We are in the midst of a coup to remove President Trump from office. The coup is being planned and carried out in the guise of normal political partisanship. The ringmaster of this coup attempt is Barack Obama, and its headquarters is his mansion in Washington, DC, where red diaper baby Valerie Jarrett, born in Iran, oversees the details and passes along instructions to Obama’s political and quasi-military organizations. Does anybody remember the Obama White House buying tens of thousands of green uniforms some years ago? Does anyone wonder for what purpose did Obama’s civilian agencies buy millions of rounds of ammunition? Where are those uniforms now? Where is that ammunition now? Obama sees a way to retrieve power, either for himself or for a puppet, whose strings are firmly attached to Obama’s nimble fingers. Former Obama Attorney General Loretta Lynch has publicly stated that blood in the streets will be necessary. We shall see street and campus violence escalate into bloody conflict very shortly. Democrat judges have blocked a constitutionally legal temporary immigrant ban with the hope that the president will ask the Supreme Court to decide if the plain language of the Constitution regarding presidential authority can be overridden by a judge. If Trump unwisely does so before Gorsuch is confirmed, the four Democrat Supremes will vote to uphold the appellate court, and with the tie the lower court ruling stands as law, with all presidential powers enumerated in the Constitution now effectively taken from the president’s hands. Failing that, street violence, assassinations, media and Democrat attacks designed to trigger a deadly response from the government will deliver the government into the hands of Obama or his puppet. Or such is the plan. We shall see if it works. Vast forces are arrayed against President Trump, and we shall see if he is equal to the task of defending himself and the country.

The Left does not surrender when the vote goes not their way
They do not say we lost and so we’ll fight another day
We know the Left when once in charge will not give power up
That only blood will set them down and forced to drink the cup
Of death that they so wished for us, it’s in their DNA
The only thing they understand is being put away
Beneath the sod as fattened worms feast on their cold dead eyes
As free men pat the green grass down and headstones say, Here Lies

In the 1940s there was a popular ballad called I’ll Be Seeing You that went, ‘I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places that this heart of mine embraces…’ and so on for 32 saccharine bars. We are now in that I’ll be seeing you phase of our relationship with Saudi Arabia, looking into the rearview mirror as the frackers and the North Slope wave bye bye, and the Saudis return to the 7^th century that the seven sisters rescued them from.

I’ll be seeing you
But not in those familiar places
Where we clung with warm embraces
Decades through
Because of all that North Slope oil
And unrelenting fracker toil
We’re free at last from OPEC’s coil
And so we say
It’s still okay
You’ll go back to sleep
And dream of when you made the rules
And underwrote madrassas schools
Now you’re through
In the shifting sands
You’ll wander ‘cross your barren lands
Back to you jingling caravans
And dogs that bark
Late after dark
Reminding you that oil was nice
You never worked, just set the price
But now the frackers roll the dice
And so goodbye to being you
It’s time and we’ll be seeing you

When Donald Trump builds a hotel, he turns the design over to an architect, who has training and experience in the design and construction of major buildings. Turning the design of his signature health care reform over to a politician meant that the design would be political, not economic or medical, because that is what the designer, Paul Ryan, Speaker of the House of Representatives, knows and is trained to do. And the ramshackle Ryan design came crashing down. The result was certainly predictable, though not necessarily inevitable. But with this defeat at the hands of the ever popular Republican circular firing squad, maybe Trump can issue them a pair of gonads, declare the filibuster dead and gone and do what needs to be done.

If 60 votes you cannot muster
Abolish then the filibuster
Don’t play by opposition rules
The Dems play dirty, don’t be fools
Would Harry Reid just shrug and say
Well them’s the rules by which we play
Of course he wouldn’t, so he scotched
The filibuster as he watched
Republicans twist in the wind
While crying, Harry you have sinned
Our rules are sacred, firm and true
But just for us and not for you

To those of us oldsters who believe that Western civilization is dying, relax; it is already dead. Already dead to virtually everyone under the age of thirty who have been de-educated by the educational system to the point that they know next to nothing of the history of their country, next to nothing of their own cultural identity, and are blissfully unaware that they are completely ignorant of anything of importance. To most Europeans, the prospect of their countries becoming Muslim has nothing to do with them. To most Americans, the prospect that their country will very shortly be minority White and is being balkanized by identity politics has nothing to do with them either. And when the last of us who do care what happens to our countries are gone, and the West, with its science and law is gone, the world will revert to its pre-renaissance condition. And no one will remark upon the passing, for no one will know of what has passed.

