The alleged gunman Dylann Roof shot 9 persons to death, and wounded several others. Dylann and the others were participating in a religious study group located in a church in Charleston, South Carolina.

Before I go any further, I must offer my praise to the apparent good-will, and Christian fellowship offered by the Black parishioners in that group. These are persons that deserve our admiration and respect. Truly innocent in their acceptance of Dylann while he sat with the group for one hour, and only then did he begin to murder the Blacks, while spouting cruel racist claims.

How bizarre to share communion with the devil? How vicious was the mindset of Dylann, as he listened to their conversation and readings. Dylann has since the arrest stated that he had second thoughts about killing the Blacks, but he needed to do it. He just had to do it – these Blacks rape white women, and these Blacks take away our country –“You have to go.” Was the motive hate, terrorism inclinations or perhaps a brain tumor. A brain tumor that finally overcame morality and fear of punishment.

Perhaps not a brain tumor, but rather years of parental training to hate Blacks. How we hope that he was mentally deranged – just plain nuts! “A monster.” If a tumor, who are we to blame. The “tumor” made me do it! If familial training then we must immediately arrest his parents as accomplices to the crime, and perhaps (G-D forbid) the Grandparents, teachers, neighbors, and other South Carolina citizens.

A possible 21 Century culprit is the mass media, particularly the Internet. The Internet that allows every type of bigotry to prosper. The Internet presents substantial content to generate distain for any race, ethnicity, religion and sexual orientation. But, how does the Internet information produce a 21 year old, unemployed, gun toting white man, and bible reading participant in a famous church in Charleston, South Carolina.

Who knows, and who cares? What! Who cares? The entire nation cares, starting with our Black President, and ending with you. All that caring. All that concern. To what end? Least we forget (I am certain that my readers have not forgotten) Ferguson, Tamir Rice (age 12), CameroTillman (age 14) and on and on. We are drowning in killing, maiming with no respite!

Now public commentators, and political persons all hail the need for forgiveness, reconciliation, understanding, “coming together”, disallow hate and revenge, even a call for a national dialogue. Multiple suggestions for Blacks and Whites to come together and speak to one another. That Blacks and Whites need to speak to one another suggests that such communication could produce a clarity of views, expression of needs and an appreciation of the differences.

The very suggestion that Blacks and Whites need to talk together reveals a total misunderstanding of the problem. Blacks do not need to dialogue with racist Whites. Blacks do not need to converse with Whites who systemically carry a sense of superiority. Blacks are not the problem in America. Native Indians were not the problem for White pilgrims, nor western settlers. Jews in Europe could talk their heads off with the superior race of German Arians, before they were sent to take a shower. A massive, caring gathering at St. John’s the Devine, or Mt. McKinley, or the Hill at Calvary will not help.

Thousands of small town hall meetings can be organized, but make certain that you require alternate seating, i.e. white – black – white – black, etc.etc. More importantly, make certain that there is plenty of coffee and donuts, and more than one bathroom. At the meeting I would disallow any conversation. Just sit next to one another for 18 minutes, have your snack and leave. Set the next meeting for the following week, and once again, no conversing, just sitting next to one another for 36 minutes. Count how many persons return, and were they white or black.


The men, and women paddled by hand in the choppy waters near the beaches of Kos. Only 6 more kilometers to go to reach the beach. Just keep paddling. Sari, the 3 year old was pulled overboard by the last high wave. Sari’s Mother just lay in the murky sea water beneath our feet. She didn’t cry. She didn’t make a sound. Seven adults were lost last evening. Just keep paddling.



The screen hangs just behind your forehead, between your frontal lobe, and your skull bone.  When the movie is playing you are amazed, bewildered, terrified, joyous, despairing, tormented, hysterical and at times dying – but never dead! The movie seems to last forever, but at times it is a fleeting scene. Black and white, or glorious color. Silent, or loud.  Sometimes music that you know, and other times music of unknown origin. Many scenes repeat ad nauseum, and others are lost forever. The locations and sets are too numerous to list, and the characters, whether animal or human are both real or imagined, and sometimes seem to be both.

As the movie screen is such an intimate part of your being, so is the movie. A unique movie brought to the screen by you. You the director, the producer, the actors, the sets, the sound, the music, the sun, moon, stars, Mothers, Fathers, Gods, and every inhabitant of Noah’s Ark – plus some dinosaurs. Whatever occurs on that screen is your creation. You are totally in control of the movies content, even parts of the script that cause you much pain.

