It was said of the Romans that they made a desert and called it peace. And so it was, for nothing is quite so peaceful as a sere and terminally quiet desert. Ask the next Carthaginian you see if making a desert of your enemy’s homeland is an effective measure or not. The modern West prides itself on no longer being Roman, but not being Roman is a very recent and no doubt brief episode in the history of the European race. To look at the joyous faces of the Muslim killers as they behead an infidel, or to hear the joyous ululations of the Arab street at the sight of rockets heading for Israel, is to understand that the Arab killer and the Arab street know nothing of the history of European desert making, and not understand will be bewildered when it finally happens to them.

The picture is clear, though the pixels are few
The Muslims all thirst for the death of the Jew
They dance in the streets when the curbs are all lined
With bodies of infidels Allah has signed
Beheadings of Christians as cameras roll
The vengeance clock ticks with the mounting death toll
The killings continue, a war without cease
‘Til we make a desert and call it a peace

The Democrats have created the current Hispanic invasion of the United States in the belief that they are thereby creating Democrat voters who will ensure the Democrats have a permanent governing majority. They are wrong about this. The future is clear. The two party system will be realigned due to the realignment of the Affinity Groups already underway. The Democratic Party is composed of liberal Whites, Jews, Blacks, Hispanics, Feminists, Greens and Homosexuals. The problem for the Democrats is that their two largest Affinity Groups, Blacks and Hispanics, are not natural allies but natural enemies, economically, culturally and racially, and Hispanics are not particularly fond of Feminists and Homosexuals either. As the Black, Feminist and Homosexual Affinity Groups gained control of the Democratic Party, the once Solid Democratic South White Affinity Group abandoned the Democratic Party and became solidly Republican. In the same way the Hispanic Affinity Group will, in the next generation or so, abandon the Democrats and vote Republican. I have consulted my friend Waltradamus, who says things will change, as they always do, and usually in ways completely unforeseen, even by him.

The power of the Throne resides
In those whose voting path decides
Who gets to sit in the big chair
In that great room that is not square

One day, when we have mastered quantum computing, discovered the secret of cold fusion and found the principles of Warp Drive, we’ll be able to put these products on the market without unnecessary interference from the attorneys. Then, as Richard Fernandez at the Belmont Club blog has so elegantly said, “for the second time in history, man will have discovered fire.” I have long thought that such things were just around the corner, though sometimes it’s a very long trip to the corner. Quantum physics was discovered by serendipity in 1905, and the work on Quantum Physics and Quantum Mechanics was mostly completed by the 1930s. We know the names: Planck, Schrodinger, Heisenberg, Bohr, Dirac, Pauli and many others. What we don’t know yet are the names in the history books for the successor to Quantum Physics, for a successor there will be, just as the Quantum succeeded Newtonian physics. I don’t know what the new physics will look like, but I feel certain it will change everything, just as Quantum physics changed everything. The speed of light will prove to be no stumbling block to interstellar travel, and in a just world each year the graduating class of Harvard Law School will be put on a ship and sent to a cold and distant planet somewhere in the vicinity of Sirius. I spoke of this to my friend Og, and he had some very interesting things to say:

Before his cave mouth streaked with soot
My friend Og sat at ease
A scraggly dog lay by his foot
Untroubled by his fleas
What think you, Og? I smiled and said
The stars are in our reach
And medicine, by what I’ve read
Has marched well past the leech
Og rubbed a fist on stubbled beard
And looked me in the eye
And said, That ain’t what I just heered
Some feller said the sky
Was smaller now with slower light
And here he spat with scorn
Them lawyer fellers just last night
Come back afore they’re born
I knowed inventin’ fire’d lead
To foolery one day
And now dependin’ who you read
There mought be hell to pay
Them lawyers sent to Sirius
They took ‘em faster’n light
And somethin’ real mysterious
Gave everyone a fright
Like Einstein said when you go fast
The clock slows down your time
These lawyer fellers they went past
The speed that light can climb
So when they ended up the trip
And opened up the door
There wan’t no body in the ship
Just clothes there on the floor
They ain’t been born yet, understand
Time winded back the clock
They brought the ship home backwards and
It’s sittin’ in the dock
I never liked this science stuff
No good can come, I fear
The fire, yes, was good enough
And maybe good malt beer
But otherwise we take a chance
Unleashing somethin’ mean
No reason we just got to dance
With atoms and the gene
I left him there, his drinking horn
His club and dog at hand
And dreamed of lawyers never born
And knew that life was grand

Hillary Clinton, arguably the worst Secretary of State the country has had up until John Kerry, and indisputably the worst politician in history, recently bit the hand that fed her and said Barack Obama did some very stupid stuff in general and the Benghazi affair in particular. Obama probably never noticed, but his acolytes were outraged, and so a kiss and make up lunch was hastily arranged at the twelve million dollar Obama vacation home on Martha’s Vineyard. But the lunch was not about kissing and making up, it was about winning and losing.