Detectives, digging up the graves
Of once free men who now were knaves
Dumb serfs who worked the land for local lords
Might find disturbing grave goods there
Some evidence they did not care
And did in fact invite the hostile hordes
Into their homes to banish guilt
In shame for what their fathers built
A science and a culture that put law
Above the priest and royalty
And so they saw their loyalty
Not to their land but to the savage raw
Who knew no law and sought our fall
Who knew that peace meant death to all
Who were not of their blood or of their tribe
Detectives found the holy grail
One word on paper told the tale
‘Indifference” written by the nameless scribe

Panpsychism is the theory, held by many quantum physicists, that all matter, from electrons and rocks to sequoias, have, like mammals and all other living things, a conscious inner life, though they concede the inner life of an electron is likely to be fairly subtle. To test this theory I spoke to the leafy and lovely poplar tree in my back yard. She said her name was Lily O’Dendron.

So nice of you to ask, she said
I seldom get to talk
Though many words run through my head
As birds sit here and squawk
I hate the silly stupid things
Their talk is so mundane
They foul my leaves and flap their wings
Thank goodness for the rain
The rocks though, by your garden path
So serious, profound
Prolithic talk with the bird bath
Who always stands his ground
I listen mostly to the fence
Whose pickets always fight
It never seems to make much sense
But lasts most of the night
I said, but what of all the trees
Just outside my backyard
She said they’d given her the freeze
And make her life so hard
They’re manly oaks, and snooty too
I’m poplar and a girl
And now I must say toodle-oo
Here comes my favorite squirrel
We talk at length of mice and fear
And why the stars were made
He’s told me why it is I’m here
To give the squirrels some shade
But I believe come late at night
We’re meant for better things
The world and universe set right
When poplars become kings

The Trumpeter Swan is a magnificent bird, regal, conscious of his beauty and competence. Trumpeter Swans are not looked upon with favor by lesser avians. I talked to one of these lesser avians recently, a writer for the New York Times, and he said,

I do not like the way he talks
I do not like the way he walks
I do not like the way he stalks
Small creatures like us owls
He quiet sits upon the pond
Planning how we can be conned
Believing that his magic wand
Will cure all that befouls
The world and that he can surmount
All wrongs with twitter his account
His wisdom the most sacred fount
And not the New York Times
The Trumpeter, so swanlike he
Will take us down the road, you’ll see
To fascism and likely be
Convicted for his crimes
With that he sobbed and shook his head
And through his tears he softly said
On yonder pond he sits like Dread
Intent upon his dream
Of changing all the Left has done
To make the country only one
Of many and not like the Hun
So mad that I could scream

The dying West will still be here in fifty years, but demographics don’t lie. What will not be here will be the capability or the will of an aging and minority White population to defend itself against the barbarian. The death of the West will cascade into the death of the megacities of the near future, for the teeming masses of those megacities depend on reliable food and medical supplies. None of these non-Western megacities have the capacity to produce the food and technology necessary to keep its populace alive. Without Western medicine and mechanized Western style agriculture those megacities will die of plague and hunger. It will not happen overnight, as the collapse of the West will not happen overnight. Western Europe is already gone, though its ghost lingers on. In fifty years an aging and enervated European White population will be overtaken by North African immigrants, and science will wither and die. In fifty years the United States will consist of enclaves of minority Whites, too busy defending themselves to defend anyone else. The United States Army will not be fighting house to house in Calcutta. Does anyone think the ten million people of Karachi can exist on the subsistence farming of the surrounding countryside, or survive the plagues that overcrowding and starvation will bring without Western medicine and pharmaceuticals? It will shake itself out, as it always has. Malthus only has to be right once. The spasm will come, it will last a hundred years, but the Earth will finally settle down to 10^th century levels of population and technology. The world will rebound, for the books will still be there for those curious enough to read them, but it will not look much like the one we have now.