For the moment, I will offer a brief example of your movie, and your role in it. Just imagine a simple scene of and you are sitting in a Carvel store. Clearly you recognize yourself, but you must understand that you are also the vanilla Carvel, the sugar-cone, the store, the lights, the clerk, the cash register, the credit card, as well as the cute tabby cat sitting in the back corner of the shop. Suddenly, an elephant is standing on the sidewalk just outside of the store. Seated on the elephant is your Grandmother, Becky. She is blowing on a trumpet, and the music you hear is a piece by Vivaldi. Once again do not forget that you have created all that you see and hear, including Grandma Becky,  the elephant, sidewalk,  and Vivaldi.

There is no denying that you have created every aspect of the scene.  Who else could display that scene on your screen hanging in your head?  Thoughts are yours alone, as are feelings and such is the case with your dreams.

Now comes the difficult part, that is the Interpretation of your Dream.  While you are the writer, and performer, the movie presents such complexity of script, dialogue, set, character etc., that do not allow for immediate interpretation. You must give alot of thought to explain why you would produce such a movie. It will not be easy, but you own it!


Dear Mr. Putin:
It appears that you and your financial oligarchs are under the impression that you are immune to the economic sanctions that are being instituted by the United States and members of the EU. I am quite certain that there are a significant number of Russian citizens who do not approve of your policies regarding the Ukraine and specifically the illegal annexation of the Crimea.

Last week, it was reported that approximately 50 thousand Russians took to the streets of Moscow to protest your policy in Crimea. Perhaps small in numbers, there is clearly a population of Russian citizens who do not support your current stance. I sincerely suggest that you re-evaluate your current aggressive stance.

Absent such an assessment, on September 1, at 12:00pm EST, all internet programmers will close access throughout Russia to the social media, particularly Facebook. In addition, all stored data of users will be permanently deleted. At the present time there are approximately 7 million Facebook users in Russia. The deadline that I am proposing is irreversible. I anticipate that with the closure of internet access to the primary social internet resource, Facebook, you will take notice. I await your response.




The shower water was getting too cool so I turned up the hot faucet. I was shampooing my hair with more vigor than usual, and trying to recall Suzanne’s recipe for Rillette. I remembered the pork butt, and duck fat, and crushed hot pepper and nothing else. I scrubbed my hair even harder in an futile attempt to recall the rest of the recipe. Perhaps if I massaged my scalp, the ingredients would be revealed. I could not recall anything else. I rinsed my hair, and bagged the conditioner treatment. The forgotten recipe had my total attention.

For many years since her death I have planned to make the Rillette, and at one time I thought I recalled the entire recipe. With the passage of time, each ingredient has slipped into  the fog of memory. As I was drying myself, I felt a sudden  sense of relief. A complete sense of comfort. I stopped reaching for the recipe recall. I felt so pleased – so at peace.  I realized that I did not need the recipe. I did not need to make Suzanne’s Rillette. I will never make the Rillette, and I had no need to revive the recipe.

I knew the Rillette. I knew how it looked in the bowl. I knew the color. I certainly knew the unique taste. I could see the cornichon at the edges of the bowl.  The Rillettes was mine forever, and what is more I saw Suzanne preparing the Rillette. I saw her face, hair, and apron covering her dress. I heard her voice while cooking. I could see her mashing the pork, and mixing the elusive ingredients. And then, the taste, the bread, the wine, and the joy of having lived through the experience. I knew I could never – no not ever reproduce the Rillette, and certainly not that moment in our life.  Our memories are unique, precious, and so private. I am very pleased they are private. They cannot be shared, nor recreated. What a treat!




I love my grandchildren, as well as my great-grand children who I rarely see as they reside in France, but I am not concerned about any financial debt that they may incur after my death. So many politicians are sincerely worried about the financial circumstance of future generations. Actually I rarely think about subsequent generations financial needs. Perhaps there are grandparents who prepare financial packages for their grandchildren, but I cannot accept that a national election should rest on the need for such gift giving.

I have frequently missed giving the grandchildren birthday gifts. I sometimes hang their artwork on my refrigerator door, but even that I do only in their presence. When they see that the drawings are missing, I quickly hand out candy bars, and blow up colorful balloons. Balloon blowing has become more difficult, in part due to my aged lungs, and the cheap balloons from China. “Saving is a very fine thing. Especially when your parents have done it for you.”(Winston Churchill – what a guy!)

