Entropy is another way of saying ‘winding down’, and what we are seeing is the winding down of the brief life of a pustule called ISIS, a violent and stinking eruption of a murderously savage cult determined to commit suicide by cop. They will get their wish, but the longer the cops take to get there, the longer the cult lives to commit its savagery, the greater will be the final number of bodies piled up from the Pillars of Hercules to the gates of Nineveh.

The corpses of jihadis
Piled up in fields and wadis
Lay rotting stiff and stinking in the sun
The martyred dead lay sleeping
As dusk comes slowly creeping
Announcing that the pustule’s life is done
Dusk that finds the women wailing
Blaming all the men for failing
To destroy the infidel as God commands
With the dawn there come the breezes
Gentle wind that slowly eases
All the rotting corpses ‘neath the drifting sands
But the pustule is in hiding
Death may come but it is biding
Time before it stirs and raises up its head
To again begin the killing
Until the West is willing
To lance the pustule ‘til completely dead

The principal difficulty with historical perspective is that we don’t live in history, we live in the present, and our lives and affairs so ephemeral, historically speaking, as to be over and done in the space of a single breath. The history of our times as ultimately recorded is entirely dependent on externalities beyond our immediate knowledge, understanding or control. Our savants predict the future as confidently as the weathermen predict a coming storm, but the direction and intensity of the storm depends on the vagaries of the Gulf Stream, the Jet Stream, and how the Pacific Ocean feels at any given moment. Future events cannot be accurately predicted as they depend on the actions of unseen and unknown actors and the unanticipated confluence of events in far off places. This is not to say you don’t try. This is not to say you cannot see into the future at all. You can make an educated guess, and often you will be right, but mostly your view of the future is cloudy, distorted, and limited to the next few minutes.

The Augustan world was stable
And the entrails augured well
Yet Augustus was not able
To see that his brief held spell
As the ruler of creation
Was a step upon the stair
That a cruel and barbarous nation
Was to shortly be his heir
So it is with those now living
So intent on dire events
That they see not unforgiving
So intent on lives intense
Nonetheless if one dies trying
To do right or to compete
There are things still worth the dying
One must not accept defeat
Nations brave know in times distant
Writers who well know the end
Will declaim in voice insistent
That your knee did never bend

I grow weary, at times, of the world around me. I tire of the Clinton criminal enterprise. I tire of the fascist Obama administration that destroys those who disagree with it or do not knuckle under to extortion. I tire of missing emails and appointments of unabashed Communist enemies of my country to important posts. I look back at the country I was born into and realize that country is no more. I am standing in the doorway, ready to leave, reliving the days of my youth, and wondering what our lives here might have meant, if anything.

When I think of the things I’ve seen
And think about what they might mean
I realize that in my time
The world had made a leaping climb
From a young singer they called Bing
And football run from single wing
To small computers driving cars
And spaceships taking off for Mars
That Hallowe’en in ‘29
When I arrived all still seemed fine
But then the Great Depression came
And life no longer seemed a game
Tall trees I climbed, be home by dark
Some baseball in the local park
A teen, the war news every day
The battlefields so far away
The radio, a Silver horse
The ad for Charles Alas course
Then television! Milton Berle
The Op’ry and Minnie Pearl
The jet planes lined up at the gate
The Boeing and the DC-8
The Cold War with the Russian bear
The Fulda Gap, a steely stare
A world we thought would never change
Had leaped ahead, and all seemed strange
Computers came and cell phones too
Good life for all not just the few
I find though that as I grow old
Those youthful times now shine like gold
The trees I climbed reached to the sky
While far below the eagles fly
The baseballs I had hit so hard
Were line drives clear on out the yard
The creek we swam in to get cool
Seemed an Olympic swimming pool
We walked for miles, my mongrel mutt
Beside me in the dirt track rut
As fine a dog a boy could find
And sometimes he would even mind
The days of youth forever gone
The days of waking up at dawn
In the back yard inside a tent
With not a clue what it all meant
It meant that one day we would see
Our children young and such as we
We know at last what it all means
We’ve done our part to pass the genes
Entrusted by those gone before
To those now standing by the door
Reliving now our youthful dreams
While grandkids stand beside small streams
And watch the dragonflies and birds
And know there’s beauty in such words

On Friday President Obama announced the appointment of Robert Malley as ”Special Assistant to the President and White House Coordinator for the Middle East, North Africa and the Gulf Region.” It may or may not come as a surprise to know that Robert Malley is an Egyptian, the founder of the Egyptian Communist Party, or that his wife worked for the FLN, the Algerian terrorist group. How many Communists does it take to destroy a previously free country? Answer: One. All the rest serve at his pleasure. The mask is now fully removed, though in truth the mask hid nothing that was not perfectly obvious to many. Fathered by a Kenyan Communist Muslim, raised as a Muslim, mentored by Frank Marshall Davis, an American Communist, attended a Black radical church where he listened for twenty years to the anti-white, anti-American, anti-Israel rantings of Jeremiah Wright, there was nothing not immediately visible to anyone who would see. His female senior advisors have family ties to Communism. Obama appointee Anita Dunn gushingly told us that her favorite philosopher was Mao Tse Tung, the Communist dictator who murdered sixty million Chinese in the course of cementing his power. There may be some slight excuse for those who were oblivious to the obvious in 2008, but to re-elect this madman in 2012 causes me to question if we have not already gone over the cliff.