A mass extinction is the way
That nature compensates
For those who simply can’t obey
The warnings of the Fates

We have to understand that the Left wants us to die, politically if they can do so more or less peacefully, in reality if we resist. Invective is all very well, but the raging, spittle-mouthed screeching of Hitler! and Fascism! directed at President Trump (and us) from the deranged Left has reached insanity levels. Emboldened rioting protesters will only escalate the violence until either they win or they are put down. There will be violence by the Left in their demonic drive to regain power over us, and it will be met with counter-violence. You may count on it; in the very near future a lefty Edmund Ruffin will pull the lanyard and the shooting will begin.

They want to put us all in chains
Made not of iron but written rules
Where nothing of free speech remains
And leftist truth is taught in schools
Re-education camps for those
Who dare resist the lefty line
And as for those who might well pose
A threat to them a box of pine
If leftist power is restored
If violence regains the crown
Conservatives will be marched toward
The cliffs and forced to leap and drown

The Left is determined to eradicate the perception that men and women are different, a campaign so successful that a biological male can be a woman just by saying he is, or rather saying she is. The eradication of gender proceeds apace, despite the horrifying consequences apparent to everyone of rational mind. The consequences of college co-ed dorm rooms, the consequences of granting to grown male perverts the right to shower with little girls, the posting of women and teen aged girls to military combat units in the name of female equality, the denigration of motherhood and many other examples of gender nullification insanity bodes ill for the future. When confronted with the horror, most simply shrug and say the Left may be committing an atrocity, but they mean well. I don’t believe for one single moment that they mean well. I saw my neighbor Fred and complimented him on his summer frock, and he smiled and said,

I’m giddy as a teen aged girl
As woman I give life a whirl
Construction workers whistle as I walk
I smile demurely all the while
And non-aggressive, that’s my style
And notice how I lisp now when I talk
I love this cute designer dress
Although, my friend, I must confess
That high heels are not comfortable as yet
But when the operation’s done
I’ll be like every mother’s son
A woman and with hardly a regret
Of course as male I ruled the  house
A kind and gentle loving spouse
Who took his manly duties straight to heart
But now as woman I’ve no care
Except to see my new blond hair
Will stay in place as I work at my job
We sewer workers have it tough
We gripe and say enough’s enough
But as a woman I’m allowed to sob
I’ll quit the sewer business when
I find true love but all the men
I meet say I smell bad and look real weird
It’s not the baldness turns them off
And not the dry persistent cough
It seems the main objection is my beard

What if everything we believe today turns out to be junk science? When Paul Dirac was asked, ‘What is a proton?’ he filled a blackboard with mathematical symbols, pointed to a letter in the middle of the equation, and said, ‘That is a proton.’ How is that different from examining the entrails of a bird? I believe Dirac was saying the proton does not exist except as a part of a mathematical equation. In my fantasy novel Illusion I created a double universe, one universe of protons and another, oppositely charged universe of positrons, both universes existing side by side inside an electron, unaware of the existence of the other, all of this consistent with current quantum theory. Mathematics can be, and frequently is, adjusted to make the theory work. Newton and everyone else saw only five colors in a rainbow, but Newton could not make the math work until he created two unseen colors in the rainbow, orange and indigo, and because he was Newton, we believe to this day that those unseen colors must be there. Newtonian physics explained much, but not all, Quantum physics explains much, but not all. The successor to both will simplify and be testable. Only then will we know if the proton and the positron exist and possibly even answer the question ‘are they two separate particles or are they the same particle, simultaneously both proton and positron,’ and whether or not which it is at any given time depends on when and how it is observed. Until then, we are little advanced beyond the once believed science of augury.

With Newton apples were the core
Of scientific knowledge
That gravity is nothing more
Than what you’re told in college
The quantum seen as ghostly sarks
Reacts when you excite ‘em
Where quarks are made of smaller quarks
And on ad infinitum