An ocean breeze
A pleasant lunch
Each puts the squeeze
Each pulls the punch
The smiles are real
As Styrofoam
They make the deal
Then head for home
But then each thinks
The other’s fluff
Who often blinks
When going’s tough
And so they set
About to find
A way to get
Out from behind
Who’ll cop the plea
Who’ll drop the dime
Who’ll say who me?
S/he did the crime!
Under the bus
He/she must go
What’s all the fuss
No one will know
Congress convenes
Who wins the fight?
One spills the beans
About that night
Of course this scene
Hangs on who wins
In aught sixteen
When all the sins
Are washed away
If the returns
At end of day
Show that Hill earns
A four year turn
Internes to thrill
Blue dresses burn
First Lady Bill

A new bunch of murderous Muslim fanatics has arisen who call themselves the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria, or ISIS. These guys are determined to create a new Muslim Caliphate, and they make al Qaeda look like a group of community organizers. So murderous is ISIS that al Qaeda has disowned them. ISIS uses terror as a weapon of first choice, executing all who are not Sunni Muslim, be they Shi’a Muslim or Christian infidel. They routinely kill all the men and boys in a Shi’a or Christian town they overrun, sell the women into slavery and keep the girls for themselves just in case they run out of goats. I spoke to an ISIS fighter just this morning and asked about the new Caliphate. He smiled and said,

The glories of the Caliphate
Will shine like blazing stars
And Baghdad will be glorious again
We’ll kill all of you white folks and
We’ll burn down all the bars
And parcel out the women to our men
We’ll sweep out all before us and
We’ll put all to the sword
Who dare to speak their mind or make a fuss
We slaughter and deflower but
We never waterboard
For that would be too cruel for even us
We thank the US Army for
Equipment that we take
From Army of Iraq who you have trained
They run like rabbits and we laugh
At soldiers who are fake
And executed all who had remained
We count the days and know we have
Two years to do our deeds
Obama he play golf while we draw maps
Of places that we overrun
And those that fill our needs
Believe me none of us are taking naps
Obama call himself Hussein
But names don’t make the man
Saddam five times the man, don’t make me laugh
We know Barack and all we do
Is go according plan
While Barack bows low to his female staff
Yes we be ISIS and before
You know we be in towns
Like London and New York and Paris too
We act like soldiers not like ladies
Dressed in evening gowns
Your death will be a blessing ‘fore we’re through
He laughed out loud and smiled and said
He’d see me down the road
Then grinned and turned his new Humvee around
I knew that killing such as he
Was rows that must be hoed
And doing it would take boots on the ground

Scientists claim that life extension medical technology is right around the corner, and children alive today will live for 150 years, with further advances extending the human life span to undreamed of lengths. But what happens when the United States, the science and medical and technology innovator for the world, becomes an ossified gerontocracy and all new ideas and innovations are stifled by two hundred year old leaders who grew up in a different time and place and point of view? Who’s going to make great grandpop give up the reins to the family business? Will established writers ever give over to younger voices? Probably not. If I were a two hundred year old successful author I would most definitely feel I would be better read than dead.

When time was short and life was cheap
A man would find eternal sleep
About the time his sons were men
And wound the clock around again
The generations rose and fell
Determined by the tolling bell
As sons reprised the father’s life
And daughters made someone a wife
It all made so much perfect sense
The shorter life in recompense
Allowed for newer ways of thought
To build upon what forbears brought
But now we find extended years
Bring forth the gravest of all fears
That father will not step aside
That novel thought he’ll not abide
That innovation is now dead
And what is past remains instead
For once a point of view is formed
That view becomes how thought is normed
The innovator now asleep
Till once again life’s short and cheap