I do not mind that many politicians are rich. I mean very rich. Like the wealthiest men and women in the world.  If the laws of the land, loopholes, accounting regimes, off-shore hideaways allow for such wealth so be it.

What I find repulsive is my indebtedness. I wish I had a very close relative or friend who was mega-rich, and also willing to pay off my credit cards. Change the laws, loop holes, etc, but stop inferring some ill-will, or inhumane quality to the very rich. I was raised in a household that adored FDR. He was rich, perhaps not mega-rich, but still wealthy. When he spoke on the radio I put my hand over my heart in allegiance to him and God Bless America. . “Every morning I get up and look through the Forbes list of the richest people in America. If I’m not there, I go to work.”(Robert Orben – whoever he is?)

Opps, I did it! I just wrote in the prior paragraph a phrase that I find intolerable in terms of its frequent use. “God bless you, and God bless America.” Every politician, regardless of their party finishes their speech with “ God bless….”.  I  never liked the inclusion of ‘under God’ in the pledge of allegiance. The blessing offends me, as does the ever present American Flag, 24/7 on homes, and businesses.

Flag Day was solemn for those of us who cheered the troops on Iwo Jima, and Tarawa. When someone famous died, flags were flown, and then put in the attic. The reason so many flags are frayed is due to overuse. “When man is freed of religion, he has a better chance to live a normal and wholesome life”. (Sigmund Freud)

And what about the misuse of “love”. I love my dog, my parakeet, as well as my Uncle Henry, despite the pinch he gave me at every greeting. I love my wife, my kids, and my accountant as he finagles my tax return. I love my car mechanic, and everything bagels. Now we have LOL on every text message and twitter.

I am not adverse to saying “I love….” But are there any limits to the object of such an expression?  I think that when your lover asks “how much do you love me?”, that is meant to humanize and make earnest your affection. Your dog, or parakeet, or Uncle Henry never requires an amount.  “It is better to have loved and lost than never to have lost at all” (Samuel Butler – A long time ago)

Finally, should Obama lose the election of 2012, a primal cause is his color. Yes, he is not very black, nor is Colin Powell, Halle Berry or Mohammed Ali. Obama is black enough. As the beach sand looks white and dry to the touch, it only takes a few hand full’s to reach the damp, and darker subsurface.

The American sand has never been free of racism. That Obama won election in 2008, was a reflection of the despair, and bitterness felt by millions caused by the deceit and ill-will of the Bush administration. McCain was weak from the onset, and when he chose Sarah as his running mate, that certainly helped Obama. The flip-flopping of Romney and his pandering to the headline of the day is less painful to millions than the skin color of Obama, Michelle, and the children.

Last month during the Al Smith Catholic Charities ceremony, Obama jest fully stated he feared using his middle name, Hussein. Obama’s name, birthright, mixed parenthood, absent father, etc. all reinforce, but are not necessary to determine the votes of millions. It is sufficient that he is black. “Inny, minny, mity, mo, catch a nigger by the toe, if he hollers let him go, inny, minny mity mo.” (Chant from East New York, Brooklyn, 1938-1951)


Donald looks under skirts.
Donald touches thighs, and slowly reaches pubic area.
Donald touches a breast, while touching arms, while touching a thigh, while touching….
Donald talks dirty to woman.
Donald walks into ladies dressing room.
Donald stares at naked teen age girls in dressing room.
Donald suggests that he will have or get a woman.
Donald tells woman she is his. Ignores refusals.
Donald pushes his body against woman’s body.
Donald gives unannounced kisses – some with tongue, some just on lips.
Donald touches pubic area.

BUT!!!!!!! And this is very important.
Donald never has intercourse with anyone but his wives.
Donald never shows his penis.
Donald never bares a breast.
Donald never puts his fingers on a vagina.
Donald never removes a woman’s clothing.

In fact, Donald Trump does not have ‘sex’ with strangers. You know, like real ‘sex’.

Donald is 13 going on 14…..



I was recording some ideas on my Sony tape recorder, and suddenly the red record button wouldn’t depress. I pressed again, and nothing happened.    Something was stuck. I pressed several times, changing the force each time, and the button finally went down. I don’t know what was sticking, or why the button finally went down, but it worked.

