I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

I got a message from someone, wanting to know why I haven't posted chapter 6 of my Dr Who short story. That sort of raised an eyebrow here.

Is anyone actually reading that stuff? Seriously, I was just using it as "filler" when my blog site was acting up--and also, when I simply had writer's block, or nothing of interest to say. Sort of like what I did with those cartoons, this morning. I try have a least one or two posts per day, but sometimes, the muse takes a holiday in the Bahamas or wherever, and I'm at a loss as to what to post--I value words enough, that I hate posting meaningless drivel...but then, like most writers, I hate white space, as well. So...

You folks get, sometimes, video clips, cartoons, my silly photo captions, and the occasional Dr Who short story.

But, really, I'd only planned to post four or five chapters. However, if I get any more messages, I'll bite the bullet (it's rather a long short story and was never properly edited or written--just something I literally wrote off the cuff, as is)...but really, as far as I'm concerned Chapter 5 was plenty.

Where are we, as a nation, as a people, going? Where are we headed?

It used to be, that men took pride in educating themselves. They took pride in doing. It used to be that future generations of leaders were carefully guided towards thinking, learning, listening...understanding.

They studied the likes of Plutarch, Plato and Homer. Emerson, Voltarie and the greatest writer of the language, Shakespeare. They took delight in new discovery, in making things better--not just for themselves, but for all the people. Or, at least, ideally, that was the notion. But, somewhere, here in America, we slipped up.

Who do our future leaders take their cues from now?

Most young people--and unfortunately, many adults--could tell you who Homer Simpson is, but how many Americans even know who Homer was, let alone what his teaching were about?

With the likes of The Simpson's, Howard Stern, Rush Limbaugh, Fox News and, worst of them all, George W. Bush--who's actions (the Iraq war, the stripping down of environmental standards to save big business money, the reduction of Medicare benefits, ets.) have caused more deaths--and will continue to kill people--than were ever killed by the 9/11 terrorists. And let's not forget organizations like The NRA (Natl. Rifle Assn.) who's partly to blame for killing (pun intended) gun control in America, and the wonderful Heritage Foundation, an influential, politically motivated, primarily rich white republican "think" tank (quotes used because the term "think" is rather a subjective term with them) who's philosophies and ideals more closely echo those of Hitler and Stalin, then those of Jefferson and Lincoln.

With the likes of the above as role models, leadership in a positive and upward direction is pretty much a pipe dream (marajuana, anyone? )

Where is our nation heading, with this sort of mindless puree of bat guano?

No time to blog this morning, so I'm leaving you with something that will (I hope) make you smile:

I sat here, tonight, beside my open window. The unusually hot summer-like day had mellowed as the afternoon waned, and the evening was lovely. It began as a soft, warm, breezy night...pearl gray clouds, people out and about on the streets, after the long bitter winter, playing with frisbees, hanging out with their friends, going for an evening stroll...

Then, around 10.0pm the storm came. The streets were quickly deserted as high winds dashed the rain against my windows, and the trees groaned with the effort to stay rooted. And, just as soon as it came--it went. The air cooled and fresh, pleasant breezes returned.

I sat by my window and felt life's rhythms stirring around me: the faint stirring of the softening wind, the wheels swishing by on the rain slick streets, the intermittent dripping from the eaves of the roof over my balcony, the rhythmic sound of Charlie--who was stretched out sleeping, in the middle of the room--snoring. I felt the rhythm of my heartbeat, the frantic heavy footsteps (I swear he's hyperactive and wears cement shoes) of the guy downstairs. All the music of living, the concert of life.