized in the U.S. because it was commonly consumed by Red Brown, and Black people.

I see an alternate history where Pink people are a powerless minority. This, and their traditions are criminalized.

Golf declared a criminal activity. 5 years for possession of golfing paraphernalia. 8 to15 years for first offense of active golfing. 25 years for the second...no parole. Life or the death penalty...depending on the state for the third.

Consumption of the so-called "Cheeseburger" declared a crime. Possession of paraphernalia,...pickles ketchup buns etc. 5 years. Possession of uncooked meat paddy 5 to 8 years. Possession of cooked patty with intent to consume 15 to 25 years. ...no parole. Sale of uncooked patty 15 years. Sale of cooked patty 30 years. Sale to minor,...death.

Owning multiple cars criminalized. The possession of more than one motorized vehicle for other than licensed professional reasons. Public service for two years plus social responsibility therapy. In excess of three vehicles 10 to 25 years. Sale of multiple motorized vehicles,...death.

Manufacture possession or selling any type of motor home for residential use, and manufacture of any kind of grain alcohol ,...death.

Belonging to any type of racial nationalist group. Including possession of banners of any sort. Literature or recorded nationalist/racial materials on any kind of media. Wearing of illegal nationalist racial symbols customs of 'any' kind, and possession or use of chewing tobacco, and unofficially produced alcohol of any type. 30 years hard labor.

Manufacture of any, and all such nationalist material, and conspiracy to transport, and or distribute same. Death by hanging in a public area of the convicts community. In the case of minor over the age of 10. 18 years plus the right hand to no further than halfway to the joint or elbow will be amputated without anesthesia. (...the Belgians did exactly this in the Congo.)

Parents or guardian(s) fined to no more than 2/3 of their possessions or wealth plus sterilization.

The possession of so-called "country music" instruments, and assorted paraphernalia. 25 years hard labor. The possessing of recordings on any type of media of criminal "Country Music". 5 to 20 case depending . ( If for personal private use 5 to 10 years. If played with others present even family 20 years. No parole.)

Possession Country music media with intent to duplicate no matter the number of copies. That is any quantity more than "one!". 40 years hard labor as long as physically viable or again euthanasia if requested.

Composing illegally publishing on any media criminal "Country Music",...Death. Conspiracy to publish,...Death. Transporting illegally duplicated manuscripts or finished musical products. Death. Failure to report knowledge of the above. Confiscation of all personal properties, and those of family to the third cousins. Life w/o parole or euthanasia if requested.

All this sounds crazy. Well white folks have done exactly this all over the world, they stripped peoples of their cultures as a matter of social control. That, and inflicted punishment irrational extreme, and cruel.

'This' is what it would look like if it happened to pink peoples. If history played out just slightly differently. If other advanced...which some could well have done, and became colonizing industrial enslaving tormenting exploiters.

This is why mostly older white folks are in such a panic.

Their days of over lordship are running out...and they know it. They are soon to be a minority. They know what this will mean since they spent the last 500/600 years tormenting others with impunity.

In 2010 more technicolor babies were born than pink ones. They've been getting born by the metric ton everyday since. This is where the panic to deport 11,000,000 Brown peoples comes from.

They are in pissing terror of their just deserts.

However to us this is just a very minor rear guard action of an already defeated army. I mean Trump, and all that aged redneck I want my country back" noise.

American pink people are already a minority.

Them 2010 babies, all proper citizens, are almost in middle school now. Soon...very soon they'll be voting, and their younger brother's, and sisters, and cousins will be voting just a little after that. ...and more, and more, and more, and more, and more, and yes... More.

However "fear not for I bring thee glad tidings"...sound familiar?

You have nothing to fear. Why? Because 'we' are not 'you'. We ain't perfect, but we sure ain't the worst of you. We will be far more patient thoughtful kind, and generous,...mostly, to you than 'you'

'ever' were to us. You are our brethren. You are our beloved Sisters, and brothers...we're funny this way. ...well most of us. We will embrace you as fellow Americans. As we already do.

 

"Phone Home"

I have an idea for two little stories. In one I buy an old rotary phone at a flea market. I take it home plug it in, and dial my childhood phone number.

My Mom answers.

Time has twisted on itself somehow via the mixture of old, and new phone technologies, and patched me through to 1960. So there I am with my Mommy on the line. Our phone lines stretching 56 years to connect us.

I haven't taken this idea further.

Perhaps just sitting there knowing my Ma is on the other end is enough,...for now.

In another story I'm on the train to Hollis Queens. I get off at the Hollis stop, and notice that winter has turned to spring. The platform has shed 54 years.

