May 28, 2017

Trump Is A Dunce

Think of all those young men dying out there in the sand and blood; and for what? Trump? This posturing wannabe dictator, this know-nothing on a vandalizing mission to destroy the social supports that are the creation of legal compromises between liberals and conservatives for the last 100 years. These men died to save us from the sacrifice of our freedoms to men like Trump and his cronies, billionaires with an extreme lust for power. They are fascists, Nazis, and slavers, and they would return us to the 18-hour workday with child labor included. On Memorial Day, we should remember not only the fallen, but what they died for. My father fought from Normandy to Germany and came back a mustang Captain with a Silver Star. He would roll over in his grave to know that the Nazis are taking over our country.

Nobody ever expected (Cheating) Donald Trump to play by the rules. He never has. He brags about how he doesn't pay taxes, because he knows how to "use" the loopholes. He pays lawyers and accountants to find them (and probably stiffs them too.) He files repeated fake bankruptcies in order to cheat contractors and builders, craftspeople, and suppliers of their legal profits.
The thing that this over-stuffed ignoramus doesn't know or appreciate is that this is all a piece of his legacy; how he will be remembered. The outline of that future memory already is clear : he will be seen as a monster and a harbinger of even worse times that followed, and someday his name will mean "disgrace." To be Trumped will mean to be disgraced. He is worse than Nixon, who, his presidency failed, his dishonesty proven, his freedom imperiled, at least had the grace to resign.














May 5, 2017

Texas, Goddam

A few years ago, I found myself hitchhiking from Brownsville, Texas, to San Antonio for a bus connection to Arizona. I'd just returned from a year in Oaxaca and Chiapas, it was Sunday, banks were closed, and a predatory border capitalist with his trigger finger on the exchange-rate had ruthlessly siphoned too much of my funds; hence the hitchhiking to San Antonio, where I could afford a ticket at least to the border. 
I'd sent a heavy sea bag full of books and notebooks ahead to El Paso, where I hoped to pick it up, saving myself from lugging a year of writing across half of Texas, but costing a lot too. In addition, I rolled a 40-lb suitcase and wore a 40-lb pack. It took 24 hours to reach San Antonio, during which I had to defend myself with a two-by-four at 3 a.m. in gangbanger country, against a disturbed pit bull. Later that day, in scorching, desert-like temperatures, thousands of newer cars and trucks filled with white Texans sped by me with jeers, hoots, obscene gestures, and other insults. Some threw cups and cans, and one or two even swerved threateningly toward me. 
Now, I've been hitching easily and fearlessly since I was 12 in Lake Charles, La. It was always easier and a whole lot cheaper than buses and trains. Although I've owned a dozen vehicles, I've been hitching occasionally, from necessity, for a long time. I was 72 at the time. Finally, with the timely help of a black over-the-road trucker and some dough from an old friend in New Jersey, I made it to San Antonio, had to hang on the streets for 24 hours, and bought a ticket to El Paso, picked up my sea bag, and then to the first town in New Mexico, where everything changed for the better.


In more than 60 years of hitchhiking all over the United States of America, I had never encountered the hatred, scorn, disrespect, or gratuitous insults that I experienced in 2013 in South Texas. And I was clean, well-dressed, and only trying to get to San Antonio. 

Just saying.