Was the Sacrifice Worthy of the Benefactor?

As we start this weekend of gatherings and cook outs, let us remember this is not a weekend of celebration, but a time of remembrance. Ask of ourselves these question, is the world we now live in worthy of the sacrifices given to protect it? As we now loom closer to tyranny and socialism, have we dishonored the sacrifices of those who died to give us Freedom? Have we fulfilled the dreams they had and the ideals they fought for? If the answer is no, then the sacrifice was for naught! Take the time to reflect on what we have become versus what we are expected to be. Let us not cower and hide like mice from a cat! Let us honor the sacrifices of so many Citizens who sacrificed all they had for freedom by standing up, resolving to not stand idly by and allow evil and tyranny to prevail!

What is to come….

What is to come, freedom, tyranny? What will your grandchildren and children say about the devastation to our country? If we continue to allow the few people who seek control to obtain it, what will they say? When all the patriots have been jailed and the sheepdogs buried in the fields, will they celebrate or mourn the loss of such rugged and righteous men? When the freedom is gone, will they mourn or through a deliberate ideological change cheer? I thought the world I knew would provide for anyone who worked hard and was just and upright, seems I was wrong. What is to come? I hope for a return of freedom, a safe and secure world for all who strive to succeed. I fear these hopes are lost to history. We stand at a precipice, the before it stretches a place void of freedom and filled with tyranny.

Be Aware Be Prepared and if necessary Be Dangerous!


I walk, meek as a sheep, amongst a herd of weak and shallow men. While within the interior of another sheep in the herd, lies a man enraged. At one time my kind where worshipped, the warrior, a class unto itself. Tribute was paid to the warrior for fear he would change his allegiance. Now we must hide and contain the spirit of our ancestors. We are maligned and slandered at every opportunity by a population that is slain by words. We cannot emote or defend, less we offend a class of people who’s only skill is victimization. How long must the warrior sheath his sword and maintain a demeanor of weakness? Till the time is right! When the weak, once again realize they need the warrior, he will be unleashed, allowed to roam free and serve his retainer for their well being. How many warriors will again fall for the savior of the corrupt and weak? Hopefully they will stand firm and realize that they are mighty and can determine their own destiny. I said one time that no one knew the amount of violence it took to be this peaceful. Nor the amount of pain to be this compassionate. One person laughed, having never known violence or pain. Rather than explain it I simply walked away, only the warrior understands the battles within to not do what you know how to do to right the wrongs. Nor the pain in seeing the demise of civil society, the wolves praying on the sheep without fear of repercussions. Violence and pain teach a man patience, to choose battle wisely and be the determining factor in the resolution. Sleep peacefully tonight, we stand on the wall ready to do violence on your behalf. We only ask that the shock and repulsion when we do be repressed , and not cause outrage for the monsters we have slain.

Be Aware, Be Prepared and if necessary Be Dangerous!

Books and Music, One and The Same!

“ I would do research at the library, you remember the library, it is like the internet, just slower and mostly true!” Steve Earle Audible Podcast The Moment in 1965 When Rock and Roll Became Art

I have been on a mission to demonstrate the need for storytelling through music. Without being well read one cannot be well spoken! I was fortunate to of been given the gift of reading. While the Singer gets the girl, the writer gives the gift.

While several artist of my youth are representative of this method two stand out. Lynyrd Skynyrd, shaped my life and demonstrated the ability to tell the stories of my life. The biggest impact, the stop and think about it has always been Steve Earle. Poignant storytelling, expression of injustice and overreaching authority, made me stop and think about the popular opinion of many things in my life. Raised in a Southern, Blue Collar household, we valued the worth of the man, regardless of what others thought. Insulated from a world at war with itself over who they were, music told a story not told in my town. There are songwriters who in a song can address an issue and bring awareness through poetic expression. While the poet is esteemed, as the pinnacle of oration, the lyricist is able to expound and emote in a medium you have access to anywhere you want. As we have opportunity, take a moment to delve into the storytellers, in books and music. Listen to the words of the song and find a story within the interwoven complexity of melody and oration. Words have meanings and words have consequences, pay attention to the words it may make you think!


As I begin this soliloquy of my perceptions and meandering thoughts, I realize that within the written word is art. A writer can paint a picture with words. The beauty is, that each individual will see the picture in a different way. The prejudices and emotion of the reader will determine the finished project. Some find joy others rage in the words of the writer. While they impart the same into the words they write. While listening to my favorite lyricist today I realized that more than the music the lyrics matter. Today very few take the time to use language to convey an emotional response. Most, today, are relying on pre made music and a popular rhythm to sell the music. Blending well thought out poignant speech with music, satisfies the soul. I was fortunate.I was allowed to read and explore through books the entire world. In these pages I found language. The ability to convey a message and instill emotion to my audience is a gift. This gift has allowed me to converse and debate far superior minds than mine. Though few have seen, I emoted many a pen into pages! Let us hope that someday the eloquence of proper language is restored, and the learned can be a beacon of hope for the ignorant. Let us hope that the logical rhetoric of the orator can once again resound in the halls and pages. Let the artist write and through his language inspire, amaze, and free the minds of those willing to see the vision of language!


