Thang Nguyen 555

They came, lived and died.

The long and short of it. In between, a lot of melodrama.

From de-colonizing to the Unthinkable (Republic of S Vietnam flag atop the US Capitol).

The ghosts of yesterday war. Forever haunting the airbnb “hotel” clusters (who else and how else can one live in Orange County on a South Vietnamese pension).

The culture clashes. The ideological clash. And now, the generational and demographic mismatch.

A lot of memories within the mile-square bedroom park.

People come and go. The land stays. From Pendleton to Washington. The significance of American involvement in the China Sea is documented and de-classified.

John Wayne Airport, however, is still standing. Shooting from the hip. Marines leave no one behind. always locked and loaded ready for deployment. Promise kept.

Exploited and embarrassing at times. Grown men cried while ghosts not quite buried.

The geo-political twist and turn, a gamble loss as our technological society thrives on. One generation then another. Always build back better. Always forward-looking. Always with a plan, albeit scrapable (course correction).

The Best and the Brightest. The Accounting approach. Fixing the boat while wading waters at the same time.

Then the stalemate. Then the tearful withdrawal two years after the China card play. To save face and fight on elsewhere.

Rocky turned Rambo.

The later buried, with a marker. The former, a statue in Philly.

A continent and cemetery adrift.

Contested. With Head of State (albeit number three) visit. “Most dangerous place on Earth”. Every hot war is.

Let me show you what we are capable of. Our missiles. Our range (of destruction) and our influence since the invention of firecrackers.

Among the neighbours, we’re the best and the brightest. We have been here, done that. China talk.

The longer one’s history, the growing its burial plot. From one generation to the next, with nothing to eat. Always the land, the plan and the talk. Tough talk. Paper tiger. Until we’re all dead, buried and forgotten.

Soldiers turned vets. Once marching to order, honor and shame, all mixed. The rest of the day are for groceries shopping and idle talk. Tough talk. After the big brother up North. Picking up after them over centuries of colonizing and assimilation.

What did the Vietnamese have to do with anything in the aftermath, besides being adrift and buried, in this case, at the corner of Beach and Bolsa in Westminster. A long history of unsuppressed courage and de-colonization. A pre-cursor to Iraq and Afghanistan. Of being “model minorities” in a land that doesn’t give the time of the day to newcomers. May I help you! Which package would you prefer (with or without the hired mourners).

I am into cremation. Nano particles to be re-assembled elsewhere, the further the better. Unburdened and encumbered, by a past full of shame and tears – after the fall.

They came, lived and died @ Westminster Memorial Park. Cemetery adrift.

Pretty soon, we can show-and-tell in Meta verse, turning Self into Brand. From selling of a consumer category – industrial revolution with excess supplies- that bleeds into the selling of a Congressional candidate (red vs blue tie) to self-branding both professional and personal (Hollywood casting call automated as “What’s on your mind” on fb).

The branding of the self in everyday life, more possible than ever. Bandwidth-> brand U.

What are we for and from? Most importantly, where are we heading.

The 80’s motto used to be “he who dies with the most toys wins” (Greed is Good).

Now, it’s how many eulogies and likes – are you gone viral? How do we differentiate ourselves on and offline from other “Kim’s” (or else, they put us in the wrong casket).

We’re born with a distinct fingerprint yet leave behind digital footprint. Searchable and page-ranked like a Google key word search or “above the fold” (to use an old print expression).

Life evolves in tandem with technology. Excess capacity now makes possible and masked off as “free”, a U from those expensive campaign and contest between JFK and Nixon, the latter being perceived as not trustworthy (shifty eyes and sweaty), the former telegenic. Candidates used to crisscross the country on bus, eat sandwiches on the run, while media folks camped out on front lawn for days to catch a few-seconds soundbite.

Last month, we’re treated to J6 committee video reports. Polls show viewers either change mind, double down (a few jailed). Those raw “reels” shown to us (the beating, punching, going medieval etc…) were emotionally arousing.

It’s as if we relived the moment, of mob shoving and law enforcement feared for their safety (by the Secret Service themselves).

