The Feminist, Islamist and Socialist Alliance: PART IV

The Feminist, Islamist and Socialist Alliance: PART IV

A Caliphate inside A Conundrum Wrapped in a Lie

K.Z.HOWELL

23 Mar. 17

Since its inception as the Suffrage Movement, the very different handling of womens movements versus other types of mostly mens labor movements has been the focus of much scrutiny by attentive radicals. Contrast the treatment of the various unionist and anti-unionist movements of the late 19th century with the Suffrage movement which occurred in the same era. Western women were accorded a far lighter hand by the authorities than the mens movements, some of which were put down with brutal efficiency when they began to spiral out of control. The typical male movement usually ended with bodies in the street and the sound of bone breaking. The womens protests were dealt with in a manner befitting the more traditional gender roles, despite some of the marches having small groups of socialist agitators seeded amongst the typical housewives and genuinely passionate activists. That difference was not lost on the early Socialist Party of America and its various offshoots. Had they not been so busy fighting among themselves and paid more heed to the First Wave, they might have managed to co-opt the Suffragettes themselves and begun their takeover thirty years sooner. As it was, many of the most influential socialist thinkers and writers of the day recognized the potential and wrote extensively on how a womens movement could be used to bring down Western Men and usher in a socialist utopia free of the bonds of marriage, parenthood and personal responsibility. One of its most influential female leaders was the writer, Charlotte Gilman. In her 1898 treatise, “Women and Economics” she advocates for the end of the “sexual economic relationship”, her depiction of marriage. In her later works in the early 1900’s she expands on her utopian ideal by basically engineering marriage, parenthood, personal property and individual freedom out of human relations and indeed out of engineering. Her work, especially “Women and Economics”, “The Home” and “Human Work” read like an Orwellian nightmare and is the theoretical basis for the entire Second and Third Wave feminist movements, once the progressive/socialist party took over, should be required reading for Western Men. Not because it will stop what has been done, but because it will teach Men the depth and breadth of their folly.

Now we come to the end stages of the most successful Fifth Column in human history. Third Wave feminism, a vehicle for a socialist insurgency, not a movement for womens rights, has succeeded in its mission to separate Western Men from women in such a way that the damage cannot be repaired in the lifetime of any living person. The strategy of the progressive socialists has been one of the long view insurgent. They patiently built their base of support within the system that Western Men designed and slowly turned that system into a relentless indoctrination system using cradle to grave infusions of half truths and outright lies to poison the well. The very foundations of Western civilization are now its greatest enemy. Through the corruption of law, the creation of mandatory indoctrination in the guise of education, the ruthless enforcement of political correctness, the bastardization of language and the deliberate dismantling of the family structure, the cabal of Third Wave feminism and the progressive socialist wing of the Democrat party has successfully created a multi-generational rift between the sexes and ended the civilizing influence of the family structure. The rift is not complete, no amount of deceit will ever completely defeat a million years of evolutionary biology or ten thousand years of ingrained tradition. It doesn’t have to be 100%, history changing events are never sparked by the masses that suffer them, they need only a small percentage to start the fire.

In America, the divorce rate has been as high as 60% in recent years. At the same time the rate of marriages has declined by about 30%. This trend began in the early seventies and began an unprecedented acceleration in the mid nineties, roughly corresponding with the ascension of Third Wave feminism. The trend began to stabilize in the mid to late 00’s at around 40% for divorce and a steadily declining rate of new and second marriages.

Why is this important?

Because Western birth rates have dropped below the ability to sustain itself for one. Not only are Western Men no longer creating replacements, they are now two generations behind the curve. Third Wave feminism has convinced women that children serve only the sexual pleasure of men and that Men only want babies to keep women chained to the stove, unable to realize their full potential. Traditional gender roles have been used as a stick against men based on the lie that evolutionary biology is a myth. Despite the obvious lie, women have bought the propagandist lie hook line and sinker. In ever growing numbers women are turning away from seeing men as mates and someone who loves them for the long term and have been convinced that their only value lies in their sexual availability. Women have been convinced that marriage and family are no more than slavery and that “riding the carrousel” throughout their marriage and childbearing years is more fulfilling and self affirming than marrying a good man and raising a family. Any quick perusal of a womans magazine, or the online world shows that this concept has gone mainstream and now is the “norm” amongst the last two generations of women and will likely only accelerate over the next several generations since “mommy and daddy” are now the exception in American homes, replaced by “baby momma and baby daddy” as the most frequent gender identifier. The endless parade of temporary sexual partners is a powerful teaching tool for those women with children. It teaches their offspring the false lesson that men are throwaway distractions and women serve no purpose to them outside the bedroom. That lesson has now been taught across generations, a primary goal of the progressive socialists because a long view strategy requires self fueling societal trends. Men have now been removed from the American family, leaving government as father. And this goal is now complete.

The next goal on the progressive socialist agenda was to finalize the 1970’s trend of women as economic entities of their own. By the 2000’s the last vestiges of economic dependence of women on men had been largely broken. The Third Wave feminist and progressive alliance had successfully managed to import sufficient numbers of illegals into the country to dilute the lower middle class and much of the remaining middle class’ wages to the point of less than subsistence. Along with the deliberate exporting of manufacturing through the democrat sponsored punitive taxation and over regulation of business, the labor/wage dilution finished off the middle class by either eliminating the jobs all together or so lowering the wage through a willful low wage labor glut that the jobs available to most in the rural areas were insufficient to maintain the one income nuclear family. Never think this was not deliberate and long planned. The groundwork for this was laid in the original socialist movement in the 19th century, the body of written work on this plan is exhaustive and thoroughly documented. In the early days, 1890 and up until right after WW2 they didn’t bother to hide the way they did after the ascension of the Soviet Union in the aftermath of the Rosenbergs treason.

Illegal immigration and border security have been political issues since 1960. Western Man put a man on the moon in less than a decade, only a deliberate and widespread cabal could have stopped the closure of the southern border. At any point up to about 1996 the states themselves could have done so, up until January 2017 the President could have done so and sealing it would take about 12 hours. Border security is part and partial to national security and national security is the sole province of the Executive branch, or it was. It appears that President Trump has now ceded national defense to the Judicial branch, a goal long sought by the progressive wing of the Democrat party.

We now have come to the present day. Now we find ourselves at a crossroads, Western Civilization has died, not in the fires of a nuclear hell but rather in the lingering bitterness of apathetic indifference. For the Men of the West the long slow strangulation has been exhausting. Between the efforts of the feminist/progressive alliance to destroy the family structure and the efforts of government to kill him through endless wars he was not allowed to win, and a court system that relegated Western Man to third class status in his own home the struggle has temporarily sapped him of his strength and the will to resist the tide. The presidential election of 2016 was seen at first as a reawakening of Western Man by many. Only a few months into the new era it has become obvious that it was not. What had been felt to be a beacon of hope to Western civilization has proven itself to be little more than a distraction from the machinations of our enemy.

Third Wave feminism has now allied itself with radical Islam, this shows two things.

First , they realize that they have won the hearts and minds campaign. They no longer need to stay in the shadows. The strident calls for Shariah as a liberation call to women in the West at the recent Womens marches all over America and the other Western democracies, and the wide public support from the Democrat party for them, proves their alliance is not only real, but welcomed in the seats of political power in Washington. The unleashing of this unexpected alliance in the aftermath of the November election is a deliberate shot across the bow of Western men. This was done to show that financial support for their cause now can flow from the nations of Islam in a manner that undermines the remains of Western civilization and comes with a built in army to create a sense of threat to any that would oppose it. That was the idea behind it. That is what the movement wanted as a takeaway for the public to consume. But it also sends a more important message aimed straight at Western Men. The imagery is well crafted and willfully deliberate. The subtext of Shariah as a siren call to Western women as a form of liberty tells Western Men that we are considered less than dogs now. The implication of Islam as the defender of women now is ludicrous on its face and deliberately baiting to men on a psychological level. Western women have rejected Western Men as suitable partners in the family structure but willingly ally with a system that literally treats them worse than the family milk goat?

That subtext has not gone unnoticed.

Second, the secret leadership and guiding hand of Third Wave feminism, the progressive wing of the Democrat party, has played its hold card. The courts, long stacked with unelected legislators, has been deployed to perform a coup and reverse a lawful presidential election. In concert with their socialistic allies in the House and Senate, the Judiciary has moved to depose a sitting President in place. Using classified information leaked from operatives inside the intelligence community and committee, Congress has effectively made it impossible for the President to govern. The courts have stripped him of his plenary power to defend the nation, a power solely granted to the president. The Democrat congress along with their Republican allies have thwarted the ability to seat a cabinet, leaving governance in the hands of the existing, democrat appointed bureaucrats who have and will continue to refuse to implement lawful directives of the Executive. The 9th circuit court, in direct contradiction of Constitutional provisions and long settled law, have used campaign rhetoric rather than legal documentation to impose their legislative decisions. There is no basis whatsoever for that decision. It, in fact, contravenes long existing statute that makes campaign rhetoric inadmissible. They have granted legal citizen status to foreign nationals who have never put foot on American soil and stripped the American citizen of his right to vote in doing so. And no one had done a thing to stop it. Nor will they.

Welcome to defeat.