Have you ever faced that kind of a situation, wherein you attempt a repair and you do something that you can see or feel, but you don’t really know what you’re doing. You just know that if you touch the thing in a certain way, pushing it backwards and forward four times other events take place and they are pleasing – they are right – they are good. Your effort doesn’t work every time, but when it works life is perfect again.

If you think about that kind of situation, such as pressing something yet not knowing exactly what it is attached to, yet you press it three or four times and something happens at some other level, in some other connectedness, in some other interface then something goes, something works. That is similar to the healing arts. The doctors frequently don’t know what the hell they are doing, but they press, push, probe, stick and something happens. That diligence and persevering occurs in psychotherapy.

“Yes, Mrs. Schutlz, I know it seems that we are just talking, but one of the things that happens is that you will undergo some genuine changes. Usually these changes are of a beneficial sort, and after some time everything will work out fine.

“Yes Doctor, but how does it work, how come the talking works.”

“It works – it just works! Don’t you like to be talked to; don’t you feel better when you get talked to? Don’t be silly now; everybody likes to be talked to.”

“But Doctor that’s just paying money to be talked to?”

“You’re right Mrs. Schultz, but something good happens. It is like pulling bones, pressing muscles, or stimulating a cell in the brain with three or four drops of a chemical. Two pulls, or press and three drops and something happens that is good. Who knows why, or how, or what actually happens?

Whatever happens, it feels good. If it doesn’t, we try something else until it feels good. Feeling good won’t happen every time, but sooner or later therapy will work just like my Sony tape recorder. Mrs. Schultz, did I ever tell you about my Sony tape  recorder?”


Small talk is seen as trivial, meaningless, and superficial. Often we hear people complain that…

“I can’t stand small talk!”

“Oh, all that small talk is driving my crazy!”

Why do we engage in small talk? Because we are small people? No. Big people engage in small talk. Perhaps it is because we have small minds. I don’t believe so, since many small minds are known to talk big.

The main reason for small talk must be the mouth size. Small talk is probably caused by a small mouth. Big mouths are known to talk big. In fact, big talk is the hallmark of a big mouth, or is that a loud mouth?

Have you ever heard loud mouths talk small talk? It might not be possible.  Since small talk is bad, then big talk must be good. Remember the joyful hours you have spent listening to big talk. Big talk, out of big mouths, with small minds.

Small talk is not at all trivial, meaningless nor superficial. Small talks allow us the time to become acquainted; small talk allows us to gracefully engage a stranger, or to painlessly tolerate the friend.


Pope Francis commented on the violence and religious offence in Paris. He suggested that there is a limit to free speech when it concerned offending someone’s religious beliefs. “There are so many people who speak badly about religions or other religions, who make fun of them, who make a game out of the religions of others, “ he said. “They are provocateurs. And what happens to them is what would happen to Dr. Gasparri (a Papal Aide) if he says a curse word against my mother. There is a limit.” The Pope said that Dr.Gasparri would “get a punch.”

Right on, Pope! And I suppose if someone came up to you and said your Mother, “sucks” you would also throw a left hook. Why didn’t the killers in Paris go into the offices of Charlie Hebdo and just punch a cartoonist, or beat the shit out of everyone in the office. I can’t understand why the murderer at the Kosher deli didn’t just sucker punch the deli man. We don’t know, but maybe the Deli man said, “Hey, Mohammed, get your black ass out of here.”

Pope Francis, what would you do if Dr. Gasparri cursed your mother, and then blew her to pieces with an automatic weapon.  It would have been quite a sight if when the Crusaders invaded Moslem nations, they didn’t kill, and just punched the shit out of thousands of men, women and children. The Inquisitor maybe wasn’t the boxer you are, so he resorted to burning blasphemers at the stake.

If anyone was looking for material for comedy, tragic or otherwise, the religions of the world offer limitless content. For starters, just look at your costume. When you are finished check out the Pope mobile. Just several off the cuff comedy routines. A group of grieving women trying to move a 7 foot diameter boulder from the mouth of a cave, or even turning an attractive young  woman into a pillar of salt. Who would not want 7 or more virgins waiting for you at heaven’s gate – or porch or redwood deck?