In short, it’s movies. Life as film. Story on a Metaverse near you.

Lean back. See and show (used to be a slideshow on carousel) in your own AMC’s. What our kids have known for years, now it’s our turn: you ‘ve got to get with the program. Go beyond pure selfies just stop short of 24/7 v-blog, since a picture is worth a thousand words, and film clips keep your narrative flow in time lapses (one can always tell an old movie by the look of car and phone make and model of that period).

When I first started in media in the late 70’s, I was surprised that the US did not have MTV (music on radio only, while prime time was for All in the Family). Turns out, new releases were prioritized e.g. live concerts sold exclusively via Ticket Master to promote vinyl sales.

Now, with YouTube, all bets are off. Even the best of Rock and Roll generation are scrambling to re-brand. The long tail. The residual. The one-dollar song that Steve Jobs helped re-coup as IP rights violated by MP3 (now we all “Skip Ads”).

You and I will either do it poorly or semi-professionally. But it’s inevitable. Unavoidable at the expense of our privacy. The line (public vs private) will be blurred. It will not stop. No one wants to put the Genie back in the bottle.

In the future, we’re all famous for fifteen minutes, like Campbell soup , per Warhol.

Once a message in the bottle. Now, it’s the reel that captures and show how Genie comes out, even her breathing and bathing. Law enforcement doesn’t need to sift through evidence. It’s there in living color, willingly and voluntarily self-implicating. Part of transparency and price to pay for “free” self-branding.

Gotta make an U turn in how we operate. It’s no longer the 60’s. And it’s not just for Presidential debate, with Fairness Doctrine and Equal Time (rebuttal). Now, it’s a reel here, a reel there. Some clips and soundbites…to be sifted through that nudge the flow of self-narrative along. Present continuous.

Perhaps Google should coin a new term for page-ranking, since it’s no longer a static web page (1.0). Even Web 2.0 now an intermediary, prepping us for media-verse: anytime and “above the fold”.

sitting on that chair. It’s mine. I am entitled to my own opinion. It’s the American Way. The Only Way. Or the Highway.

You can grow hair. Or you can no longer. But Time goes one way, from Alpha to Infinity.

All in my family: the cast of characters, all were really old by the time I was born.

They fought over dinner, chasing each other around the retangular table. I just watched, speechless (couldn’t talk to begin with).

But I knew then, and I know now. Every family has Communication Crisis. In it, Opportunities for mutual respect and understanding. Can’t just pick up and leave.

Generational gap, ideological gap, culture wars…

Fight, fight, fight.

Depends on one’s temperament: high-strung or last-minute lash-out.

All the same.

Norman Learn turns 100. Producer of All in the Family. Prime time. Just sit on that chair, don’t bother to clear out your TV tray. America, deep Blue and Red. Long hair and shaved heads, bottom up and top down.

Even Meta gets reorg-ed. And Mark barely turns 38.

Such is the State of our world. Deal sizes now reach the tune of Billions (even Mega Millions sees its own inflationary values).

The gap is widened, and all the policy changes DJT has to offer Washington is to move the homeless into Tent cities (not Central Park, please…I couldn’t take the Central Park 5 let alone thousands). No apology – even after they were acquitted. Lock them up and move them to concentrated camps and contained clusters. De-gentrify the population. Easier that way. No metal detectors. I need the mob effect. Any publicity, negative notwithstanding, is good. Stay relevant, stay out front. Even a court case. Hyperbolic statement. Future statement. Sound bites. The press (vultures) will always eat it up from your hands.

Feed the narrative.

Let the world know there is only you. No dialogue, no prologue nor epilogue.

Just monologue.

Me, me, me.

I am the One. Will walk with you. Will be with you till the end of time.

Will be great. All in the family, American family (as if it’s been Central casting and command ever since).

Round them up: Jews in Hollywood and Japs in San Francisco. Go so far as rape (White woman) to propagate and germinate selective population growth.

To his WWII credits, Mr Lear said in his NYT piece on his 100th birthday, that true patriotism doesn’t equate with interfering with a peaceful transfer of power.