There is no reversing the damage done, multi-generational rifts cannot be repaired, only survived. The economic system has been damaged to the point where even if it could be restored, building the factories that would return the jobs will take decades. The last twelve years have seen an outflow of American capital, primarily to non-western central banks, that dwarfs the entire GDP of the planet for ten years. That alone enslaves the American taxpayer to foreign entities for two generations at the very least.

An entire generation of our young men has spent fighting a war they were not allowed to win. Many died, many more were wounded and even more are mentally and emotionally wrecked from spending more time in direct combat in a single year than most saw throughout the entire period of WW2.

Men have seen their rights as parents stripped by the courts and many divorced men have no legal right to even see their children, much less teach them how to be men.

Western women have been convinced that their goal in life should be to work, remain single and sleep with as many men as possible before settling down to a childless, loveless existence with some desperate man and a house full of cats where they live in comfy retirement with no responsibility or passion. That one alone should have been a clue for women. Men built computers and spacecraft, we aren’t stupid.

The family is broken. Single parent households are now the rule, not the exception.

America now has tens of millions of disaffected, economically ravaged, childless, unmarried and hopeless men. America has millions more young men without fathers, being raised by single women and the state with no male role model that didn’t come off of Craigslist or Tinder and their sisters are being taught by both example and the state that their worth is only in the workplace or on the carrousel.

That is the unintended consequence of the Tripartide Dominion. Not that this isn’t the result they wanted. It is. Without the family structure there is nothing but service to the state. That was the goal. The unintended consequence is the lefts failure to read a history that they had not rewritten in their politically correct hindsight.

Had they bothered to do so, they would found out an inescapable fact of having millions of males with no civilizing factor and ho hope. This has happened over and over again throughout written history. The result has been the same in every single instance. Until the last 100 years of the Pax Americanus, governments understood what happens when men have no civilizing factor. Under these conditions, men do not simply bow to fate, it is not in our nature. We build societies, cities and civilizations because we are civilized by women, family and responsibility. When we no longer have those influences?

Ask the Roman Empire. Ask the Ottoman Empire. Ask the Chin Empire. Ask any of the great empires of history. Ask any of the civilizations that arose and became legendary.

Oh, wait. You can’t. Could it be that history teaches us the undeniable nature of Men? It is a lesson that was forgotten, but will very soon be taught again. Men build civilizations when we are civilized. Guess what happens when men have no reason to be civilized?

FINI

K.Z.HOWELL

23 Mar. 17

The Feminist, Islamist and Socialist Alliance: PART III

The Feminist, Islamist and Socialist Alliance: PART III

Third Wave Bedfellows and the Law of Unintended Consequences

K.Z.HOWELL

22 Mar. 17

Third Wave Feminism.

While the Second Wave feminist movement sought to abolish traditional marriage and change male/female moral and social codes, it also saw the implementation of a long view tactical maneuver to accelerate the decline of society by subterfuge. Both activities were wildly successful. During the late stages of the Second Wave the outright socialist/quasi-soviet wing of the Democrat party had a serious falling out with their Soviet handlers over how to proceed and eventually the two split. With the Soviet Union in decline and a more patient, less overtly hostile progressive wing now on its own, the decision was made to pull back from the feminist movement and concentrate on the new policy of political correctness. The resultant slow collapse of support for the Second Wave movement did two things to further the goals of the progressive apparatchik. First, it took the publics focus off of them and allowed them to continue their takeover of academia and the press from the shadows. The Reagan Era was a boon to this tactic as it turned all eyes outward to the goal of a bloodless victory against communism. The second boon was the creation of a massive organizational structure that the progressives used to great effect in spreading their ideology and sowing dissent even further into everyday family life. It was the left over cadre of Second Wave feminists, the hardcore elements, that focused on destroying traditional morality based society and the family structure.

The Second Wave had achieved its primary goal of “freeing” women from the remains of coverture and the supposed tyranny of marriage. I cannot stress enough how much damage that did. On its face, it allowed women a degree of personal freedom that had been supposedly denied them. The right to contract in their own name (which already existed in state law) it also freed women to start their own business (which already existed in state law), it allowed women to create debt in their own name without a husbands consent but using his income and standing. That last one was the sole remaining economic liberty that coverture still enforced in most states. That all sounds perfectly reasonable until we look a little deeper. The abolition of coverture also restricted the rights of a male with the same ink it used to supposedly free women. A husband no longer had what the law phrased as “the right to her labor”. That’s right gentlemen, once you say “I Do” your brand spanking new bride can literally sit on her ass and do absolutely nothing and you have no legal recourse to sue for divorce on the grounds of non-participation. The same goes for sex. Prior to Hugo Black’s supreme court opinion men had a legal expectation of both an active partner in the household and in her “feminine charms”. Absent those primary marital expectations a man could sue for divorce on those grounds and usually win. Until the death of coverture, husband and wife were considered one legal entity, one equal to the other in both rights and responsibilities.

I have spent a great deal of ink on the seemingly marginal importance of the legal fiction of coverture. I have done so because Third Wave Feminism did as well. It was a cornerstone of traditional marriage, and the ending of the family structure could not proceed with Western Men being equal partners in the family. The period between the slow dissolution of Second Wave feminism and the resurgence of what is now known as Radical Feminism, or Third Wave feminism between roughly 1980 and 1990 was a tumultuous time in the courts. Even though women could create debt in their own name by law, the banks and retailers weren’t stupid. The court had changed marital law, not contract law. A wife could now create debt based on marital resources without the husbands consent but under the law of contracts, coverture still existed. Men no longer had the right to disagree, but they did retain the legal responsibility for the debt the wife incurred. Women had gained the right to withhold sex, and were encouraged to use it as a bargaining chip and weapon against their husbands by the propagandist left under the guise of womens lib.

By this time the married couples were the same people who had been the counter culture libertines of the sixties and seventies. The seeds of promiscuity, drug use and the instant gratification mindset had been planted and popular culture was feeding its growth with abandon. “Womens Lib” became the catch phrase and popping pills and doing the pool boy while hubby was off working became the norm. All the while, the press lapdogs of the leftist cabal spewed an endless stream of derision and hatred for men into the airwaves and onto the pages of the newspapers and magazines. Television made marriage and family the laughingstock of nightly sitcoms and movies made infidelity and promiscuity an ideal to strive for not a moral lapse to avoid.

All the while, Third Wave feminism is building in the background. Western Men still held the economic and political high ground. The feminist/socialist alliance had pulled many blocks from the foundations of society but they simply didn’t have the numbers and economic clout to finish of the Men of the West once and for all.

By 1990 or so, the progressive wing of the Democrat party had successfully removed God from any aspect of public life to such a degree that in many places it had become criminal to display the Ten Commandments or a Christian cross in public. That trend still is in play in isolated areas to this day. There is no God in court or the schoolhouse any more. Western Men had built a civilization based on the moral and ethical tenets of Judeo-Christian thought and Third Wave Feminism was resurrected from the organizational system the progressives had used to take over academia and the press to assault that powerful building block of society. With those goals solidly in hand, they now turned their attention to back to the ultimate prize. The Feminist Final solution for Western Man.

Western Man had obligingly assisted in his own demise throughout First and Second wave feminism but he still retained an overwhelming edge in economic and political power. Something had to be done to remove that last element or the progressives risked having Men rally and stand against their plans from a position of strength. Western Mans last power was inseparably tied to the middle class economic model that had made America and indeed all the West, the most powerful civilization in history. Many Men still had their families despite the Feminist and socialist efforts to break that bond. We had survived intact almost exclusively in the flyover parts of America. While divorce and single parent households had become the norm in the socialist controlled regions of the western and eastern coasts and many of the large northern and Midwestern cities, many areas of the rural states had yet to feel the full effect of the cabals attentions. Somewhere around 1992 to 1994 they turned their eye toward those of us in the great unwashed middle. Think back to the early 90’s and into the early 00’s. Every night on the news there was another lawsuit reported against a rural school district that had some vestige of God or American nationalism left on campus. Even the pre-game prayer of small town high school sports became fodder for NBC, ABC and CBS and not just the local affiliates. The big city bureaus would do pieces on tiny little Nowhere, Nebraska because a coach knelt before every game or some nine year old objected to the Pledge of Allegiance in the classroom. State legislatures from Florida to the Dakotas were dragged through a national wringer for not making million dollar accommodations to a public school district with one wheelchair bound student (often none) and an annual district budget of a half million. High schools and colleges were forced to pay billions for sports equity for females even when they had no female teams. Potty parity I’ll concede. That was necessary.

Right alongside the financial assault of lawsuit after lawsuit was used to financially break rural America, the left used its considerable power to do the unthinkable. They flooded small town America with welfare recipients, refugees and illegals. The section 8 laws were used to devastate rural land values and migrate hundreds of thousands of non-taxpaying single parent families into areas that did not have the tax base with which to support the legally mandated social services these newcomers required. Once property values had been driven down, the tax base shrank even more, all the while new and expensive federal mandates added more and more of a fiscal burden on a population that watched in shock as wages were driven down by a flood of illegal aliens and non-english speaking refugees who considered minimum wage a kings ransom compared to the 25c a day or less they had earned in their home countries. Western Men stood idly, lamenting fate and fickle government as their livelihood and savings were reduced to mere subsistence wages and worthless scraps of paper. Rural women, traditionally the stay at home types, were forced to enter the work force just to keep food on the table and pay the mortgage. That resentment at Western Mens sudden inability to meet his obligations to the family were subtly augmented by the feminist mantra of “anything a man can do a woman can do better”. The fact that no one at this point recognized the deliberate nature of the situation is a testament to the progressive/feminist alliance and their stranglehold on government, the press and popular culture. The Third Wave had arrived in small town America, and was brutally efficient at ripping apart the fabric of the American family.