Western civilization is crumbling all around us, and the fearful cry it may soon be extinguished by the barbarians. If it be our fate to join the dodo and the passenger pigeon I propose we take the time to see and appreciate the incredible beauty of the universe before the barbarians close it down to us. The universe is beautiful beyond imagining, from the dimmest galaxies at the farthest red shift edges to the deepest ocean canyon on planet Earth; from the scream of a hawk to the fragile beating of a butterfly’s wings; from a Beethoven sonata to a sad and wistful Gaelic folksong; to the majestic arc of an upper deck home run to the hysterical laughter of a small child as dad pushes the swing ever higher. We are surrounded by beauty, and yet most see it not, living their lives in blinkered loneliness, unaware of the stars and the subtle music of the passing seasons, to cry out, at the end of life, that all was in vain, as yet unaware that an unimaginably greater beauty awaits, should they choose to see it. As for the murderous Muslim barbarians, they neither appreciate the beauty of the universe nor will they live long enough to notice it.

A lonely rock strewn shoreline’s end
The smiling face of an old friend
Twin fawns safe by their mama’s side
A laughing child’s first horseback ride
A summer night with stars so low
That woodlands shimmer with their glow
A dusty, winding country road
Past fields that recently been sowed
With seed that burst to life the land
As joyous as a high school band
The gleam of distant Saturn’s rings
The star filled spheres where music sings
Of beauty nested in the folds
Of new mown fields and ancient wolds
When all seems lost, at darkest night
It’s then that strong men rise to fight
Barbarians have come before
And felt the Western way of war
We’ve been bequeathed this land we trod
Where God is beauty, beauty God

The world is a wicked place, the cynic would say, with corruption and debauchery at every turn. But there has always been corruption and debauchery, and always will be. The problem with being cynical is that the cynic never looks in the right places, for if he did he would find that corruption and debauchery are trumped by goodness and laughter. It all depends on where you look.

The world is such a wicked place
The cynics smugly say
The leadership is a disgrace
Corruption rules the day
Our leaders have a hidden face
We see not the decay
And willingly we just grimace
And let them have their way
But cynicism is, at base
A death wish on delay
A loser’s game in any case
Though cynics may say nay
In truth this world is full of grace
With flowered fields in May
And little girls dressed all in lace
As children laugh and play

The terrorist outfit ISIS has conquered parts of Iraq and declares itself a nation, the new Caliphate. You do not become a nation just by saying you are. You do not become a nation until you’ve won. Prussia was a city state, first among equals of the string of German city states along the Baltic, until Bismarck united them into a new German nation. The Confederacy was never a nation, but had they won they would have been. Iraq was never a nation, but a monstrosity cobbled together by the British and French after WW1 from the stinking corpse of the Ottoman Empire. ISIS will not be a nation no matter how much of Iraq it conquers, and to believe otherwise is delusional. One might as well call the Mafia a nation.

A nation has history, and culture and art
And science and rivers and streams
And people who work on the land from the start
And reach for impossible dreams
A nation has industry, cities and towns
And wheat fields uncut by the knife
And millions of kids in their caps and their gowns
All bursting to get on with life
A nation is hard working mothers and dads
Who bring up their children to care
For country and family eschewing the fads
That promise that life will be fair
That nation is ours, yes the home of the brave
Where scoundrels may sometimes take hold
We sometimes elect a slick con man or knave
And sometimes a man of pure gold
It matters not though to a nation like ours
For presidents come and they go
If followed by curses or candy and flowers
No wonder we’re loving her so

Ring around a rosey
Pocket full of posey
All fall down
A deadly strain of Ebola is ravaging West Africa. People don’t trust hospitals, don’t trust the European doctors who risk their lives to care for them, and throw the bodies in the street where they infect others. The UN has responded to the crisis by holding a meeting. During the bubonic plague in Europe in the Middle Ages, people thought holding a bouquet of flowers to the nose would keep you alive. It didn’t. They all fell down. And neither will throwing bodies into the street or holding meetings keep you alive. The gods care not for posies or meetings, it all ends in the fire of the stars.

So small they seem, so distant far
Some call them Stella, others Star
And while they seem but points of light
They fill the sky of darkest night
Along the vast ecliptic plane
The stars as dense as summer rain
Galactic center bright as snow
Beckon us with fire glow
The gods look down on tiny man
From heights that only god can scan
Infinity as some would say
And all constructed in a day
The gods of man so small in size
Claim all we see is but a prize
Created thus despite the odds
Bequeathed to us by they the gods
And yet the stars so fiercely burn
That man in time will surely learn
That right is right and wrong is wrong
And heed them all the psalmist’s song