He knows a thing or two about all the arguments in the family. What are some of the boundaries, respects for the individual and his/her dignity, and of course, truth at times is found in differences and dialogue, not homogeneity.

When the older members of my family were still around, they often said things like “No choice”… At the time, I was still busy with career pursuit and material acquisition. I did not and could not relate to their silent cry: time is both short and long, depends on where you are at which stage of life. You may hold an opinion, fight to the death. Being stubborn or loud doesn’t make it right. It’s the hypothesis, the underlying assumptions and foundations of one’s thinking that matters. Logic aside.

Glad to be around to see the rise and rehash of old script. Like All in the Family. Pretending that it’s always been Great selective memory – and needs to be made great once more. It ain’t so, has never been.

Don’t you dare sit on that chair!

Move out – vacancy – move in.

Keep moving on. Keep zooming in, pulling a James Webb, to find a newly discovered (by us) yet old planet.

Same way with the truth. Men/women often stumbled upon it by surprise.

The truth, most relevant, is about themselves: how low they are capable of stooping to e.g. giving Russian secret Ukrainian locations to target and how far they are willing to go to get what they wanted – even with bitter taste of buyer’s remorse e.g. getting elected or collecting shoes…e.g. the Marcos family.

Young artists were told to explore and know the depth of oneself, to not get in the way of their creative impulses…In short, to die to one’s ego. Let eternity live through them, temporal creatures (nano before, nano after, nano particles go on in space and time).

Stardust – floating aimlessly around – making demand and making admen.

Seeding, tending, watering and blooming before vanishing. Like morning midst, so elusive : “on the first grass, praise with elation, praise every morning”. God as gardener “where His feet passed” (bare feet or wearing sandals?)

Just do it. Nike urges us on. Of course, in doing so, we need to walk the Earth. Then we need shoes.

From Oregon to Orlando, just do it.

Action. Doing the same thing over and over and expect a different result.

Insane. John Wick, fourth (and final?) installment. Shoot’ m up. Reload. Rinse and repeat.

The end is near, the end is now.

Let’s rush it. No time for Morning has broken nor Peace Train.

Just show them what you’ve got. More ammo, go turbo, justice in the American (West) way.

High noon.

Take down the bad (by your own definition) guys.

The other. Often times, darker = badder. Hollywood version of a happy ending (squirting or shooting).

The rich, the powerful, the connected will always rule the Earth for a thousand years. And more, if we keep birthing and having babies. Let the taxpayers chip in. You just do the seeding. It takes a village.

The race war is now involved not just ideologies but also individuals – which group – mob or mass – can raise the most babies. To replenish the Earth, to occupy the Apartment (and re-decorate it in our refined taste and His Image).

America, the Continent. From Columbus to current Pope, from rehab them to repent (for the wrong perpetrated in forced boarding schools). Not the first and only time that words and action don’t match ( the Church teaches people to obey the government, “give to Caesar what belongs to him”. paying taxes, to get the tax break on its properties and schools… supporting a party of Law and Order, but then rallying behind a lawless leader. Beats me. ) I felt sorry for the Gary Harts of the world, when Watergate and J6 made his 1984 transgression look like a child play.

Keep zooming in. You’ll find ugliness and incompleteness. Foot prints and snakes oil on the grass while struggled artists are urged to stay out of the way. Let Eternity live on in one hour, and Infinity be found in the beauty of the lilies.

When we leave here, there will be new occupant(s). Depends on the circumstances and timing, it might be- for them- treasure what we deem as trash. We are mere stewards of space and time allowances – yet, all the while full of false self-congratulation.

To a lesser degree it’s a version of self-sabotage i.e. a cheat here and cut-the-corner there, fewer crunches, one more chip or an additional squeeze of ketchup.

Over time, unchecked atomic habits stack up, as we surrender to the current of time. We’re our worst enemies.

Then we shift the blame. It’s the parents, politicians, preachers and police.

All their fault.

We’re born perfect until the “system” corrupts us, by not supplying us with proper nutrition. Opioid is plenty, baby formula scarce.