How does all that tie in with third wave feminism? Remember what I said about the progressives keeping the Second Wave organization intact? When the Second Wave petered out in the Reagan era, the organization itself continued. It had simply retasked to the academic and social shadow movement and continued to spread dissent and propaganda to women. They created a multifaceted organizational structure that grew slowly and seeded dozens of smaller movements throughout the political and social landscape. Seriously, you thought that lesbian single mom who sued the school district in Columbia, South Carolina had the juice to bring a billion dollar law firm to a county school board meeting? Yeah right! And pigs fly.

Throughout the 90’s and the 00’s the Third Wave picked up steam and followers. They gained a great deal in the elite rich lady support from the coasts but they needed numbers. They got them from the many disparate groups they folded under their umbrella. Third Wave feminism barely even gives lip service to womens issues beyond cost free unlimited abortion on demand and legal superiority for women as an aside to their drive for legal superiority for anything that is not white, male and American. Third Wave feminism is the prime driver for open borders, global citizenship, extralegal status for every LGBTQ, illegal alien, climate change believer, Jihadi, Islamist, social, economic, gender or socialist refugee they can find. This brings us to the latest ally of Third Wave feminism.

Islamists. That’s right. Those shining examples of tolerance and inclusion. Those turban wearing rascals of romanticism. Third Wave feminism has finally found the Holy Grail of womens issues and lovingly wrapped them up in their arms. Asking why is like asking a shark why it has teeth. They need allies for their next move and Islam provides the one thing they lacked, a well organized militant wing. Since Third Wave feminism can’t stomach any hint of traditional family values, as evidenced by their recent Womens March, they have chosen to ally with another traditional system. Shariah. Other than that pesky little bit about women being the chattel of Islamic men, the Third Wave acquires substantial funding and an instant army by allying with an Islamist movement that advocates global Shariah as a form of womens liberation. That their idea of liberation is slavery, child rape and life as property less valuable than a goat is irrelevant. As is the titular head of the so called Islamic Womens rights movement. Their unholy alliance is another example of the hubris of leftist thought. The enemy of my enemy is NOT your friend. Just because Islam hates the Men of the West just as much as the Third Wave feminist and the progressive socialist Democrats does not make them a friend or partner. It makes them an ally of convenience. Western Men once made a bargain with the devil as well. Only in our case, had it not been for treason the Soviets would have simply imploded after WW2 instead of becoming our greatest threat. The Third Wave and its puppet masters in the socialist wing of the progressive movement have at last shown their intentions. As they march around today waving signs decrying borders and travel bans, declaring all the world Americans by right and with the anti-Constitutional judges performing a coup against the plenary power of the President and the Constitutionally defined role of the three branches of government, no Western Man should think they have taken their eye from the prize. They haven’t. They know that they have won. They just don’t know what the price of that victory will be. They should have opened a history book. Unintended consequences are a bitch.

K.Z.HOWELL

22 Mar. 17

 

The Feminist, Islamist and Socialist Alliance: PART II

The Feminist, Islamist and Socialist Alliance: PART II

The Rise of Feminism and the Destruction of the Family

K.Z.HOWELL

21 Mar. 17

First wave feminism, the only wave of the western womens rights movement that actually sought to expand womens rights, saw its efforts bear fruit early in the 20th century. Through the efforts of organized women they did manage to actually bring about a more equitable and evenhanded legal standing that had been denied by tradition primarily and in some cases settled law. Women gained much in this period, the right to vote not least in the litany. In those early years when traditional gender roles still held dominance in the economic and political arena the suffrage movement was seen not as a threat per se, but more as an affront to many in the established political hierarchy. Men had managed to move the west from horse and buggy to flight in less than fifty years, after all. Why fix something that wasn’t broken?

In the end, 1919 to be exact, women were granted the right to vote in the U.S. with the passage of the 19th Amendment. While they also gained much in the legal arena, later supporters of second wave feminism used the passage of the 19th Amendment as a whipping post for its own agenda. History has shown that the legal status gains of first wave feminism were far more important, and have had a much greater effect on women than simply the ability to negate her husbands vote. The ability to enter into contracts, equal parental rights and property rights were of far more importance to actual equality. Yet it was the right to vote that caught the attention of the then growing socialist movement in America. It was at this time that many in the American Socialist movement changed their stripes and formed a new bloc within the traditionally conservative Democrat party and formed the progressive wing of the party we know today. One of the main reasons for the transition was the futility of trying to form a true socialist party in a country still inhabited by and largely run, by traditionally conservative capitalists. The socialists saw womens suffrage as a boon to their cause because they could now “split the vote” if they could convince women that what men wanted was always against the rights of women. In a brilliant game of subterfuge they began promoting other issues as being strictly womens issues in order to form a new and powerful voting base. Their efforts were somewhat blunted by the end off WWI and the ensuing economic boom that characterized the Roaring Twenties.

This political malaise for feminism as a political force, and a vehicle for socialism, continued through the 1920’s and well into the 1940’s. With the economic devastation of the Great Depression and the advent of WW2 , America simply had better things to do than spend time and energy arguing over things that did not feed their children or secure the nation against tyranny. The family as the core of American life was still intact. Men and women still relied on each other when it counted. The bonds that had made civilization, and western civilization in particular, an indomitable force against outside influence proved too deeply ingrained in human behavior to break. While the early leftists and their fledgeling minority of radical feminists made few inroads during this period, they did identify the cornerstone of the “Nuclear Family” and began planning its demise. The period after WW2 and well into the “Baby Boom” of the fifties saw little action outside the bedrooms of a war weary and politically indifferent populace. It is this indifference that lead to the death of the American family as a binding force and created the environment that soon brought about the creation of the Western Man as a second class citizen in his own home.

Coverture.

A simple word. A small word. But a word with exceptional power within a family structure. It means “to cover” and in legal terms it meant that a husband and wife were one, even in the eyes of the law. This simple little legal fiction turned out to be the means by which the feminist/socialist alliance could bring down the last remnants of the Nuclear Family and render Western Men impotent to stop his own demise. In 1966 the U.S. Supreme court, in an opinion by Hugo Black, stated that coverture was an archaic remnant of a caste system, despite the fact that coverture had not subsumed women into the rights of the husband since the early thirties. The remains of coverture erased by the opinion were the legal fiction that prevented a spouse from cheating and still getting everything when the marriage dissolved. Coverture treated both the husband and the wife as a single entity. If a husband failed in his duties to her, she had standing in the yes of the law. If the wife failed in hers, the husband had equal standing and the courts had to rule in that manner.

With the ink not even dry yet on Blacks opinion the feminists began their push for the ERA despite knowing it would never happen. The goal was to push for everything publicly with the ERA (which did nothing not already covered by existing law), and run a hearts and minds campaign based on the amendments opposition. The feminist/socialist alliance of Second wave feminism used the argument to radicalize more and more women and indeed, millions of men by proxy, into the counter culture movement of the sixties and early 70’s. This movement had two main agenda’s, its primary goal was to separate women from men and its secondary goal was to radicalize the education system to the point where the language could be controlled entirely by their own sympathizers. This tactic succeeded spectacularly, largely due to the Vietnam War and a press that wanted images and soundbytes for the evening news no matter the cost.

The deleterious effects of Black’s opinion are still playing out today, but lets stay in the Second Wave era to maintain our timeline. With the last legal protection of the family now gone, the path was wide open to begin the destruction of the society built on the family unit. The long game played by the socialists coupled with the political immediacy of a feminist movement rapidly gaining steam and press coverage began to pay big dividends. The cabal’s main agenda, the breaking of the bond between men and women, took root in the counter culture of the sixties and grew to ever more prominence through the mid to late seventies. Women were the focus and with a willing accomplice in the press they made major inroads into very fabric of society. The socialist activities were focused on the long game of politics but feminism pressed hard to rip apart the moral and religious foundations of society. Women were convinced by lies and exaggerations that they could do anything they wanted. They paid special attention to the younger generation of time and convinced them that drugs, sex and freedom were their right by birth and that men were keeping the good life from them. They were taught that children were the shackles and abortion the key to their chains. They pushed the mantra of America as an evil oppressor and that men especially were to blame for wars. American men. American business men to be exact. They laid no blame on communist expansion, in fact by the mid to late 70’s they openly embraced Soviet doctrine as a model for womens rights despite the fact that communism was still the primary fear in America at that time. It was at this point where Second Wave feminism began to falter. Its adoption of the socialist mantra of men bad, communism good turned off many of its supporters. While Second Wave feminism essentially died out by the early 1980’s in the U.S. it continued overseas for years afterward. At roughly the same time period, the progressive (socialist) wing of the democrat party also saw a drastic change in its fortunes. Economic turmoil, Soviet expansionism and a general distrust of anything vaguely socialist pushed the movement into the background of politics, though its adherents remained in power and in positions of influence. The ignominious demise of the Second wave was too late though. The damage had been done. The American education system, and the majority of the main stream press were solidly in the hands of the feminist/socialist alliance. The long desired split between men and women was moving forward under its own steam now. Two generations of women were now convinced that they were no more than sexual chattel in their own minds and that their sole power lay between their legs. Even the Reagan era of nationalism and traditional values could not undo the damage and the rot of American society continued.