What is not humorous is murder, maiming and intentionally destroying the life space of any person. At times every mother, even yours deserves a curse or two. What child has not cursed (sotto voce) a mommy while being ordered to their room, reprimanded for spilling a glass of milk,  or losing their IPad. Is there a husband alive who has not cursed his wife, or at least his mother-in-law? God, the Lord, and cohorts, mothers, and Santa are all targets for verbal abuse – anytime, anywhere and even by Dr. Gasparri. Your aide was lucky that you do not carry a Glock, and you prefer a punch.





The video shop was crowded. I was somewhat relieved by the bustle, because I felt that my anonymity would be preserved amongst the crowd. I quickly scanned the group looking for any neighbors, local politicians, or friends of my children.  I immediately searched the comedy tapes, and then the Walt Disney videos hoping that any suspicious eyes would be relieved by my innocent selections. The true nature of my video quest would have to wait until I felt more secure.

Slowly, but deliberately I worked my way over to the counter. I leafed through the video catalog. Mysteries, comedies, documentaries, dramas, musicals and then adult movies! Immediately, I turned back to the pages cataloging the mysteries, comedies, documentaries, dramas, musicals, and yet, as if by a magnetic force, I was once again scanning adult video titles.

“Can I help you”, said the clerk. I was stunned, and I immediately closed the catalog book. “No thank you”, I blurted. I had never said, “No thank you,” so rapidly. I felt caught out, so I walked over to the wall displaying the latest video releases. I needed a moments respite. I was almost ready to take a copy of “Raindance”, and suppress my urges. I could rent the musical, and hold my head up high as I left the store, but lust and desire held me in place.

I did take the musical. I roamed down an aisle, and worked my way to the rear of the store where there was a separate room filled with adult movies. Why did they have a separate room dedicated to the worlds smut? Everyone knew what was in the back room. Every child in town knew that the rear of the store housed videos reserved for the local perverts. Entering the room, even casually, would mark you as not just curious, but as a lustful degenerate.

Just to the right of the rear entrance was a rack of foreign language films. Fortunately, I had every right to stand near the rack and scan the foreign films since my wife was French, and I could speak the language. I took two videos that were in French, with English subtitles, and I furtively slipped into the sex room.

The walls were covered with video cassettes featuring near nudes of women, men, two men, three women, etc, etc. Each title seemed intriguing, as did the photos. “Lust on the Orient Express”; Caught from Behind 6”; “Charm School”;” James Bond Meets Octopussy”. Should I choose from the title alone, or from the cover picture?

I picked up one of the videos, and as I started to read the description on the box, a middle aged man walked into the room. Quickly I replaced the video and left the room. I went directly to the counter with the French films, and waited for the clerk. “Is that all you want?’ she said. “No”, I said, “Just put this aside, please” As I regained my composure, I wandered through the shop and re-entered the back room. Just as I did, the man left. I was annoyed that he had left. I wanted to make my selection in his presence, without shame and without guilt.

I found myself staring at one video that featured sadomasochistic content. Dare I take that one? The thought excited me, but such a public demonstration of my fantasy life was too frightening. I chose one film, because it contained my name in the title, but I then randomly chose another with a cover that could have been a husband and wife in a bathtub.

I went to the counter and told the clerk the numbers of the videos that I wanted. The French films were numbers 334, and 336, and the smut was number 113. I thought that would be enough, but she replied, “Excuse me, was that number 113”? I thought to myself, who heard her? Did anyone hear her? Even if no one else heard her, I did! She must have known that all films with numbers from 100 to 200 were X—rated films.

I had been in the store for twenty minutes, and I knew that fact. I repeated, “Yes, number 113”. I meant to say it in a whisper, but it came out in full voice. She replied, “That will be eight dollars, Mr. Golden.” I was stunned. Instantly a massive fever gripped my head. Suddenly I realized that I had worn my golf shirt, which had my name embroidered on the chest pocket. I forced a smile, withdrew the eight dollars from my wallet, paid the clerk, and quickly exited with my three videos. With head bowed, I scampered to my car and drove home.

Which do we watch first? The French films of critical acclaim, or the depraved. Sarah must have heard me as I entered the house. She startled me with her shout from the upstairs bedroom. “Tom, please bring me a glass of water.” I was so tense and guilt ridden, that I replied, “Do we have any oranges?”  Sarah replied, “Tom, I said water, not juice.” I replied, “Sure, darling. I’ll be right up.”