After the body, then it’s the soul. We seek cheap grace: just believe the lies.

We’re all going to Heaven, without a need for Peter pence or indulgences (by faith alone).

No one is guarding the gate. It’s wide open even if the road is narrow, since we’ve got insiders’ tips. Don’t worry (sounds like a great stock tip). It won’t be like what you thought.

And so it goes. A life under-lived. A disgrace to our parents. A disappointment to our teachers. And an undesirable to society. Blame it on Hollywood, who in turn, blame it on screenwriters, who in turn, blame it on corrupt cops. Art imitates life.

Voila.

No one is responsible. No one is held accountable. (I don’t even want to touch Climate Change, a consequence of collective neglect).

Meanwhile, our leaders’ hands are tied. Every country now resembles Sri Lanka or the Philippines. Unrest that spreads from the Middle East (remember Arab Spring) to Asia summer. It’s hot. It’s the Climate, stupid. It’s the Economy, stupid.

It’s someone else’s fault. Never ours.

So J6 Commission keeps questioning. Civil society at work. Functioning and humming in air-conditioning. The internet (social media) keeps pumping out tabloid-news. Bad news and sensational ones sell. And we’re all suckers whose eyeballs are monitored and monetized.

The gym puts crunch machines in the corner. People walk right by. No one seems to pay attention. Even when we use them, we tend to count our reps faster. Human nature seeks the path of least resistance.

It’s been centuries of civil societies: architecture, art and literature. Yet it’s always sex and violence that attract most and make the most money. Richer = better. And so, it goes. Keep the popcorn coming. More Top Gun, more maverick whose formula always works, from the studio standpoint. After all, we’re stardust.

Who cares about a little short-changing and self-indulging. Let the Cassidy’s of this world help with the clean up. I rest and watch Animal House to relieve stress. Perhaps we all wake up to a better tomorrow, after cheating ourselves just a bit today. Keep kicking the can down the road. Somehow the moral arc will right itself. It’s the system, stupid. Not us who believed, sworn, and promised to be good.

God always help those who help themselves. Get to the gate. You’ll find some Peter pence laying around. But get there early: climb, use your feet, hands and foreheads.

Discern and believe not in the call to wrong action, the summons to unworthy cause.

Always ask, in a Capitalist society, who is benefiting? Whose pockets are we lining.

When we cheat ourselves out of thinking and living our full potential, we’re the victims of our own making. Crunch anyone? Or stand there holding the bag waiting for the get-away car that never comes.

August 2000

Little did I know, my first trip back to Vietnam was a journey in self-discovery.

It began with a phone call from one of my middle-school classmates. He urged me to look for Hieu, who used to sit next to me. a B/W photo of Hieu wearing a Kitchen God’s hat and sunglasses (we 8 graders were raising money for soldiers absent from home during Tet) brought back memories. him scratching Hippie caligrahy, having 2 eggs for breakfast and first to buy James Taylor vinyl new release.

While on the Hong-Kong bound United Flight, I laughed: perhaps even Hieu’s family couldn’t tell by looking at a 28 years old photo. But I had 3 other pieces of data: his father used to practice acupuncture, his family owned a ceramic factory and they planted plums in Bien Hoa. That’s where I got off a bus, with passengers wishing me luck. They all knew I was looking for a needle in a haystack.

Then my scout/scooter driver told me there were more than a dozen ceramic factories in town. He needs a point B to navigate the town, near Long Binh, where the US Army once staged its ammunition supplies.

So we agreed on a reasonable fee for one hour of canvassing. We figured to plant plums, the factory would have to be located outside of town. We could easily eliminate a few .

With cascading help from fellow “xe-om”, we got to a very remote Temple, then a monk showed us our point B (Hieu’s mom was a very devout Buddhist).

By the time we got to his house, by the river, he had been out surveying a piece of land, his latest purchase. His wife, whom I never met, showed some doubt i.e. friend from abroad, unannounced visit on a quest to re-locate a classmate after 28 years. Reluctantly, she led the way – zig zag through red dirt roads and potholes (no cell phones signals there back in the summer of 2000) deep into the interior of Song Be.