K.Z.HOWELL

21 Mar. 17

The Feminist, Islamist and Socialist Alliance: PART I

The Feminist, Islamist and Socialist Alliance: PART I

For the Detriment of Men and the Destruction of Mankind

K.Z.HOWELL

21 Mar. 17

No good thriller has a singular plotline. No good conspiracy has only one member.

It is now early 2017 and an important chapter in human history is coming to a close.

The age of the Western Man is ending and the new age of Tripartide Dominion is beginning. This story has been a long one, full of false starts and epic accomplishment for the Western Man. We have brought the world its first taste of true civilization and peace. The Men of the West ended the abomination of slavery. We gave the world the ability to feed itself with ease should they choose to do so. Western medicine ended small pox, cholera, plague and a host of other maladies that had ravaged entire generations from the earth in the past.

Now, thanks to Western Men, the world basks in light and warmth even on the darkest, coldest nights. We gave the world hope when we sacrificed our own to stop tyranny and oppression in countless battles, large and small. When nature turned its wrath on those that could not help themselves, it was always the Men of the West that responded with open hearts and deep pockets to render aid to those who could not aid themselves. Cities have risen from the nothingness of endless sand and the dankness of mosquito infested swamps to rival the mountains and shine the light of hope and liberty across the planet. Western Man pushed back the frontier and the dangers posed by lawlessness and tribalism. Western Man has stood between those that desire freedom and those that desire dominion for many generations now.

As those heady days of freedom and prosperity come to their close, I marvel at the world Western Man so blithely allowed to fall. I wonder at the hubris Western Man has shown by standing idle when the enemy attacked from within. For nearly two centuries the Men of the West stood in the breach to defend all they held dear. We faced outward and brought communism to its knees, held at bay the insanity of religious fanaticism, pushed back the tide of socialism and the suffering it brings.

Alas, we failed to resist the true enemy. We understood the foe that approached with iron tyranny and blades drawn for conflict. We recognized the threat of unfettered hatred and kept it from our shores. We did not recognize the enemy within. We knew to be watchful when the enemy had hard faces and ideals that were alien to our own. Western Man sealed his fate and that of freedom not by accident, but by apathy.

We failed the world when we allowed the soft voices and pleasing appearance of our own loved ones to whisper folly into our ears at night and poison our resolve to defend them, even from themselves. The march to the abyss has been long, and deliberately concealed in gentle words for much of its trail. Only recently has the enemy shown its true face and intent. Our enemy chose the battle not fought on the field of war or in the arena of ideals. Rather, it came as snake in the night, whispering gentle admonitions that weigh heavily on the hearts of Men after time. It came with subtle designs, just a little nip here and a tiny pinch there. It came dressed in a skirt with the death of a thousand cuts sewn into the hem. It came with soft hands and sweet breath asking for freedom and the question confused Western Men. After all, we were the reason that freedom existed, had we been stingy in our own house while offering liberty to all the world? Slowly, we drank from the poison of self doubt. Over generations we ingested just a little here and a little more there.

Here my dear, just one more sip, they whispered. And Men drank what was offered because we trusted.

Throughout the late fifties and well into the sixties the mantra of Equal Rights resounded in households throughout the West and Man wondered at the spectacle. We are the Men of the West, our women have the same freedom that we do! But the poison of self doubt now ran in his veins, we questioned our own world, we examined our own laws and soon we began self medicating with the same poison we had been fed for years. Men doubted ourselves. After all, our wives, our mothers, our aunts and our daughters loved us, we could not believe that they would work against us. We were blinded by the same hubris that caused Icharus to seek the sun on waxen wings. We had been invincible for so long that we did not see that women no longer cared for us, that what we had known for generations to be a fundamental truth had died in the classrooms we had built to teach liberty and prosperity to our children, boys and girls alike.

Men, in their blind love and under the influence of self doubt, failed to examine our own house. We failed to keep order for far too long. After all, we had built the system that created the Western World, how could that which we had built be turned against us? The answer is easy enough. Western man had shown that he could not be defeated from outside. But our enemies had seen our weakness. The equality of all in Western culture did not mean the sameness of all. One of our greatest strengths could be turned into a weapon that Western Man would not fight. All it took was patience and changing the meaning of a few words. With those two seemingly insignificant tools at their disposal, the end of Western Man was assured.

End Part I

K.Z.HOWELL 2017

Devil’s Due: Vendetta

This is part of my newest project. In it, I pit a psychopathic hitman against the Chicago mob.

Chapter II

The Devils Due: Vendetta

Chicago, Illinois

Vinny Carazi sat on the plush couch waiting, he had come here at his cousin Sylvester’s request that he reach out to the head of the cities largest street gang. The Sinners were a loose group of small to midsized street crews that specialized in parting teenagers from their parents money. The noise coming from the huge bank of loudspeakers was almost painful in his ears. Vinny knew the rave scene well enough to admire the business aspect, even if he didn’t approve of the seedier side of the party scene. He had come to these impromptu parties several times to drag his younger sister out and take her home to sober up. Gina Carazi had been the hellion of the family before their father died in a boating accident. She had been devastated by the loss, being the baby of the family and the only girl she had always been the apple of their fathers eye. Even when she was sneaking out to party with her friends through her last year of high school and had taken to drinking and popping the pill of the week at these raves, she had remained their fathers little girl. After the accident, Vinny had been afraid for months that she would go back to the party scene and kill herself with the drugs. The opposite had happened though. To Vinny’s surprise she had come out of her depression after a few months and was a changed person. She still hung out at the raves, it was her familiar setting and where all of her friends were, but she had stopped the drugs and hardly drank at all. She wanted the surroundings, a reminder of better times, but she kept her wits about her.

Gina was how this meeting had been arranged. Even the highest levels of the Chicago families had no influence over the technologically savvy and notoriously paranoid groups that catered to the underage rave scene. No one even knew the leaders of the groups for certain. What was known was that Gina Carazi knew them and on behalf of her father she had occasionally acted as a go between when the Sinners and the mob inadvertently bumped heads.

The Sinners weren’t just one crew, they were several and they only came together to host these parties. The flood of cash produced by setting these raves up and supplying the young attendees with all of the party favors and the latest designer drugs was immense. Vinny had heard estimates of as much as a half million a night for some of the largest parties. He knew the Council did not approve of them, Victor Genero called the drug culture a scourge against civilization, but even he couldn’t deny that there was lots of money to be made from these kids. There was a lot of risk as well. The cops wanted these parties stopped desperately. Every one left behind at least a handful of dead or comatose teenagers, their minds lost or their hearts blown out by the powerful synthetic cocktails that were the fashionable poison of the day. Each rave was unique, the Sinners would arrange a place, get a popular band or D.J. lined up, set up everything and no one knew where or when until literally minutes before it started. Word would go out to a select group and then they would alert others who would in turn alert even more people. By the time the cops found out where it was, it would be over and the Sinners would fade back into the shadows of the city until the next one was ready.

Vinny waited impatiently, his sister had told him to be here at 10:00 and to wait for her to come get him. It was now after 10:30 and while Vinny trusted his sister implicitly, he hadn’t lived to be an underboss in the mob by being careless. He looked around the room, picking out the two young street soldiers he had hidden in the sweaty, writhing crowd of teens and twenty somethings. Looking at some of the people jerking on the dance floor like epileptic monkeys, he discovered that these raves were not only for the younger crowd. There were actually quite a few older men and women mixed in with the underaged crowd. He had always thought that these affairs were strictly limited to the under 21 set. He would have to ask his sister what the deal was. The mob had always taken a hands off approach to these things because of the heat dealing with kids could bring. But parting grownups from their money was mob territory.

Vinny’s musings were interrupted by the arrival of his sister. The pretty raven haired woman was accompanied by two young, oriental men. Gina Carazi waited while the men patted her brother down and relieved him of his holstered 9mm pistol. One of the men tucked the weapon inside his waistband, briefly showing that he was heavily tattooed. Even the small area of wrist that was visible when he moved appeared covered with ink. Vinny recognized the markings and the efficient, businesslike manner in which the silent men went about their task. When they were satisfied that he was now unarmed, Gina smiled and took her brothers arm, leading him through the crowd with the two Triad gangsters following close behind.