It was time to bite the bullet, or at least my nails. “Sarah, are you up to watching a movie?” She shouted, “What?” “I was wondering if you would care to watch a movie?”   “Tom, I’m thirsty.” I shouted, “I’m coming. You like love stories don’t you?” She replied, “Yes, sure I do. Are you coming up”? I walked to the bottom of the stairs holding the video # 113 in my right hand, and the glass of water in my left hand. I shouted, “Sarah, you know many love stories are so boring – don’t you think?” Somewhat annoyed, she replied, “Tom, I’m really dying of thirst. I don’t care what movie we watch.”  That should have been a relief, but no way.

“Sarah, the video clerk suggested this great foreign film. Should I bring it up?” Sarah with some exasperation replied, “Whatever. Tom are you coming or not?” “Sure, I’m coming. I’m just getting some ice for your water.” “Tom I don’t need any ice. I’m not hot. Just thirsty.” I laughed to myself. I was just thinking about the orgy that might occur if only I were able to climb the stairs.

“Tom!” “Yes”, I replied.  “Would you like some ice?” She replied, “No thanks, I don’t need any ice. I’m not hot.” I laughed to myself.  “Tom!” “ Yeh!” Sarah said, “Tom, forget the water, I’m going to sleep.” I called, “Sarah!” No answer. She must have put the wax plugs in her ears. Ah what the hell! I shouted anyway. “Sarah, I’ve got this Triple X porn video for us. You’ll love it. What do you say?”

All was quiet on the second floor. If I were not married, I would have watched the video myself, in the family room. Being married I felt such an act would have been the ultimate perversity. I walked into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator and took a Stoneyfield Vanilla Yogurt. I ate the yogurt, while reading every credit on the porn video box. I’ll try tomorrow; the video rental is good for three days.



Debates can be informative, captivating, elevating and even entertaining. On September 26, 2016 television viewers can watch the NFL game of the week or a debate for the ages – not quite all the ages.

1500 – 1551: Since the Valladolid Debate occurred in Spain from 1550-1551 during the Spanish wars of conquest in the New World. It concerned a theologically and politically pressing issue at the time: did the native peoples of the Americas deserve the same treatment as free men? (sound familiar???) Or did Christian teachings and natural law make colonization and oppression imperative? The debaters were a Dominican friar and Bishop of Chiapas. Both parties said they won, but neither received the desired outcome. (Oppression is still rampant, not here – but there! You know over there!)

1830: And the Webster – Hayne Debate. A Senate debate in 1830. The debate began with a beef between Northeast states and Western states over a plan to restrict western land sales. Senator Robert Hayne of South Carolina argued on behalf of states’ rights. Daniel Webster of Massachusetts argued that “America was not just a collection of sovereign states, but a popular government, erected by the people; those who administer it responsible to the people; and itself capable of being amended and modified, just as the people may choose it should be.” (Hurray for Senator Danny Webster – Danny, Danny, he’s our man, If he can’t do it, nobody can!!)

1858: Oh, here comes the biggy. Lincoln Douglas Debates in 1858. A total of seven debates throughout the congressional districts in Illinois. Total divisiveness in the nation regarding sectional rights, and the issue of slavery. Lincoln, the Republican (can you believe it!) was a newcomer to the antislavery movement. Lincoln lost the state election, but the Republicans received more popular votes than the Democrats (how the hell did he lose??). Lincoln gained a powerful reputation in the North, and soon became a possible presidential candidate. Senator Douglas won the debate, but lost favor with the Democratic administration and he was stripped of his power in the Senate.

1948: This debate is somewhat esoteric, but still very famous??? Frederick Copleston versus Bertrand Russell. The debate was in 1948 on BBC Radio. The existence of G-D* was the subject (What else is new). The debate is one of the most famous theological conversations ever recorded. Copleston, a Jesuit priest, relied on Aquinas, while agnostic Russell looked to David Hume. Hume believed that the limits of human understanding rendered any conversation about G-D* inherently meaningless (Right on!!) Copleston asserted that everything in the Universe is contingent, and hence the Universe as a whole must also be contingent. Russell counted with: “If every man who exists has a mother, and it seems to me your argument is that therefore the human race must have a mother, but obviously the human race hasn’t a mother – that’s a different logical sphere.” (Well said Bertrand – good for you!)