Men wear brimmed hats, and all the ladies are in dresses. The streets are fresh, the buildings seem newer, and the cars have fins. According to the newsstands Kennedy is President, and Elvis is still King.

The MTA has delivered me to 1962.

My dear, and long departed Aunt Sybil lives here. We always called her "Mum". No one remembers why. Just as we don't know how my sister became "Cookie".

Anyway back then this part of Queens was still attractive. I'd forgotten how lovely it was before the city swallowed it up. It went to hell in the 1970's thru the 90's., but now it's back. Lovely again. Oh the cycle of cities, and now I'm old enough to have actually witnessed one.

Well in this time shift realm I walk to Auntie's house. I ring her bell, she opens the door.

"Hi Mum" I quietly say.

She knows who I am at once, and invites me in. I pour my heart out to her just as I did as a lad. She cooks as she listens.

I'm "almost an old man" I tell her. I'm "tired, sad", and confused. The 21st century is a cruel, and bitter place. I can't find the strength to keep faith with all she, and my Mother had taught me. She listens, and comforts, and instructs as only she could.

I mention our going to the moon then stopping. Never it seems to return. She smiles as I describe our little robots driving around on mars, crashing into rocks, and flipping over into ditches. I tell her about our Negro President. She nods thoughtfully.

I spend an afternoon in 1962 with Auntie. Back there when our biggest problems were merely nuclear wars, and racial integration. Such an innocent time it was.

After a wonderful meal, and helpful words I leave my version of Heaven. Mum keeps our trans-temporal meeting her secret.

54 years to the day later my cousin, Mum's only surviving son, hands me a sealed note.

Yes, It's from my dear Auntie. She set it aside to be delivered to me nearly 30 years after her death.

What does it say?

I don't know.

The creased yellowed envelope sits before me now. Sits patiently. Half a lifetime of patients. Waiting to be opened.

To be continued.

"...soap"

FB just gave a pre-COVID memory from four years ago. Just days before #45 took office.

A dear friend told me we have two souls. A Warrior's, and a Mother's. Our "Warrior" side fights to survive in this deranged world the "Mothering" side makes Art, and Cares for Family Friends the World. ...my shrink came to mostly the same conclusion.

We try when not caught up in our own noise. We try to give what love we can to whoever we can.

I just met a lady while shopping. This before Christmas. In conversation it came out she's a recovering Addict. That, and fearful of falling back in. I don't know where my words came from, but they always do. It's the same for you. ...they just come.

I spoke about my own destructive habits, and how I got out...and stayed out. We went on like this for a while...a very long Holiday line. Ya see we're all Angels. We all are called on from time to time to give a message. That's what an Angel is. A 'verb' not a noun. A message.

We're Messengers 'all' of us.

Anyway we parted well, and I'm sure she's passing on her own messages. She certainly gave me one. Imagine called on to give healing words when all you think you're doing is buying soap.

Life is like this.

"...Alice"

When I was eight. Sister Alice my teacher gave me something magical. She said all of our lives every moment, and everything we did no matter how small,…was a prayer. To G-d every living being all life is a prayer. Individual special living prayers. My Mother gave me life Sister Alice gave me a miracle to put in it.

 

  "Me in the 9th U.S. Colored Volunteer Infantry",...1863

While in this time of troubles I turned to my old friend Walt Whitman. This his Civil War prose from my well thumbed volume "The Portable Walt Whitman" Penguin Classics. I've dragged this thing around with me maybe 20 years now.

It never lets ya down.

In particular given my current adventures I've been sailing his Civil War writings. The hospital notes for sure. He while a scribe with the War Department,...or was it Interior? Well after his duties he'd go over to the overflowing soldiers hospitals spread about Washington City as it was then.

He would give comfort to those of both sides. He'd listen give little gifts of writing paper pencils hard candy. Take mail from them, and such small, but vital kindnesses as that.

As he said the listening the just being there seemed to these men the greatest gift. In reading of these survivors from our worse most bitter war. These boys young teens to older gents. These who fought in this Republic's most cruel of People's wars.

They tore slashed burned, and shot each other to tatters. This for an idea. Wars fought for these...for ideas were then very new. Traditionally one fought because your prince or king ordered you to. Now it's for what's in your heart. Which only made the cruel institution even worse.
As I've read the tragic nature about the War Amongst the American States was that it was fought over a dream. A tragic difference in dreams.

I was asked why would I as a person believing in peaceful resolutions wear a uniform? Well,...other than I just like it, and it's interesting drag. I wear it because like most of you. I'm a soldier in the unfinished business of our Republic.

Now here we are at yet a new stage of that on going great contest. Still imagining Dreams. Our direction as a community of communities still being decided though now digital battlefields.
The outcome remains as it has so long been,...Uncertain.