Gina guided her older brother through the dense crowd easily, the young partiers making a path ahead of her and closing off the avenue immediately behind, as though they had done so a hundred times before. Vinny felt almost dizzy from the gyrating bodies, the heat of so many people crowded together and the acrid smell of marijuana and God knows what else which filled the air like the cities smog on a calm day. By the time they reached the far end of the warehouse and started up the stairs, Vinny was disoriented and glad that the sound was less deafening this far from the huge speakers that still pounded out a staccato rhythm against his chest. He paused at the top of the metal stair, looking out over the crowd below. He realized now that the path through the throng of stoned partiers had been a winding one. He was certain that it had been deliberate. A route designed for the purpose of separating him from the two undercover bodyguards, who were now lost in the jumble of bodies below. He looked at his sister, her smile and the devious sparkle in her eyes letting him know that his guess was correct. Gina opened the metal door and the two triad men ushered him into the glass walled room.

Miami, Florida

Thomas groaned as he thrust himself into Angie one last time. Her hips arched upward to take him and her lithe legs wrapped tightly around his waist, her body shuddering in her own release as she felt him spend himself. He collapsed onto her small frame, burying his face in the wide splayed mane of red hair that spread across the white pillowcase like a fountain of blood. His lips found her sweat sheened neck and he nibbled at her smooth, pale skin bringing another moan of pleasure. When his lips found hers she dove deeply into them, relishing the taste of his exertion mixed with her own. Bright green eyes met his steel gray gaze as he kissed the tip of her delicate nose gently. She always liked that when they finished face to face, Thomas didn’t know why, but it pleased her and the way she closed her eyes and bit her lower lip when he did it pleased him.

He rolled to his side, laying back on the pillow and placing one tanned arm under his head. Angie snuggled up tightly to his side, throwing one lightly freckled arm across him and propping her chin on his chest. Her other hand slowly traced the jagged scars on his chest as she looked at him. Thomas saw that the contented smile on her face held a questioning look.

“What is it Angie? I can see the question in your eyes, so spit it out.” He said with a grin at the inference.

She laughed, but quickly turned serious. “Your friend Sal, he was very nice but I don’t think he likes me. I don’t understand why.”

Thomas thought a moment before telling her “It isn’t that he dislikes you, babe. He just has a complicated job he wants me to do and he is worried that you would be a distraction.”

Angie realized what that meant. She stiffened a little and asked “What do you think? If you do the job would I be a distraction?”

“Yes” He said. “You would be. I will be dealing with some unpleasant people and if they find out about you they won’t hesitate to use you against me. But that won’t matter. You won’t be here anyway. I have something else for you to do while I do Sal’s job for him.”

He saw the look on her face and set her at ease. “In two days we are going home. My home in Arkansas. This job doesn’t start for another month, so that gives us plenty of time get you settled in and for me to do my preparations. I think you’ll like my house. It’s way out in the mountains and the scenery is beautiful. You can get the place suited to you and we will be making a few fun trips to Chicago as well.”

He could tell from her expression that she had gotten as far as the part where she was going home with him to stay. She moved in a sudden burst and landed on top of him, her face a green eyed blur wrapped in a blood red halo as she sat atop him and dove her lips into his.

Thomas’ cabin, outside Ft. Smith Arkansas

Mike Colletti had pulled his men off their stakeout of Thomas cabin after weeks of no one showing up. Instead, he had hired a private detective from the city of Fort Smith to keep tabs on the place and alert him of any activity. The private detective, John Cabbot, had diligently carried out his task for a few days, before realizing that the mobster who had hired him was not going to be sending anyone to check up on him. So he had hired a local pot grower and his crew to watch the place and split the fee with them. Henry Torrent and his two nephews were not busy in their pot patches this time of year and the extra money for just driving out to the isolated cabin was easy beer money for the fall. Henry had been instructed to do nothing more than watch the place and alert the detective if anyone showed up. He and his nephews had discussed robbing the empty home, but had decided to wait and see if anyone showed, then maybe rob the owner and the house. Cabbot had not informed his crew of derelicts that the job was for a Chicago mob kingpin.

Henry Torrent was sitting in his pick up, sipping at his bottle of whiskey as usual, when he saw the silver, dual cab Ford pulling a white cargo trailer coming up the road. From his parking spot in the shadows of the abandoned lumber mill across the street he watched as the truck slowed. An obviously big man with short, dark hair was driving and a flash of long, red hair identified the much smaller person sitting beside the driver as a female. That peaked his interest as he saw the trucks turn signal come on. The silver truck turned into the gravel drive leading to the cabin that he had been hired to watch. It appeared that the person he had been hired to look out for had arrived.

Henry reached for his phone. His instructions had been simple but clear. Do nothing but report the arrival when someone came to the isolated cabin. He stopped mid dial. His alcohol fogged brain considering the options that he and his nephews had talked about over the last few weeks. They were making a few hundred a week to watch the place, but there was always the possibility of making even more. They had looked in the windows of the house several times, it appeared to be very nice but not much was in view from their available looking spots. To Henry that meant hidden things. Hidden things meant money, perhaps even more money than he was getting from the simple task of watching the place. There had been only the one man and the redhead woman in the vehicle, he hadn’t gotten a very good look at either person but it was the number that interested him. If there were only two people and the trailer, the enclosed type people called toy haulers, had expensive items in it, there could be an opportunity here. Henry lay the phone back in the trash covered seat and pulled his binoculars from a satchel behind the seat back and slipped out of the truck into the cold.

The backwoods born pot grower slipped almost silently through the trees, the rustle of his passage lost to the wind that stirred the dry, crackly leaves that covered the ground like a carpet. The trees were nearing their bare state as the cold of late fall took hold and nature retreated to hibernate till spring. The lack of foliage meant he could not approach too closed to the cabin for fear of being seen and alerting his prey. Henry stopped about a hundred yards out from the building and its newly arrived occupants. He put the binoculars to his eyes and scanned the front of the cabin for the man and woman.

He saw the man first, suddenly glad that he had stayed this far back. He saw the size of the man and the way he moved and knew that if he was caught, there would be a painful price. He watched as the man unloaded bags from the cab of the silver Ford. The redhead came out from the side of the house, bouncing down the steps as though she were an excited child on Christmas morning. Henry whistled silently to himself. She was a beauty. The woman threw her arms around the mans neck and hugged tightly, her feet well off the ground as she clasped the much taller man. When she let go, she grabbed two of the small bags and took off, back into the house. The big, dark haired man grabbed two larger ones and started for the porch himself. Behind him. Henry heard the loud sound of a semi trucks jake brakes split the silence of the trees. The man on the porch turned and looked towards the sound, straight at where Henry crouched barely a hundred yards away. In his binoculars Henry glimpsed the eyes of the man. He still wore the smile that the pretty woman had put there with her antics, but his eyes showed no sign of the smile. Henry felt a chill crawl down his spine as the man turned back to the cabin. Maybe he should just do what he had been hired to do and call Cabbot. Henry would talk to his nephews, the oldest and largest of the two was Billy, he could probably match the owner of the cabin and he had a thing for tiny girls. As he slowly backtracked his way out of the woods, Henry idly wondered what they could get for the girl in Houston, if there was anything left worth having when Billy got done with her.

 

___________

On Hypocrisy and the Radical Left

On Hypocrisy and the Radical Left

During the presidential nomination debates the Republican Establishment sought a guarantee from Donald Trump that he would accept the results of the process. Eventually, he agreed to the promise and conducted himself accordingly. When the process resulted in his victory at the polls, his selection as the nominee by the people, the highest levels of the Republican party disavowed the process and refused to commit to the very agreement they demanded.

Now, months later, the Democratic Party sought and received the very same agreement and when faced with the peoples decision they, like their allies in the republican establishment, seek to overthrow the will of the people by any means necessary. They will not accept the results of the election. They will never accept the results of the election. For good or ill, Donald Trump will be the 45th President and neither the left nor the Republican party will ever accept it. The death of the Republican party as it has been known for decades is now an inevitable fact of political life. They will continue to undermine the duly elected President alongside their allies in the progressive wing of the Democrat party. If they cannot find a means of terminating the Trump presidency they will assuredly do everything in their power to prevent him from governing.

Under no circumstance will the left lay down their conceit and their lust for absolute power. In the now disenfranchised Republican party they finally found an ally that can and will bolster their own aims at the final destruction of the Constitution. For now, they content themselves with fomenting violence in the streets and with an expanding media barrage of blatant leftist propaganda that they feed a disillusioned base for dissemination on every social media platform they can muster the numbers to inundate. Reminiscent of the old Soviet propaganda ministry of the 70’s and 80’s, the left now feeds a never ending stream of falsehoods, fake news stories and personal vitriol to the eyes of the world every hour of every day. They call for what is tantamount to open rebellion, not against the political infrastructure that they will need if they win. They call for action against the individuals and small groups that defied the leftist machine at the polls. Their goal is not the destruction of the apparatus of political power. They seek the destruction of the base of political power.

For now, they will build hatred and distrust in order to set brother against brother, state against state and family against family. That will not be the end of their machinations. There has long been a call for a constitutional convention by several political bodies, it has thus far been turned back by the lack of support amongst the states. That will soon change. In their need to continue the leftist agenda they will redouble the effort. While many have called for a convention for various reasons, 2nd amendment and states rights among them, the problem is that once a convention is opened, there are no restrictions on the issues that can be brought forward. The left will, in their desperation for total power, seek to end the Electoral college. They already work night and day to overthrow the election by convincing the electors to become “faithless” and vote against Trump and their states. Even if they succeed in that endeavor the left will never want to risk its power in an election again. They will put forth an amendment to make the Presidency a popular vote election, thereby ensuring that only the states of California, New York and the Rust belt have a say in who becomes Commander in Chief. Leftist control will be assured and will be unstoppable by any means. The American people will have been successfully overthrown by their own hand. They have the numbers to complete the takeover and abolishment of the Constitution if they can just get rid of those pesky people out in the sticks or silence them. The left does not really care which way it goes, as long as they remove the threat to their power. They have successfully imported millions upon millions of voters into the states where they have received resistance, they need now only count their votes and call for the convention.