2016: And now we have Hillary and Donald and @#$”+_()*&%^$@!(“?>##*&*(‘/.

*By G-D, is meant GOD, (my fingers are crossed) but it is not acceptable to write the word G-D, or type G-D.  It is like when the government decided to place the words ‘under G-D ‘, in the pledge of allegiance. When you say it no one cares about the spelling. Saying G-D is fine, even if you say “G-D damn it!” But don’t you dare commit to paper the word G-D – forget it! It is not the same, but similar to “step on a crack, break your Mother’s back.” Well, maybe not quite the same.


Tamir Rice, age 12, shot dead in 30 seconds. Tamir’s death was in record time, while other Black Men were allowed several minutes – never a half hour. No last words, no final prayer, no requested final meal, and no blind fold over their eyes. What is the rush? It appears in most cases there was ample time to kill. Ample time to reassess the situation. Ample time to call for back up. Ample time to even allow for an attempted escape, and then shoot to kill.

Even if the victim had a weapon, beyond a knife, an officer could take cover in their auto or some nearby structure.  In the most terrifying situation, the officers could have asked for the local SWAT team.

Why the rush? Officers overwhelmed by terror and uncontrolled anxiety is the only explanation, if one rules out outright evil. How many police officers have ever been in a gunfight? How many officers have ever faced an armed offender? How many officers have ever fired their weapon at another human being? Deer, raccoons, and Pheasant do not count. How many? Perhaps a few, and then in combat in Viet Nam, or Iraq, or some other war torn location.

In fact, it is not normal to draw a weapon and shoot at another human being. It is abnormal behavior to shoot another human. The frequency of killing in self-defense is a unique occurrence. Only the severely mentally disturbed are capable and willing to kill another person, even then, in their demented state, they may believe they are threatened. Why the rush? The event is terminal. No mulligan. No “oh damn it”. As in the good ole days, the Last Judgement.



Michelle Obama declared that she and her fellow citizens must take the high road. Hearing that, and searching for the high road, Governor Howard Dean states – no suggests – or rather alludes to Donald’s nose noises during the debate as indicative of cocaine use. During the debate, Hillary introduced Donald’s verbal abuse of a Miss Universe contestant’s weight, and ethnicity.

Late that same evening, and media rushing to announce the news, the abused woman was interviewed and offered that Donald frequently slandered her ethnicity, and used unrepeatable vile language and slandering Blacks. Where the hell is that high road? In case you missed it, at the close of the debate, Donald stated that he did not choose to embarrass Hillary inferring that he sure could if not for Chelsea Clinton sitting in the audience. Was that an indication of taking the high road, at least for 24 hours. Early on Wednesday, September 28, several Trump supporters began the recitation of Bill Clinton’s affairs. Even more sinful was his wife, Hillary defending Bill, and her lambasting several of the scarlet women.

The most disdainful act of all was that Hillary stayed married to Bill. Now back to the high road. I am certain that there is a high road that can be taken as opposed to a low road. During my search, I foolishly turned on my GPS in search of a high road. Many high roads, and even a British television series entitled Take the High Road. We all understand that Michelle spoke of moral and ethical behavior, not geology nor cartography. The high road is truly a road less traveled.


The woman says she is Black. Is she Black? A nation ponders her claim. Whites say she is crazy, psychotic, etc. Blacks decry her somehow ridiculing Blackness. The woman is mocking the reality of the life, history and fortunes of “real” blacks. The woman heads a NAACP organization, and in fact is quite active. She does have braided hair, and kind of tannish skin, but her parents say she is not Black. They are not known to be racists.  The parents look White. They insist that biologically their daughter cannot be Black, unless both parents are not truly aware of her birthright.

For the moment ( and only for the moment), let’s assume that her claim to be Black is truly motivated by an honest respect for,  and concern for the Blacks of America. The woman has committed her adult life to the Black cause, as have many Whites (even died for the commitment as in Mississippi).

What would be the consequence for America, if thousands – no millions of Americans declared themselves to be Black. Not just being politically correct, but a sincere identification with the Blacks of America. Millions of Americans joined the NAACP. Millions of White woman had their hair styled in corn-rows, and/or braiding. Millions of White men declared themselves Black and joined the Million Man March, only now it was a 10 million man march. Millions of White voters elected only Black candidates for local, state and federal positions, and so on, and on, and on……