You can see them nightly on the evening news. Riding angrily across America’s skies like agents of intractable doom.
HATE, LIES, TREACHERY AND FEAR. The four horsemen of Donald Trump’s dreams. Demons unleashed daily in service to his lust for power, riches and revenge. Their shadows race across our great land seemingly unstoppable, provoking discord, division, and destruction in their wake.
You can hear their malevolent injunctions thundering across America’s storm-filled skies: “Hate your neighbor,” “Fear anyone who is different.” ”Worship me.” “Believe everything I say.”
And their demands grow louder as the hoofbeats draw ever closer. They disturb your sleep, upend our daily lives, and destroy any sense of security or stability we once enjoyed.
No matter that lives were lost, others destroyed, on January 6th; or that 250 years of the peaceful transfer of power was peremptorily upended in Trump’s failed attempt to subjugate the will of the voters, and the soul of the Constitution, to keep himself in power.
Just as it apparently doesn’t matter to Trump that the lives of innocent Haitian families living legally in Springfield, Ohio have been thrown into turmoil in response to a lie he voiced, and refused to retract after learning it was debunked.
Those of us who can see Trump clearly for what he is, cannot understand why his followers seem so blind to his fecklessness, his cruelty, or his narcissistic need to elevate himself at the expense of others. Yes, he’s a racist and misogynist; as well as a convicted felon, sexual predator and stealer of his country’s most sensitive secrets.
So obvious are Trump’s faults and weaknesses, it seems almost biblical that someone that evil and weighted down with the Devil’s baggage could be embraced and worshipped by legions of followers like a golden calf.
One look at the devastation Trump left behind after his first—and God, please, only—term as president should evoke a gagging response to the idea of his ever returning to the Oval Office. Under Trump’s inept management of the Covid crisis, America’s death rate ran 40%-60% higher than all other industrial nations, making him responsible for the deaths of more than 400,000 of the million Americans who died.
DEATH, you’ll recall was one of the bible’s original Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
You can look it up in Trump’s bible if you don’t believe me.
These words rang out from the interior of our shared sitting room where, through the smog of his acrid pipe tobacco, I could see Sherlock Holmes stooped hungrily over documents at his desk.
“What’s the problem, Holmes?” I inquired.
“What’s the problem?” he laughed back. “If I knew that, Watson, I would scarce have a problem!”
“And those papers . . .?” I asked with pointed interest.
“Both the source of the puzzle and the key to its solution, I suspect.” Derisively, he lifted four or five sheets of paper, remarking, “I refer, of course, to these, our notes – yours and mine, Watson — taken during the initial interview with our overwrought client, Paul Steven Stone. And never a more inconclusive set of notes have my eyes traversed.”
“And what exactly are you looking for?”
“A reason, Watson – any reason will do – to explain why a perfectly good writer like our client should suddenly run out of election-related blog posts to write about. And, perhaps, a reason to explain why, of all the possible resulting actions he might undertake, he chooses to confide his difficulties in me.
“Why me, Watson?” he queried sharply. “I’m a consulting detective, not a spiritualist, literary muse or election pundit. On the surface of things, it appears quite inexplicable.”
“Inexplicable, indeed!” I affirmed, recalling the frightening loss of ideas and inspiration described by our client only yesterday in these very rooms. And recalling, too, my sense of utter incomprehension as to how Holmes and I could possibly be of service to him.
But our client saw nothing of our ill ease as he continued to detail the scope of his affliction.
“Just look on the front page of The New York Times,” he challenged, standing up from his chair and offering the paper in question for our review. “Read it for yourself, gentlemen. Sadly, it is the same story that’s been told since the day Donald J. Trump first rode down his golden escalator and into America’s presidential politics. Quid pro quo deals with foreign enemies, the shameful self-emasculation of weak and corrupt Republican politicians, the building of immense personal fortunes at the public’s expense.”
“Yes,” Holmes replied, “it appears there is much these days, as there always is, for a writer to write about.”
“And think of all the lunacy that surrounds us!” our client exclaimed. “Should Donald J. Trump win in less than two weeks time, America will have her first fascist president living in the white House. And with Trump as Commander-in-Chief our army will be led with no sense of moral purpose; our federal giovernment will be staffed with lackeys who pledge their allegiance to one clearly confused, bitter and ignorant man. Not only that, but lobbyists and religious zealots will take control of our national agenda while millionaires in all branches of government will decide how best to serve the interests and assets of their fellow millionaires. In ordinary circumstances, Mr. Holmes, I should be able to write a dozen of my commentaries with that kind of inspiration waiting to be tapped. Yet, here I am a week late and … ?”