If they cannot overthrow the election and seat their own puppet, they will begin a push for Trump to allow amnesty for the millions of illegals under the guise of “showing that he is not the monster” that the left has made him out to be. As they did with Reagan, they will lie, cajole and deal in bad faith to accomplish that goal. It is human nature to be compassionate, and caring for our fellow man. It will be tempting to allow this one little concession in order to do so much more. The left will promise many things to a Trump administration if only he will relent and show some compassion to the poor criminals that only want to come here for the jobs of Americans. The minute he does so, it will be over. As with Reagan, none of the lefts promises will be fulfilled, they will still undermine his presidency at every turn and after he shows the weakness of believing their lies once he will not be able to govern except at the will of the left.

Never underestimate how far the left will go in order to keep the American people under their yoke. Never trust them. Never give in to their demands. Never make a deal with them. Trump wrote a book on the art of the deal. He is a master of the deal. A master, not the only master. He has never faced an opponent that was willing to spill blood in the streets to get his way. Now he will have to face the reality of an opponent that will stop at nothing, and is quite willing to use violence to achieve its goal.

Hide Away

88620852

 

(This started as an attempt at poetry. Turned out more lyrical)

Hide Away

Can you see me

Do you know that I am here?

Can you love me

Or do you only love your fear?

Does the past hold you so tightly

that yesterday is all?

The walls you’ve built within you

Will you never let them fall?

 

Hide away, Hide away

You wrap yourself up tight.

In arms that are not mine

And cry away your nights.

 

Hide away, Hide away

And cry away your nights.

That bottle on the table

Won’t ever make it right.

 

Tiny glimpses through the curtain

Is that really you?

Or do you have more shadows

To hide away your truth?

Is that you behind that smile

Needing to be free?

That spark behind your eyes

Is it looking back at me?

 

Hide away, Hide away

You wrap yourself up tight.

In arms that are not mine

And cry away your nights.

 

Hide away, Hide away

And cry away your nights.

That bottle on the table

Won’t ever make it right.

 

Are you a butterfly

Struggling ‘gainst your shell?

Will you take my hand

And drink deeply from the well?

Are you a moth

Too wild to be tamed?

Is it what you want

To be burned up by the flame?

 

Hide away, Hide away

You wrap yourself up tight.

In arms that are not mine

And cry away your nights.

 

Hide away, Hide away

And cry away your nights.

That bottle on the table

Won’t ever make it right.

 

I may not be just what you want

But I’m everything you need.

Don’t hide away your heart

It’s crying to be free..

 

Hide away, Hide away

You wrap yourself up tight.

In arms that are not mine

And we cry away our nights.

©K.Z.Howell 2016

The Hand or the Heart

images-12

 

This is another section From my Nanowrimo project “Dream State”

This is a memory scene told in first person.

The Visit

“Beep”

I heard the text notification sound of my phone. I was sitting at the keyboard of my computer, supposedly writing but doing a lot more coffee sipping and staring off into space than “tap tap tapping” more drivel onto the screen. It was only 8:00 in the morning.

Since the number of people that text me is exactly four, by the process of elimination I knew who it was. Barring some grand emergency it wasn’t the kids. They were in the city with their mother for the weekend and since she never grew up either they would have been up till dawn and should be sleeping till noon. That left only one of two women that used the text machine to call me, and one of them was in my bed just around the corner. I had just checked on her a few minutes ago, something I would do repeatedly until she woke. She had been sleeping deeply and had a tiny little smile on her lips. I liked that smile.

I reached for my phone and stood to go out on the porch. I don’t why I did it but instead of going out to answer the beep, I lay the phone back down and walked into my bedroom instead. I stood in the doorway staring at the pretty blond as she held tightly to my pillow. She was still asleep, not surprising since she had arrived just before midnight and we had been up till sometime after three. I should have been answering my message, instead I stared. They say that all people have two faces, the one they show the world and the one they show the mirror. At that moment I wore my mirror face. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to crawl back into that bed and hold her. I had seen her hidden face late last night when she arrived and it reminded me too much of the one I see at two in the morning when the rational side of my brain can no longer hold back the memories I never visit willingly.

We hadn’t planned to see each other till next weekend, she is a trauma nurse and was on the three to eleven shift this week to cover her friend who was on vacation. In the five months that we had been seeing each other I had learned quickly how hard it was on her to work that shift. Around here, in the deplorable flyover world of the South, the trauma wards saw mostly the results of stupidity. In the cities, there were the results of crime, passion, and simply evil people. They saw their share of stupidity, but compared to the other acts of human hatred they were few in number. Here though, deep in the land of cotton, economic deprivation often mixed with human weakness and the result was stupidity on a grand scale. Unemployed young men, a society that hates them and alcohol fueled adventurism does not mix well with logging trucks and curvy country roads. The results were always horrific but on the weekends, when school was out, the horror took on all new dimensions as the broken bodies of children paid the price for someone elses desperation.

When Bella and I had met for a lunch date a few days ago she had been her usual perky self. When she had texted late last night I knew that it had been a bad one. She asked if she could come over for a minute, but I knew better. Something had reached into her and twisted, I could see it in the words, in how her always meticulously spelled phrases and precise language faltered into misspelled and abbreviated text. Knowing why something is does not mean knowing how to respond. I simply texted back “Sure Bella, the kids are in the city so just bring your overnight if you want.”

It would be about a fifteen minute drive for her to get here from the hospital in the town just south of me. Since I had been in the bed watching the news and reading posts on the internet, my logical mind was already asleep. It usually does that when I open up my social media program. That side of my intellect has long since abandoned reason in favor of the delusion my admittedly overly romantic emotional side has nestled itself comfortably inside. Over thinking has always been an issue with me, from reading Bella’s emotional state from a handful of black letters on a screen to reading far too much into a lot of black letters on a screen from Cheri. I obviously have major mental issues with words. I wonder if that is a good thing for a writer? I know for certain that it sucks for a man, but it seems to me to be a useful trait when trying to put feelings into a flat, emotionless medium.

I put on pajama pants and got out a bottle of wine I keep for her. After reloading my bourbon glass and setting both on the nightstand I turned off the news and the lights, leaving the small lamp as the only light in the bedroom. With the strains of “You and Tequila” playing softly in the background I heard her car pull up.

She had changed from her scrubs into the extra clothes she kept at work. Her hair was still slightly damp from the shower and hung limp down her shoulders. I felt the dampness in the low light of the living room when she threw her arms around my neck in a death grip that told me everything I needed to know. I wrapped my arms around her and held just as tightly, the hot drop of a tear crossed from her cheek to mine, carrying away a tiny part of her burden and allowing me to help her carry it. After a few moments she took my hand and led me to the bedroom. At the edge, she grab on tightly again, throwing her adrenaline fueled passion at me in a frenzied flurry of kisses and bites. Her body was screaming for a way to release the stress it had induced to carry her through whatever it was she had seen. The adrenaline and fight or flight response that the brain dumps into the body to combat danger had overloaded her with pent up energy and she needed a way to burn it out and her body drove her passion like a race car uses a turbo charger. I was happy to oblige, I fed on her passion and like oxygen on a spark, the flames rose higher. Clothes flew, lips crashed together, the marks would last for days and her co workers would tease her until they faded, mine would offer high fives and my kids would shake their heads in embarrassment. Things were just about to get really intense when I saw the reflection of tears still falling from her cheeks and making dark, wet spots on the pillows. She couldn’t stop crying, even in the fire of lust, the pain and fear fell freely from her.

I slowed, God knows that I did not want to, I had a beautiful woman nearly twenty years younger than me doing her dead level best to get me to screw her brains out and all I could see is that it wasn’t her body that needed relief. Whatever had happened had done far more than just dump a plethora of chemicals that needed an energetic outlet into her bloodstream. The one benefit of living long enough to be despised for living so long is that you learn the difference between want and need. What Bella wanted was an end to the chaotic emotional and physical rollercoaster her body was going through. That one is easy, the body has no better pressure valve than a good hard round between the sheets. That is what her body was screaming for, a way to release the pressure and expend the energy that had built to intolerable levels.

That was what her body wanted. What Bella needed was something very different. Her heart was broken at the same time that her body was overloaded to cope with whatever had reached in deeply enough to break something inside her. The body wants satisfaction now and since the heart has no voice the body demands immediate attention. The heart requires time and patience. Quieting the body by tending it’s wants does nothing to repair the damage, it is an aspirin, a temporary relief that allows the real injury to fester in painless comfort until it explodes in an inconsolable outburst.