Later, she admitted her fear that we might have been imposters who would snatch her scooter around those deserted bends.

Hieu and I finally met, that was, after I took off my dust mask, sunglasses and cap. He, in turn, took off his glasses and recognized me after what felt like an eternity.

The shock of seeing someone you know after more than 28 years, unannounced, in the middle of nowhere (hard to get to even for locals) weighed heavily in the air,

We embraced, shook hands, and then, picked up from where we had left off. I found him with two kids and him, a bowling enthusiast. In fact, he commuted to Saigon every afternoon for the league.

After some catching up, I found out about another classmate, a wounded vet, who at the time, was living in O.C., CA.

I then called back State, to fill my original contact in on my find. Next day, 2 simultaneous re-unions took place across the Pacific Ocean: one in OC and another in Saigon – where I met another classmate, who had jumped out of an over-stuffed flight, an act that cost him more than 4 decades to get to San Diego.

On my way back via Kai Tac Airport, I exchanged some currency and couldn’t help wondering if my changed self also needs some conversion (so I could re-adapt and function in the US).

Re-discovering my communal self via re-uniting with friends was like stumbling upon your own lost treasures. Those treasures will never be depreciated, with no need for custom declaration. Only that they reside inside of me, as I interact with time.

I feel much richer and less like an orphan of war, with friends – lost then found against all odds.

They always beat me to it. The Stairmaster’s regular. One step at a time. Always covered in a thin film of sweat. Pay the price. No pain no gain.

Unlike those 76-year-old power-clingers who speak in cryptic… urging 36 year-olds to do their bidding, while, with fast-food and clubfoot. His niece said that for the first time, perhaps her uncle feels the walls are closing in. Certainly for his long-time senior advisor, whose 11th-hour plea deals got turned down. Thin film of cold sweat.

Won’t get fooled again. The Who? Who?

Meanwhile, one by one, the die-hard- more than 800 of them – have been on trial and/or sentenced. Some came from adjacent states, like Ohio, whose Congressman already secured a blanket pardon (if you re-elect me, ballots from jail – by absentee – then pardons to Patriots – per his daughter’s praise- but now-erased tweet).

Want to look great? Be there, and be wild. On the Stairmaster, not the steps of the Capitol. Own your work out, not someone else’s bidding. There might be fast food (with associated ketchup dripping), but not fast fitness.

Every morning when I get there, they beat me to it. Like an invalid, 38 years and counting, I couldn’t be the first to jump into the healing pool. Push me. Heal me. See me. Feel me. Touch me….The Who went on to their next song in the set: “Won’t get fooled again”.

There will never be a “next” time. House sold. Job lost. “certainly not for the better”.

I used to be this and that, until that day…when I heeded the call…”be there, girls gone wild”…Thin film of sweat. The dream of Utopia, of losing it to gain and keep it all (vessel of virgins).

Who wouldn’t want to show up for reward without risk, gain without pain. “I will be with you till the end time”. Believe me. It won’t be like what you thought…cryptically… Grow some spine, quickly, while I take a Fifth to use the facilities. Right back after commercials.

For those who travel the road, it’s called a mirage…water will be at the next mile marker. Then the next. Like a ban waiting for the depositors to get dementia or die before withdrawal. Meanwhile, keep sweating, steeling your spine and sending in donation (Jimmy Swaggart / Tammy Bakker recycled script)..it’s good for you (but I can’t tell you from experience, since I only run my mouth, and use the golf cart).

BTW, there isn’t a law like “Truth in Advertising” that is applied for political donations. So screwed!

Won’t get fooled again.

P,S. Facing Defamation, Sidney Powell Says ‘No Reasonable Person’ Thought Her Election Fraud Claims Were Fact

When a child, I came across this and did not get it

“one cannot bathe in the same river twice” .

To my ignorance, I dove into the waters, splashing with all the gusto of life. One cannon ball then another.

Later, when I came back to the same river. My city. Then I saw a different parade. Times had changed. No longer did I see my “Cinema Paradiso”.