The cliff is high, and far below
The rocks rise up to meet us
It took some time but now we know
Who will be there to greet us
For standing quiet at the base
His black eyes shining brightly
Obama raises up his face
And smiles ever so slightly

The entrails indicate that the white smoke issuing from Bill’s pants proclaims the new leader of the Free World will be Hillary Clinton, or at least the leader of the disloyal Democratic Party. Her incompetence as Secretary of State is the stuff of legend. Her lies about what happened in Benghazi the night four American, including the American ambassador, were murdered by Muslims tripped off her smiling tongue like honey dripping off the claws of a sweet-toothed bear. Hillary has a long and unsavory history of corruption and incompetence that makes her the ideal Democrat candidate. The Rose Law firm billing records, Whitewater, stealing furniture from the White House when she and Bill vacated, Chinese Army money, the Benghazi consulate, the innocent video maker still in jail, the billions of dollars from foreign countries in anticipation of her coronation, all these make her larger than life, a walking, breathing, pantsuited criminal enterprise that would make the most corrupt Chicago pol cramp up with envy. E-mails? Add them to the list.

The child dreams of his magic tooth
And Aesop had his fables
And both had much more of the truth
Than State Department cables
Whitewater seems a child’s play rhyme
A scam, a small time caper
That got laughed off, she did no time
The charges so much vapor
She always was a coattail girl
Bright in her husband’s aura
Slow dancing in the maddened whirl
To gather golden flora
She needed friends to get ahead
A liberal, no thinker
Her politics were not quite red
But definitely pinker
First Lady but a stepping stone
To future elevation
To where she now fights for the throne
That’s far above her station
The law cares not for what she did
The Clintons are above it
You want the emails that she hid?
She’ll tell you to go shove it
But what of that one well may ask
The job has no description
For as of late the only task
Is writing the prescription
For leftist power to define
The country’s demolition
And Hill will write the final line
With passionate volition

Barack Obama, having taken over the country’ health care system and automobile industry, has now taken over the Internet, forcing it to conform to a law written in 1934 to control the activities of Ma Bell, then the provider of telephone service for millions of people. The Internet, of course, is enjoyed by billions of people throughout the world, which is why Obama will now regulate it. Not only must the United States bend to his communist will, so must the rest of the world. Obama’s purpose is not to regulate the Internet or the health care system, but to regulate us. And since the Internet will now be forced back to the copper wire world of 1934, then there must be someone who knows where the invisible wires are, the invisible wires that bind us to Obama’s will. There must be offices with steel map drawers, with drawing boards and draftsmen updating the maps as new wires are laid and old wires replaced or removed. There must be, in addition, a grid system defining named areas of wire enclosure, plus an outside field force to maintain and repair the wires damaged by ice storms and vandals. Ultimately the population will be known by the grid in which they live and in which they are, at least in the communications sense, confined. The capture and subjugation of the Internet is but part of the world wide data capture by Intelligence agencies now turned over to Homeland Security by an Obama administration uncomfortable when not having absolute control of everything it can get its hands on. I spoke to the young inexperienced and incompetent Obama woman in charge of the wires just today, and she was excited at the prospect of capturing, from every misbegotten place on Earth where a cell tower has been erected or a spool of copper wire laid, every spoken word, every written sentence, whether English or Tagalog, Urdu or Spanish, and running it all through the vast, temperature controlled floors filled with teraflop mainframes to be translated, analyzed and the sender and receiver identified.

A brave new world, she gaily cried
We’re safe as we can be
Bad people have nowhere to hide
At last we’re truly free
Free to live now without fear
We cannot be attacked
And all because Barack, the dear
Is watching, that’s a fact
And it’s my job to keep in touch
With all who use the net
And telephones and fax and such
Indeed your tv set
And those who say we did create
A tyranny at best
A freedom stifling fascist state
I say the wired West
Is freer now than in the past
We’re free to think and dream
The world is open, free and vast
Except to the extreme
The ill-formed thought, ill-chosen words
A careless verb or noun
Are gathered in like flocking birds
If spoke or written down
Remember, it’s the price we pay
Be careful, that’s for sure
Or there will come, it’s sad to say
A knock upon your door