I leaned down and she tried to pull me into her, but I held back and gently changed tactics. This wasn’t my first rodeo with her body. I knew where the paths to her heart began just as well as I knew the path to her lust. She tried again to rush it, her body did not lightly take backseat to her heart. But the heart always wins, everything really begins there and everything worthwhile always ends up back there. A man just has to learn the path. I followed it, from the starting point under her ear and the soft whisper of the only words we would exchange for hours, from the tease at her lips and down her throat to the valley between her breasts. My hands led the way, telling her where my lips would go next, assuring her that what she wanted would be hers in time. By the time I reached her delicate inny, where self began for all of us, she had begun to calm. I followed the path to her heart, from her belly to her hips, down past her center to the inside of her thighs and further. That little spot behind her knee, that was the one that tipped her over. I watched her face as I worked down past her calf to her ankle and across the fine skin of the top of her tiny foot. I saw her head burrow down into the pillows as she gently arched her back, thrusting her chest up and her butt down. Now she was calmed, her body had relaxed enough to allow her heart to begin to feel again, to reach out past the sorrow and embrace something outside again. She was back in the game now, she could feel beyond the moment and the racing blood of uncontrolled energy. The tears were gone and the fire could now be rekindled to an even higher flame. I let her direct me to where she wanted attention, the look on her face becoming more beautifully impassioned at every stop along the way back to her heart.

“Beep”

Bella still slept, she murmured something and a pained look crossed her face. She pulled my pillow tighter to her body, the same way she had pulled me to her last night. A lock of her hair fell across her eyes but I still saw the faint trace of a peaceful smile come back to her lips. I walked back to the coffee pot and added more to my cup. I intended to go out now and reply to Cheri, but instead of going into the sun and sitting in my chair to talk to her, I stood in the doorway again, looking at Bella in her sleep.

She had rolled over onto her back, her hair making a whitish yellow spray against the grey pillows and sheets. The quilt had twisted off her upper body exposing her naked breasts to the cool of the morning. The results were spectacular, to say the least. Despite the very interesting view, I knew that my mind was still in question mode, though other parts began to clamor for attention. I gently covered her with the quilt. I could wait, when she woke she would want the same thing I did. That animal need to satisfy something inside the human body that demands an affirmation of life. That primal scream of here I am, see me! would be answered.

I could wait. What my body wanted would have to take a backseat for now.

I stepped out onto the porch and typed “Cher! How are you this morning, sweetheart?”

No.

 

 

The election is over, Trump won. Hillary lost.

Three indisputable facts.

Yet the left, that wonderful bastion of tolerance and inclusion (as long as you agree with their socialistic ideology) believes it better to continue its divisive and hateful rhetoric than to reflect on the failings of their candidate and their policies. They take to the streets to create mayhem and disorder, the same tactic they used to interrupt Trump rallies and intimidate their neighbors. The election will not be reversed to soothe their bruised feelings but they will try. They will always try. It is in their nature to seek power over others at all costs and today, tomorrow, next week or next year will be the same.

What the velvet tyranny of the socialistic left fails to recognize is that they have had their say. They have run roughshod over the rest of America for decades and they, like the petulant five year old who did not get his way, will now sulk, whine and throw things in the mistaken belief that it will change anything.

Let me ask, Mr. and Mrs. Lefty, do you understand what has happened? Do you realize that your insolent behavior has brought the grownups from the big table to quiet your bickering and reinstate order to your unrestrained brattery? The results of this election have upset you. Your tender feelings have been assaulted by the adults that have, quite frankly, grown tired of your ill mannered bullying and come to put you back in your place. Are you surprised that your champion of lawless elitism and crony corruption has been turned away as the untrustworthy, forked tongued leader of the harpy brigade that she is?

No one is more surprised than me.

That’s right Mr. and Mrs. Lefty, no one is more surprised than myself at Trumps victory. Along with a great many others, I was uncertain of Trumps ability to reach into the deep well of resigned anger and pull us from our quiet bastions of sanity again to take the fight one last time to the ballot box. You see, Mr. and Mrs. Lefty, you have been allowed to run rampant, trampling liberty, the Constitution, and common decency under your unshod hooves long enough. In 2010 we managed to come out of the farms, and small towns, and the other formerly safe territories far from your craphole, high crime, low moral, poverty ridden, drug addicted, deviant cities and shellac your hold on power. Or so we thought. The seeds of your destruction were planted in the soil of fly over America when the former Republican party lied to get our help then did absolutely nothing to stop your heathen agenda. Worse, the Republicans assisted in every socialist advance that your masters in DC could dream up to add to the pressure of the boot heel of oppression that you have laid on our necks for decades.

You have been told no.

The question of America’s future has been answered. The answer is NO.

No. We will not go quietly into the night.

No. We will not allow your agenda to take our freedom in exchange for your tyranny.

No. You will not be allowed to further bastardize our language for your socialist agenda.

No. Our God, our guns and our money are exactly that. OURS. You may not have it.

No. You will not be allowed to flood our homes with criminal invaders, no matter where they come from.

No. You do not have the right to burn our towns to express your outrage at whatever imagined or real slight du’jour you happen to be ‘feeling’ today.

No. Your feelings of fear and offense at our opinion will no longer be treated as settled law.

No. We will not shut up and sit down again.

Your decision to field socialist one and crook two as your champions has proven once and for all that the adults must once again pick up the mantle of teacher and guide to those that have no thought beyond their own petty desires. You, Mr. and Mrs. Lefty, have proven that you are incapable of behaving as responsible adults.

You should have let the dragon sleep.

On the old maps, before Columbus, the navigation maps of the known world had a huge empty spot where America is. Instead of the greatest nation to ever grace the face of this little blue ball there was a serpent and the words “Here be dragons”. Little did the ancient cartographers realize the appropriateness of that sentiment. They feared the unknown and attributed the emptiness to danger and power beyond their understanding. How right they were.

America stood as a beacon of liberty and peace for two centuries. We warred with ourselves to reinforce the ‘All Men” aspect of that liberty. We stood against the British, the Spanish, the Germans, the Japanese, the Italians, not because we wanted to rule them. But because “We the People” wanted to be left alone. They didn’t get the memo.

Apparently you, Mr. and Mrs. Lefty, also failed to check your inbox. Now it is too late. The pendulum will swing, and little that was will remain the same. This is your own fault. Trump didn’t do this to you. He had no power to affect you at all. Had you chosen a better champion for your cause, those of us in the deplorable, irredeemable, dirty flyover country would most likely have stayed home and simply sat it out, just like we did the last time, and the time before that, and the time before that.

No, Mr. and Mrs. Lefty, your comeuppance is your own whiny, politically correct, give me what is yours, do as I say or else, fracking fault. You finally, FINALLY, thank God almighty, woke my generation from its slumber. I could point out a dozen catalysts for your failure but you lack the intellect to understand the nuance of leave us the frack alone. You have proven that over and over. You fail to grasp the simplest of political concepts. You chose the path of division, deceit and corruption. Trump did not choose your path. The American heartland did not force you to cheat. My generation did not push you into socialism. You chose the path, not anyone else, YOU.

Now you will see what happens when the petulant child is put back at the little table.

Regardless of Trumps actions in office, whether he can or will do all that he promised us that he would, things will never go back to the utter chaos we allowed you to foist on our lives. We are awake now. We have found our voice again. You have convinced yourselves that what belongs to us was yours to take at will.

You took our freedom.

You took our sovereignty.

You took our faith.

You indoctrinated our children in your RE- education camps.

You destroyed our families.

You gave away our jobs.

You turned marriage into a joke.

You turned men into monsters and women into something else.

You allowed foreign invaders to occupy our soil.

You want to import even more invaders, ones sworn to murder us.

Well. I have news for you. Trump is not your problem. He is the symptom of your diseased ideology and the cure is all around you now. Take a long look at the election map. Remove the drunk goggles that Alinsky, and Marx and Obama and Clinton welded to your eyes and take a long look. When the light bulb comes on and you realize the depth and breadth of your mistake, take your own advice. Heed the words that you yourself spewed at us in your vitriolic, shrill, hatefilled voices for years.

Shut up. Sit down. Don’t make us say it again.

 

Illusion of Delusion

A part of my NanoWrimo entry so it’s not edited or cleaned up.

Section title:

“I need you”

K.Z.Howell

8 Nov. 2016

 

 

He sipped his coffee with his back to the door. Even from his spot at the counter he always knew when she came through the entrance. The quiet hum of conversation that always filled the café with a comfortable drone of familiarity always fell away when she arrived. He sipped again, the hot, bitter taste suddenly sweeter on his lips. He wasn’t often here when she came for her evening cup. These rarities were a pleasing highlight to his ordinarily monotonous day. This day he just happened to need to come late, the last of the months receipts would be ready for him and he needed the information to complete the billing audit for the owner. He was not an evil man, he did not stalk her intending some nefarious deed. It was merely fortuitous happenstance that he was the accountant for the café nearest her work.

She stood beside him while the waitress poured her usual into its large Styrofoam cup. Two sugars, one cream and the lid snapped down. Her voice was bright and rang a happy tone in his ear as she paid and said “Thank You” to the waitress. Now he risked a look, raising his eyes from his cup as she turned, their eyes met as they had done three times before. She smiled at him and he grinned his stupid grin back at her, just like the last three times. She walked away, stepping back into the night to go to radio station to do her show. He breathed deeply, the scent of her perfume lingering, bringing back the grin he had lost with the closing of the door. He checked his watch and set the timer. He needed twenty minutes to do his work, another twenty to get home and seventeen to get ready for her show. That left three minutes of time for traffic and any other unanticipated delays. He had just enough time.