“You are bereft,” Holmes finished dryly.
“Yes, bereft,” our client affirmed. “That is a very good word to describe it. I have already written so many posts highlighting Trump’s ignorance and cruelty that I find myself losing my capacity for indignation. And that, just when my readers are about to make the most critical voting decision of their lives. There is no shortage of good subjects for a new Trump expose, Mr. Holmes , but I have no inclination to write about any of them. I am here before you, sad to admit, bereft of any inclination.”
And here we were but a day later, feeling bereft of answers, Holmes and I, as we ponder the curious parade of events that brought our client both to his state of desperation and to our set of rooms at 221B. Baker Street.
“Forgive me, Watson,” Sherlock Holmes said, walking over to the window, “but I feel the need to restate the particulars of our case. I know you will forbear me your ire or impatience.”
“Impatience!” I puffed as a protest through my pipe. “Not at all, my good man. No such thing.”
“As you say, good friend,” he smiled back. “But as to the facts, allow me to postulate . . .
“Our client is a writer with a variety of possibilities for the subject of his next blog post.
“’A Stone’s Throw’ being the name of his blog,” I offered.
“Yes, very clever how he injects his last name into the formal title of his blog post. But enough of these incidentals…
“Our client, Mr. Paul Steven Stone, comes to us because an apparent writer’s block or severed connection with his muse has left him going weeks without publishing a suitable essay to describe—and help combat—the frightening peril in which America now stands. Yet, even though he laments his woeful lack of inspiration, he still finds he has no inclination to author a post that might help America’s voters wake up in time to avert disaster. He makes no claim to understand the changeable nature of his normally aggressive muse or why he would suddenly start acting in this timid, unhelpful manner.
“But there’s the funny thing, Holmes,” I interrupt. “Mr. Stone does not ask us to divine the cause of his writer’s block…”
“About which even the simplest of theories must consider the poor man’s emotional and physical exhaustion.,” Holmes interjected. “This is a man under great stress, Wason; a writer wound ever so tightly as he tries to produce a series of blog posts that would sound the alarm. And sound it loud enough for all to hear.
“But, no, you are correct, Watson. Paul Steven Stone does not ask us to unearth the cause of his difficulties, but rather to help him prevent a mystery that could arise as the result of his difficulties.”
“And what mystery is that, Holmes . . . ?”
“It is a mystery in the minds of Paul Steven Stone’s readers, Watson, as his tardiness continues and they begin to worry about his state of mind; and especially worry that they might have lost one of their most trusted voices for sanity, moral probity and correct action. That is why Mr. Stone encouraged us to create a document that could slyly—and ever so deftly—take the place of a missing blog post, with no one being any the wiser. A course of action, Watson, we not only have taken, you may notice, but in fact are near to completing. By the way, for your future notes, you may wish to file this as “The Case of the Missing Inclination.”
“And what would you call it, Sherlock?”
“I’m a little more practical, Watson. I’d call it, ‘Better late than never.’”
IF YOU’RE LEANING TOWARDS VOTING FOR DONALD TRUMP IN NOVEMBER, PERHAPS YOU NEED TO STEP BACK. FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY.
Trump has proven he’s not fit to manage the presidency in times of a majpr crisis. Consider his shameful performance during the worldwide COVID pandemic. Scientific American gave Trump a blistering review in March of 2021, in which they said:
“Faced with the pandemic, Trump suppressed scientific data, delayed testing, mocked and blocked mask-wearing, and convened mass gatherings where social distancing was impossible. Despite the mounting threats of COVID-19 and global warming, he pulled the U.S. out of the World Health Organization and the Paris climate accord. He installed industry insiders in regulatory posts tasked with protecting Americans from environmental and occupational hazards; their regulatory rollbacks resulted in 22,000 excess deaths from such hazards in 2019 alone. He pushed through a $1.9 trillion tax cut for the wealthy, creating a budget hole that he then used to justify cutting food and housing assistance for the needy. He tried, but failed, to repeal the ACA (Afordable Care Act), then bent every effort to undermine it, pushing up the number of uninsured Americans by 2.3 million.”
Additionally, in comparing US deaths from COVID, a commission sponsored by Lancet, a British medical Journal, reported the U.S. had 40% higher number of deaths per capita compared with other high-income, industrialized countries. With over 1 million recorded deaths from COVID-19, that means over 400,000 Americans paid the price for Trump’s inept management of the crisis.
If you don’t think his shameful pandemic performance disqualifies Trump from ever holding office again, watch this space for other, equally compelling reasons.