We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness—-That to secure these Rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just Powers from the Consent of the Governed, that whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these Ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its Foundation on such Principles, and organizing its Powers in such Form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient Causes; and accordingly all Experience hath shewn, that Mankind are more disposed to suffer, while Evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the Forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long Train of Abuses and Usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object, evinces a Design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their Right, it is their Duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future Security. Declaration of Independence July 4,1776

My how we have fallen. The demise of the desire to be free is apparent. Where did we fail, how have we allowed ourselves to forget from which we come? How have we turned our backs on our system of individual independence? The answer is complacency. We have allowed the weakest among us to bully us into submission. We allow the so called representatives to rule over us as if appointed by deity! The men who wrote these words of freedom allowed no one to sway them from the path! They as representatives of the citizens of their colony, spoke with authority and demanded freedom. We speak meekly of the oppression,and scurry as rats before the broom, when confronted with the idea of being free. Loud as thunderclaps within our homes or a private gathering, we speak of the wrongdoings, the perversion and erosion of our rights. Evil has proceeded as we stand idly by and cower in fear of a totalitarian overreaching entity that was created by us for us. This Frankenstein, rages through our villages wreaking havoc and yet we stand and watch through the phone as our fellow citizens suffer. When will we demand an account, a decisive action to restore our rights. To reign in the monster we created, bring it back under our control. I fear that we have allowed the mutation of the monster and it now controls us. I fear for the generations to follow, they may never taste the sweetness of freedom, only the bitter taste of oppression and compliance. I miss America, the dream it was, the land of the free and home of the brave. I despise what it is now, the land of the mob and the home of the compliant.

Language, the Last Bastion of the Learned Man.

The use of language is the separation of intellectual superiority from the common man. In no way am I inferring that an educated man is a learned man. Nor do I propose that the grandiose use of complicated rhetoric infers intellect. The use of language by someone who can engage in a discourse of differing opinions, bring forth an emotion or memory or describes a scene that can be visualized, is not limited to the educated. Mastery of language and understanding the ability to put forth an idea the audience can understand is an art. I admire those mere mortals who walk among us, who by simple linguistics can create a mood, an emotion or a memory. Most are not so called, educated men, or holders of Degrees, they are educated by life. Myself, I am autodidactic, self taught. Through years of reading, music and teaching, I have gained the ability to express my feelings through words. It is a gift and a curse, language is a prison to those who master it, as so few understand it. In a world, now unable to concentrate beyond a 30 second video, or 144 characters in a post, those who appreciate language must reach into the archives to seek knowledge. However, every once and awhile a poet will emerge and bring forth, however quickly and subtly, a glimmer of hope. Let us all strive to preserve and protect the speech we are losing daily. Not just the freedom to use it but the ability!

Wind in the Trees

Winter has arrived in the South. A large storm is approaching, cold temps, wind and maybe some snow. As sip my coffee overlooking the woods, bare and exposed in its winter dress, the wind rips through the naked limbs. The sound of wind through the trees, the breathe of a cold winters day is a sound of relaxation. A cold wind rejuvenating the land in preparation for hard cold night. I have always enjoyed the outdoors and all of its extremes, cold,snow, hurricane. The wind however is an experience of tranquility, stress and fear blown away by the sound of the rustling wood. The sounds of man driven away by a strong wind, filling the woods with the moans and creeks of twisting trees. Nature has a way of cleansing both itself and your soul. Enjoy the wind, listen for the sounds, find peace in the tumultuous sound of the woods.


So while I was healing from surgery this year I had a faithful companion by my side. Gunny was beside me everyday as I recovered. Yesterday Gunny crashed hard, unresponsive and detached from his surroundings. We rush him to the ER! Walking into that room with a very sick dog is a situation no one wants to experience. Unlike people there is no way for the dog to tell you what is wrong. Looking into those eyes, that had encouraged me and assured me it was all going to be ok, seeing the life fading away, was like someone pulling me apart. X-rays, labs, test flow by, then the Doctor comes in with news. Gunny is really sick but they have a plan. Subcutaneous fluid injection to hydrate, antibiotics to kill the pneumonia. We leave with a live dog, weak and exhausted but alive.

It is very rare that we as the recipients of unwavering companionship are called to reciprocate. I have had dogs that would lay down their life for me. Some that were simply a friend and companion. Gunny was a savior, he arrived after the death of our Labrador and filled a void that was created by her passing. It is always who rescued who? Well, I believe we rescued each other! In that ER room I was afraid that the small part of myself that knows what a dog really is was going to leave me. It hurt me to know that there is no sacrifice to big for a dog to make, yet we are unable to protect them and heal them the way they give to us. Gunny is getting better, hopefully this will pass and we can resume our fall days sitting on a hill with the wind in our face and peace and tranquility restored!

Summer in the South

Summer in the south is hard. High heat. high humidity. Snakes and poison everything are alive and thriving. However, the summer brings thunderstorms. There is nothing better than the wind through the trees and rain falling through the leaves. Thunder as if One Thousand cannons fire a salute, preceded by lightning so sharp you could slice a tomato. Following these storms there is a respite from the heat for a brief moment of comfort. Here is to summer in the south, for all of it’s suffering it gives a gift of natural beauty incomparable to anywhere else in the world.