Then it dawn on me: one can always go back to the same place, but not that same time. The fourth dimension cannot be re-captured or reproduced. The lenses of our mind eyes are wide-opened, but our body is wrapped in physical space, unable to move with time lapse.

Stranger and sojourner in my own town.

Simply because time has moved on.

“One cannot dip one’s toe into the same river twice”…It’s gone, that minute when I conceived this blog. And now, the revision.

Thoughts flown. Energy spent. The bills ticking. Come due at the end of the month. Reality.

The price paid for inaction, for being mis-informed (or dis-informed) or mis-fortuned.

To bear great responsibilities. To be authentic.

To be one’s real self. Not someone else’s life. Parent’s or sibling’s, teacher’s or preacher’s.

Yours. Best and unique gift to and from the world.

Wear your cap backward if you like (the Sun might be behind you).

Judge not.

Everyone is struggling to find him/herself. Research shows it’s those secondary connections who influence us more than the direct links (perhaps because we are prone to re-act, re-bel and re-direct from being told).

In the Orient one has no choice but to be part of a “tribe” or an extended families.

My brother often praised our cousins for having read a library full of French and English books (I must give it to them: inter-racial marriage, lecturer of Madison, WI’s high school, with specialty subject as English – albeit born a native Vietnamese).

Because of those seemingly casual remarks and unexpected hints, I ended up amassing foreign language myself, in my cousins’ footsteps. Meanwhile, my brother was inspired by another cousin who turned down a cabinet-level job offer, inter-racially married to a French woman, and gave half of his salary to poor students in Paris.

We don’t control all the levers. Individualism is a myth. It’s unseeming that those loosed connections somehow alter the course of our lives more than our direct links.

We find ourselves deeply entrenched (by rationalizing or succumbed to self-delusion) as creatures of habits (giving, for instance). Voila. In time, those not-too-free choices cemented themselves. Stuck. Railway route. Destiny unalterable.

Once, I didn’t quite get that quote.

I kept coming back to the same river, expect to find old times (A la reserche du temps perdu). Only to find something vaguely familiar. A sense of Deja vu. But that’s about it.

One can come back to the same place but never the same times. The past comes only in selective memory.

I squandered time to find it while the parade of change marches on, in different color and to a different tune. Same place, same town, different destiny.

No way to bathe in the same river twice. Now I get it.

It’s not a coincidence that inmates like Papillon were put in total isolation a punishment worse than death.

We’re social animals. Meta knows this. All socials, Truth Social included, know this. Keep pumping and putting unverified content out there. Even a small percentage of responses can cover platform payload. The extra? next round of rant and rave.

Ammos and guns are not cheap. War room at Willard isn’t either. Buying off politicians to sacrifice their cause and career isn’t either.

Then Karma shows itself, to those with or without pardons: an empty room, empty visitor’s chair and empty bed. By definition, Karma doesn’t grant pardon except to exact a return on investment, without fees.

I don’t wish swift and sudden death on any one. In fact, I wish similar end for myself as for others: that we live longest lives possible, to reach full maturity through learning about life as it unfolds. It will recycle its lesson plans to those who tend to forget the first time. It’s called History (which often repeats itself).

From Holmes to Maxwell, Bernie Madoff to Bernie Ebbers. And that’s just within my short lifespan.

I am at the gym every morning. Faces I see get younger by the day. Older folks died off, or trying to make those last trips on our lonely planet.

When you’re stuck in a cell, with no one to bounce it off (or to disagree and get mad at), it drives you absolutely crazy. A punishment worse than death.

AI is perfecting itself, reflecting back on what interest us, with mirroring content. Voila! The Yes screen. You might also like this and that. Buy this and that. Bang, we are like Papillon, get put in a cell called cell phone.

All day till death due us part. That narcissistic feedback loop “you’re the most beautiful of all”. From Trump to Jong Un, from their Sr’s to Jr’s of the same cut, same pathetic self-delusional bloodline that runs through it, with eventual outlet? Sewage on 5th avenue, where ” I can shoot someone and get away with it.”