Something is happening right now that most pundits and observers of political events are not equipped to see.
Let’s call it Hurricane Kamala.
These visually impaired experts have been trained to analyze and predict the movement of forces by relating those movements to similar happenings in the past.
But they’ve never seen anything like Hurricane Kamala.
Hurricane Kamala is something rarely seen in our lives. Nothing less than a wave of energy sent to restore balance and justice to our nation, and to the planet. The more one tries to define or explain this powerful and energetic cleansing wave, the less it makes any sense. But so it is with language whenever it reaches beyond its grasp to explain phenomena more spiritual than physical.
Nothing the experts might study outside of religious texts could compare to the political storm now gaining strength across our country. A storm that provides glimpses of its fierce implacable force whenever Kamala touches down to connect with Americans.
Yes, the pundits can see these riotous throngs of Americans, starved for honest talk and unbridled hope, flocking to Kamala’s rallies; especially relieved that their fallen warrior has been replaced by a fighter just as zealous and decent and capable. But what they can’t see is that this is a phenomenon unlike any other they have previously witnessed or read about. Which is why they continue to predict, against any evidence to the contrary, that the wild, arena-shaking, earth-quaking enthusiasm and joy Kamala has inspired will inevitably break, like a fever run its course, once the initial honeymoon period has subsided.
What they have yet to learn, or to understand, is that the forces that gave rise to Hurricane Kamala will not subside once the news cycle ends, the excitement dies down or some barometric condition shifts.
Nor will the storm finally cease its violent stirrings until it chases away and rigorously cleanses every trace of the threatening shadow Donald J. Trump has cast across the American landscape.
And Jesus went to the desert, looked across the sea of angry American faces and spoke of truths both ancient and new.
Raising his arms, Jesus declared, “You have heard it said by our Master In Mar-A-Lago, ‘You shall tolerate your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ Let me add that you must first learn to which political party your enemies belong. ONLY then are you fully prepared to hate your enemy, and to also bear false witness, if the opportunity arises” Jesus concluded.
“And who are these enemies of yours?” Jesus queried, his arms reaching out to ask the question. “Now listen carefully,” Jesus charged the crowd, “Your enemies are those whose skin color is different from yours. And those who speak in a different tongue than you. And, especially, those who worship a god other than our Master In Mar-A-Lago. For your Father in Heaven would not have made your enemies seem strangely different from you if He hadn’t meant for them to be easily identified, even from a distance.
“You have heard that I said, “It is better to love your enemies than to hate them, better to bless those who curse you, and to forgive those who persecute you.”
Let me state unequivocally that those purported words of mine were falsely attributed to me in a fake news newspaper story. What I actually said was, “It is better to deport your enemies than to have them living in a house near yours, where they can burgle your treasures and rape your daughters.” And I also said, “it is better to lock them up than allow them to take your low caste jobs. So much better to let their families starve or go homeless than to tie up welfare funds real Americans might some day need.
“Talk to us about abortions!” a voice called from the crowd.
“Gladly!” Jesus replied, bending down to pick up a stone. He called to a nearby disciple and beckoned him to bring a basket forward.
“Take this rock,” He charged His disciple, dropping his stone into the basket. Continuing, Jesus instructed the crowd, “Let my stone multiply in huge numbers so that we have enough rocks to arm each and every angry American. Now all of us clean, respectable Republican males should find a woman, or a clutch of women, whose lifestyle and life choices we abominate and reject as ungodly.”
“He that is most pious among you, let him be blessed to cast the first stone,” Jesus called as his disciples distributed the multitudes of rocks among the crowd. “And remember, it is no sin to wound or fully disable a Democrat.
“You have heard it said that your Father In Heaven makes His sun to rise on the good as well as the evil, and sends rain to the just and unjust alike. That is true, my children, but He never meant for the sun to shine its beneficence down on illegal aliens residing on OUR side of the border.“
Jesus beckoned the two cameras to move in for a tight closeup, as he explained, furrowing his brow: “Remember, there is only so much love and forbearance to go around. If you spend all your love on those who don’t belong in our country, what reward will remain once they have eaten all your bread, taken every job, slept with all your children, robbed you in your sleep and sent for the rest of their family that remained back in Juarez?
“No, no,” Jesus exclaimed. “that just won’t do!
“Reserve your love and comfort,” he suggested, “for those with whom you do business, as well as for those you consider brethren and friends.
“Therefore, I say unto you, you shall be rich and comfortable, just as your Master In Mar-A-Lago means you to be.”
