Warfare today in the Middle East is not nation state against nation state, it is militia against militia, where militia is defined as an ad hoc group of men who join the fight for the fun of it or even for ideological reasons. ISIS is a militia organization, mostly untrained civilians itching to kill somebody, preferably an infidel. For most of history militaries were militia based, meaning civilians subject to call-up by the king or prince to serve in a campaign. There were militia units in the American Civil War, where even poor Southern farm boys knew the peanut was a legume, not a nut, and so, thanks to the Georgia Militia, they sang, Eating Goober Peas. (With new lyrics by yours truly.)

Marching twenty miles a day
And never take our ease
With naught to eat along the way
Just some sweet goober peas
We camp at night among the trees
Look for Georgia militias
And hope them boys have got some peas
My goodness how delicious
Eating goober peas

Chorus: (Original lyrics)

Peas, peas, peas, peas
Eating goober peas
Goodness how delicious
Eating goober peas

You don’t hear them ISIS guys
Singing words like these
Or singing as they march along
Eating goober peas

For too long the yeomanry of this country have stood as silent as stones as the country they and their parents had built was taken from them by the politicians of both major political parties and given to someone else. This campaign has awakened the silent stones to a white hot anger against the political establishment, and they are not going to settle for the past anymore. The aroused yeomanry have come as a complete surprise to the political establishment, a surprise that will manifest itself as a thorough and necessary sweeping out of the rot infested stables on Capitol Hill.

The whisper of the yeoman’s voice
As silent  as the sea smoothed bones
Of sailors resting in the deep
Amid the seabed stones
Aroused, the yeomen seek their prey
Their anger silent as the tones
Of whispered cellos in the night
As silent as the stones
The yeomen know they’ve been betrayed
To anger that inside them hones
The fierce red will to see the day
That turns the prey to stones
The anger, silent up ‘til now
Sings out the song of whispered tones
That tells that politicians fear
The sound of silent stones

Donald Trump rallies are being disrupted by violent crowds organized and paid for by the communist billionaire George Soros, and carried out by Black Lives Matter and other radical leftist organizations, whose motto is, Free Speech For Me, But Not For Thee. Black Lives Matter did not coin this motto, it has been in existence with the left for many years, as Republican or conservative speakers at college campuses throughout the United States can attest. Counter-demonstrations invite violence, and of course we cannot have violence in order to stop the violence being committed by the other side, so we are helpless in the face of leftist violence, because we know the MSM will blame the counter-protesters for inciting violence against peaceful protesters who have simply gathered in prayerful assembly to sing a few psalms. We can, and have, tuned out this kind of free speech denying, but Attorney General Lynch’s recent testimony before a Congressional committee in which she said so very matter-of-factly that the administration and the Justice Department are preparing to put people in jail for being skeptical of the truth of Global Warming. The Attorney General has testified before Congress that the First Amendment is being flushed down the toilet, and the guardians of free speech, the main stream media, seem to be in complete agreement, judging by their yawns

The First Amendment is a cinch
To be flushed down the toilet
So says Attorney General Lynch
Who says let’s not be coy, let
The people who say it’s not warm
Those folks that we call liars
Folks who never will reform
Those climate change deniers
Will go to jail and maybe worse
For justice will be served and
For real good measure we will curse
Deniers as deserved and
The cries of First Amendment rights
Deflect us not a little
From seeing that when one indicts
That every jot and tittle
Of lying prose and spoken word
Is used full force against him
And just in case it’s not occurred
It’s not just a pretense whim
We mean to scuttle every line
Amendments by the number
And all will work out just real fine
As long as people slumber