What a lonely planet when folks are not properly toilet-trained. As grown-ups, they ‘ve got “issues”, then in old age, find themselves in a pre-paid hospice room, with a view yet empty visitor’s chair, waiting for the sure and surprised visit from Karma.

The next day, our planet is lonelier, with signs of vacancy (no ketchup stain). It’s one thing to be in isolation like Papillon. It’s another to reap your eventual ROI from self-absorption.

Deposit before withdraw.

Long ago, I was one of the cameramen atop a riser covering a national event. When the red light in my viewfinder was on, I knew I was live. Steady, steady, steady shot.

Recently, we read about the documentary footage handed over to the J6 Commission. In them, of course, the Proud Boys were just “standing by”.

Violence unleashed. Terror unrestrained. Let’s go for blood.

“Or you wouldn’t have a country”… First against the British, then against each other, then against Hitler, and while at it, the Commies, and everyone in between. A country at war, at times, against a common enemy, most times, against one another.

Unleash it. What’s underneath. We’re Patriots and Crusaders. At the bidding and command of a Higher Authority.

Of course with cutouts and deniability. “What do you want me to say on air? Proud Boys, stand down and stand by?”.

For almost 5 decades, SVN abandoned army were jailed, released and resettled around the world. The itch and inclination to settle the scores have been brewing. Then, on J6, some got a call to respond in kind (Patriotic duty not jury duty)

Go, get back what’s once legitimately yours.

Don’t worry (about pardons) since you wouldn’t have a justice system anyways.

So off they went. Marching to a different drumbeat (disinformation). “I can’t tell you…you would just have to see it for yourself….” “Cass, it will be wild”….

Let’s speak in codes. Get back our “turfs” and territories. Our territory. Release the bulls. Wave anything red.

Fighting like Hell i.e. tooth and nail, spears and poles. Medieval hand-to-hand. Guerrilla warfare. F**k “the Art of War” (battles not fought = battles won).

We are out for blood. Vikings and horns. Bare chested and animal skins. What civilisation and rule of law?

Multiple wives and multiple slates of electors.

Play to win. Ponzi all the way to Florida (where a majority of schemes and scams originated around Boca Raton: board on boat and their sure-thing derivatives).

Cigar-totting and plotting from 30,000 feet above.

Dumb and dumber stashed weapons in and around Northern VA hotel rooms below. The call that never came. Instead, “Go home now, you’re so beautiful” (Joe Cocker’s Woodstock track please).

So was the letter from the North Korea guy. “beautiful beautiful…” I almost wanted to kiss him myself (except he already picked OC Dennis Rodman).

While at it, please wipe your prints and toss all things sharp like spears and flag poles, bear spray and pepper spray. We’re a party of Law and Order. You don’t want “them” win at mid-terms, holding that against you, do you?

Theocracy from below. Then, the two-prong approach: with the Nation’s High Priests Court (the other shoe dropped on Roe).

As we watch the fireworks tonight, remember: each generation has to think for themselves, fight for themselves and protect their rights. Be not asleep at the wheels. Always raise both hands high above your head, esp when you’re a person of colour (or else, you might end up with 60 bullets).

It’s been peace through strength i.e. DOD and DOS, on the one hand and on the other hand. Like the two-horns, the two-prong approach, Bible in one hand, sword in the other to balance and hedge, to win at all costs (to the point of destroying itself to reign over the ash). Just like those sure-thing derivatives.

In the morning after Independence Day, a few will have died of careless fireworks. Because it’s pure physics – what comes up must come down. It’s called gravity. And it is non-negotiable.

Aren’t you glad it’s the Conductor in White Tux, instead of that “horns guy” who is at tonight’s Celebration. Got class anyone? Cigars si vous plait? Let’s plot again. Let’s twist again. Stand down and stand by you’ll.

Stand by Camera 1, Ready 1, Take 1. Love the sight, sound and smell of Freedom, often, taken for granted.

P.S. as of later today, instead of waiting for Superman, we’ve got shooter(s) from Copenhagen to Chicago. This makes us cringe and pause, while spreading our tarp to watch the fireworks. All the more reasons to call out that which is out of place or has no place in our system.