My reading of history is that the charismatic political/military leader always leads to disaster, while the charismatic religious leader sometimes leads to disaster and sometimes not. Of the former, Hannibal Barca, Julius Caesar, Napoleon, Hitler, and many lesser lights have brought disaster upon themselves and their countries. Of the religious charismatics only Gautama’s teachings did not lead to centuries of religious warfare. The teachings of Abraham led to Joshua and Canaan and Megidoo and ultimate dispersal by the Romans. The adherents of the teachings of Jesus and Mohammed have been killing each other, off and on, for fourteen hundred years. One could argue that the teachings of Luther led directly to the Thirty Years War, which was a disaster for central Europe, or argue with far less justification that Gandhi was indirectly responsible for millions of dead in the Hindu/Muslim wars between India and Pakistan that followed the partition of India after the departure of the British Raj. The charismatic leader will always be with us, and as certain as night follows day mass killing follows in their shadow. The mass killing following Obama will far surpass any previous killings, with the bleached bones of hundreds of millions littering the burnt black Earth. Iran will have nuclear weapons thanks to Barack Obama, and they will use them on Paris and Rome and Berlin and London and New York and Tel Aviv, and the Umma will be destroyed in turn, all in the name of chaos and the return of the twelfth Imam and the establishment of a world-wide Islamic caliphate. One wonders if the New York Times will notice.

Hydrogen, a molecule
Has not a thought for thee
Deuterium, so goes the rule
And Tritium makes three
Some packaging, a part or two
Assembled with some care
So powerful that but a few
Will lay a country bare
A blinding flash, the night sky lit
Compression, howling wind
And all is gone, as fires knit
The bones of those who’ve sinned
As well the bones of innocents
Whom charismatics doom
Who rule by guile and sharp pretense
The smartest in the room

Throughout history militia forces have not been able to stand up to regulars. Bladensburg comes to mind. ISIS is not of Western regular army quality, but it seems to be as good as an Arab army gets. Therefore it will take the Fourth Infantry Division to beat them. What is needed is a present day Don Juan to rally the Europeans to fight, if not for the Christian Copts, if not for the Christian Arabs or Christian Iraqi Kurds, if not for all innocent Infidels, then at least for themselves. It may well come to giving each Middle Eastern Muslim community its own private piece of land, and since these people have shown, over the centuries, that their only interest is in killing us, their own private piece of land should begin about six feet deep.

Don Juan, he of the golden hair
And women-winning smile
Set out where others would not dare
And conquered, all the while
The Christian powers all sat back
Absorbed in their affairs
While Muslim raiders burn and sack
Then return to their lairs
Today we see more of the same
Beheadings, burnt alive
Killing is for them a game
They play from nine to five
A new Don Juan is what we need
To teach the bastards well
Forever kill that loathsome creed
And send them all to hell

We are in a pre-war time, just like the 1930s. The principal difference between today and the 1930s is that there doesn’t appear to be a Churchill waiting in the wings. Then it took only one bridge, the Rhineland Bridge, to be crossed to set things in motion, while today so many bridges have already been crossed and burnt that the ending is inevitable. Which is why I am stocking up on pre-war Irish Whiskey.

I’m stocking up on pre-war Irish whiskey
And Amazon is shipping nylons free
I know that smoking cigarettes is risky
But soon enough no more of them I’ll see
The government will list what they will ration
And Goodyear tires a thing of the past
The newsreels will raise ire to a passion
As wimpy leaders scream no stone be cast
But once roused fed up free men won’t be stopping
Until those stinking Muslims are all dead
And that is why I’m doing pre-war shopping
And have some Irish whiskey then to bed

It is claimed that the next step in technology is upon us, technology that will not only mirror our thoughts, but talk back to us. The new technology will be more than just a passive mirror, it will be a mirror that talks back to reality, in close touch with Spiritus Mundi, the spirit of the world. Or such is the claim. This is all very well, but what if reality doesn’t want to talk to the mirror? I found my mirror sulking the other morning, and I asked what the matter was. She said she’d tried to strike up a conversation with reality and he just ignored her. I said reality was like that.

Reality is sometimes like a Sunday
At ease, relaxed, content to take a nap
At other times it knows there is a Mundi
And hates to look up on the false drawn map
The places where there seems to be the trouble
Most likely to cause strife and also pain
Where people sit uneasily on the bubble
Just longing for reality in vain
She said she understands why he’s not talking
It’s just that techies try but can’t perfect
An interface where folks like me are gawking
At images that we can but reflect
Why do I only see my own reflection
Why can’t I see the wide world as it is
Why is it that reality’s perfection
Why is I’m so flat and he’s the fizz
I left her on the wall so quiet sobbing
Alone she was and wanting so much more
Her dream of sweet reality hobnobbing
As silently I closed the bathroom door