He did not rush, he methodically and carefully went through the receipts and filled out the report. His work was important to him, being good at it meant that he still had purpose. His work was all he had now, his work and her. Sometimes, when he was alone in the tiny, dark apartment and his emotions held sway over his reason, he wondered which was more important. For now though, his work had priority. He plowed steadily through the stack, reading with his left hand while his right filled in all of the blanks and totaled the receipts. He finished. Laying his report on top of the stack he closed the folder and slid it to the manager. Saying his good nights, he made his way around the tables and out the door, the cool air of the nearly midnight hour a brisk contrast to the warmth of the café. He had parked his van in front of the building, lucky that a spot was open when he had arrived that was so close to the door. Often he would be forced to navigate the busy street by having to park in the lot across the four lane avenue.

He clambered his way into the vehicle and began his trek home. His careful nature would not allow him to risk the indulgence of going faster than he should, or pushing the yellow light, rushing through an intersection that was in transition. Traffic was heavier than usual for a weekday night. The lights of the highschool football stadium telling a tale of families at play. He briefly played the scenes of parents and children cheering on the team as they threw themselves against their opponents on the field of glory. That it was just high school would not matter to the proud parents, nor would the number on the home side of the lighted board. They were content with being there, together for the struggle regardless of the victor.

The reverie was distracting him from his goal, his reasonable mind quashed the images and banished the distraction, once again bringing singular focus to his trip. A swift glance at the van’s clock showed that he was two minutes behind schedule just as he parked the cumbersome vehicle outside his home. He would not rush the trip, if he needed to he could rush his preparations by a minute. The laying out of his clothes for tomorrow could wait, he would just have to get up a few minutes earlier.

Inside the door he hurriedly maneuvered straight to the bathroom, taking his place under the water almost before the last of his clothes landed in the basket. Under the pelting stream of water, he hurried through his ritual. In his head he knew he had time, but that nagging little voice that fed him fear whispered “hurry, hurry’, and he did. He dried and dressed, swiftly brushing his teeth and running a comb through his short cropped graying hair. He climbed into his bed, wrestling his way under the covers and piling his pillows against the headboard so that he could lean back in comfort. She would be his for two hours, the only part of the day he ever looked forward to any more. It was three minutes till eleven.

He reached over to the nightstand and turned on his radio. As the speaker sent out the last half of some song he did not recognize, he reached into the drawer and took out his pistol. He lay the shiny revolver next to the radio, the shiny steel reflecting a soft blue star from the safety lamp installed in the wall beside the bathroom door. The reflection mesmerized him for a moment. Just as it had done every night for the six months that he had been here. He stared at the blue sparkle but did not see it. He saw that first night here in this tiny room. He saw the empty bottle that had fallen on its side, spilling the last of its liquid courage in a slow drip down the wood and to the floor. He saw his hand wrap around the plastic grip and squeeze it tightly. He saw his arm move the barrel nearer to his face. And then he had heard her, a voice on the radio that in three words had stopped his hand and pulled him back from the abyss.

“I need you”

It wasn’t the words that had stopped him. It was the voice. It was her and how she said them.

“I need you”

It wasn’t the pain in every syllable, a pain deeper and greater than anything a bullet could cure.

“I need you”

It wasn’t the loss she packed into the words, a loss so vast that he felt it through the air.

“I need you”

It was the strength within her that came across the airwaves. Packed tightly in between the pain and the loss that flavored every note there was the tiniest spice of hope in her voice. He didn’t know what had hurt her so badly that even her words went deeper into him that the bullet ever would. He didn’t know why that subtle aftertaste of hope sparked the same in him. He only knew that it did.

She always started her show with the words “I need you”, they were the catch phrase that meant her name. They were the introduction to every subject and the answer to every question. She always ended her show with them. Every night for six months he leaned back and closed his eyes the moment the intro tune to her show began. He knew every note of the old piano tune but did not know its title. It didn’t matter, it was her song. It was “I need you” in musical language.

He heard the tinkle of piano keys and smiled. It was time. She would be his for the next two hours, she would tell him about her day, she would explain her desires and wants and he would drink it all in. Her soft voice would break when she spoke of some things, he would feel the tears, hot, salty and colored by a hurt he could not fathom. Her smile would light the room with the light of a sun when she spoke of happy times and loving memories. He always hoped for the happy nights, the nights when she was chaotic and wild and went from one idea to another so fast that he could barely keep up. The nights when her energy was infectious and her hopes tangible in his mind. Those nights were his favorite, even though it meant going back to his dreary life when she was gone and feeling his own hope infected heart slowly wither back to its darkness. It would still leave him breathless at the possibility for her happiness.

“I need you”

Tonight would not be a happy show. The airwaves themselves rebelled at the pain in those three words.

Her voice was different. It was all that he knew her by. But he knew every tone, every note, every inflection her voice could utter. She was the world to him, and tonight “I need you” held no spice. There were no subtle hints of hope and happiness. The future died with those three words. He had heard her often in the dark night, talking of sadness and loss. He knew that she had faced the loneliness and fear of going on in the absence of something she had loved. He knew her, her heart, her mind, he knew her soul because he knew her words. She had revealed herself in a way that could keep no secrets. He had spent countless hours with her in the darkness and more in his own mind, poring over the sound of her. Not the sound of her beautiful voice, not the delicate pitch of her tones nor the thrilling rush of her laughter. He knew the sound of her.

Tonight, “I need you” screamed desperation. It cried a plea to Heaven for mercy that she knew would not come yet she begged for it anyway. Over and over the words slammed into his heart “I need you” pounded at his chest like thunder. Relentless, breathtaking, “I need you” was a scream borne in the rage of hurricanes that stole the very air and left him weak and drained.

“I need you” came softer now. Over and over, whispered into his ear like a ghost of distant memory. The tears came now, he could not see them, the airwaves did not carry their sound. He tasted them, on lips of bitter sadness at her pain they rolled across his thoughts in a steady river of agony.

“I need you” her beautiful voice broken, cracking as if ice too cold to touch itself.

He had listened to her in her sad nights, far too many times for him not to know now. On those nights when she had had too much pain to bear he would sit with her in the shadows of illusion, he would talk gently to her and comfort her in his mind. She was the world to him. He loved her with all his heart, even though they had never met. Her voice had reached into the shadows of his own despair and gently raised him up, her voice had called out to his heart when it had put all hope aside and given it a reason to continue. He wanted to take the pain away. He wanted to remove her burden and carry it himself. He owed her that for all she had done for him. For all of the nights when only her voice could pierce the darkness and show him that there was more.

But he knew that he could not take her pain. Her burden was not meant for him, he was too weak to carry the loss she must live with. Taking her burden would change her. Without her pain, without her loss, without her memory of what was, she would not be her.

“I need you”

Her voice was weaker now, driven down by the pain she felt even the airwaves could not bear the burden.

“I need you”

Not even words now. Too heavy to create the sound, she could no longer hold him with her voice.

He could not breathe. His arms were lead weights only slightly lighter than his heart. His eyes drifted open, as she slipped away and he felt her letting go. His eye’s fell on the blue reflection of the light on steel. His arm reached out, the effort almost too much and he slapped the pistol to the floor. Weakness washed over him, he had spent his last strength trying to stay with her, trying to be her comfort in the night. But he had nothing left. He would not do what she had saved him from but he was too weak to save her. His finger turned the knob and the crackle of the radio died.

The orderly rushed into the room, gently prying the crying child from her fathers body. He hated to separate her now. Every night at 11:00 p.m. he had come to the coma ward for his two hour shift and every night she had come as well. He was not supposed to allow anyone in here. These patients had no hope and were simply here to die. Her father had been so injured in a car wreck that he had been sent here to finish his few days heavily sedated to make his injuries bearable until his body gave out. The little girl would come every night and stay until he had to go. She was a miracle herself. When the rescue squad had brought her and the man into the hospital they had all marveled at her. When the EMT’s had cut the man from the wreckage, they said he was no more than a ball of bloody flesh wrapped in steel and aluminum. A tractor trailer had turned the van he was driving into a tumbleweed of jagged metal and shattered glass. Yet, when they removed what they had expected to be no more than a mangled body, they found her. Not a mark on her body, not a burn, not a scratch. Her father wrapped so tightly around her that nothing else could get to her.

The man had lasted six months, unable to move or speak or even hear. His brain damaged, and body beyond hope of repair. He had died once, and they had brought the little girl to say goodbye. It had been his shift so he had watched as she lay her head on his chest and whispered “I need you”. Every night for six months she had come and talked to him every night for two hours. Non stop she would tell him of her day, of her hopes that he would get better soon. Most nights her tears would soak his cheek as she whispered her thoughts to her father. The orderly had never seen a true miracle before, but knew that he held one in his arms as he turned off the radio before sneaking her out of the ward. He hated that piano tune, to him it sounded like death. But her whispered cry of “I need you” would ring in his ears until his own last breath.