The race of blue eyed blonds lived in the cold northern European forests. They sailed their clinker-built ships to all parts of the world, crossing the North Sea to Ireland, the North Atlantic to Greenland and Nova Scotia, across the Baltic and up the great Russian rivers, founding trading posts that became the cities of Kiev and Moscow, to name but a few. Norway answered the call to Crusade, and a Viking fleet set out for Jerusalem in the Year of Grace 1107, along the way touching, but not lightly, England, Spain and Sicily before arriving in the Holy Land, where they defeated a Muslim fleet at Sidon, after which they sailed for the Bosporus and Constantinople, where crewmen carved their initials on the backs of the pews of the Hagia Sofia, where they remain to this day. Then to the Black Sea to return to the Baltic by river and portage and thus back to Norway, though some would say the Viking ships were given to Alexios, the Byzantine emperor, in exchange for horses, and a trip overland for home. I am skeptical of the ships for horses deal, for no self-respecting Viking would have given up his beloved longship for a horse. They were men, whose clinker built ships feared no sea and whose crews feared no man. Yet today, the descendants of those men sit idly by and watch the world their fathers built come tumbling down around them, as the third-world, western hating immigrant descendants of the Muslims their ancestors defeated a thousand years ago take their country from them, and Europe recedes into the deep, dark pit of Islamization.

Strong winds from the fierce northern gods
Drove the ships to the farthest far land
To triumph despite all the odds
From ice to the hot desert sand
The ghosts of those men still appear
Seen dimly in forests at night
Still armed with a rust covered spear
They vanish with coming of light
They cry in their sleep ‘neath the snow
And wonder at what has become
Of all that they knew, that they know
And weep at the actions of some
Who say that the world’s never still
That nothing on Earth ever lasts
That Islamic children will fill
Up the forests and Arctic’s cold blasts
The ghosts see the end drawing nigh
They see their descendants don’t care
They see well the darkening sky
And empty eyed sigh in despair

The International Left regularly flies their private jets into the Swiss town of Davos to plan our lives for us, knowing, as they do, that we are stupid and easily led. The Left seized power in the West and proceeded to implement their economic philosophy which, broadly speaking, said that the government knew better than the markets how to regulate the economy. Proven wrong by repeated collapses of their economic model, they refuse to abandon their ideology and instead apply more of the remedy that caused the severe economic problems in the first place. The only thing that will change them is to see first-hand the town of Davos consumed by burning rain.

Black darkling clouds, wild shifting winds
Papered dollars dance in streets
While huddled by their golden doors
Cringe deep in fear cry the Elites
Fierce burning rain begins to fall
So lightly first, then pelting fast
The all-consuming fire bursts
The bubble that it all would last
The golden doors melt in the blaze
With nothing safe the blazing rain
Burns out the arrogance of those
Who thought the world was theirs to gain

We have seen religious wars before, and we are seeing one yet again, this time between Shia and Sunni Muslims, with the rest of us peripheral casualties, with outsiders like Putin on one side and other outsiders on the opposite side. It will end, but only after the intervention of catastrophe. People tend to believe that the religion they grew up with is the natural beginning and end of religious observance, but of course it is not. Religion has been around since the earliest human creatures became capable of looking at the stars and wondering what they were. At the edge of the ice or the edge of the sea, man has always looked to the stars, to the gods, to explain the blessed, sacred mysteries of the universe.

The sun gods and the gods of ice
Ruled all both far and near
The power to withhold the rice
Held all in trembled fear
The gods of man were many named
And each a sacred tale
And yet with incantation tamed
The servant could prevail
In time the gods were storybook
In which no one believed
And one by one the gods forsook
All who had been deceived
By those who claimed that God was dead
That Reason took His place
And without God we’d forge ahead
As if this were a race
To see who could get to the stars
Or climb the highest peak
Or sail the red canals of Mars
Or will the gods to speak
We have forgotten that the ice
Would once again return
Or that could fail the living rice
And thus we never learn
That ignorance of Mother Earth
The gods of Father Sky
Will take us back to mankind’s birth
Again to wonder why

We have all seen the many amusing television interviews of college students and recent college graduates, where no one knows who the vice-president of the United States is, or when the American Civil War was fought, or the opening words of the Declaration of Independence. Worse, none of the interviewees seem the least disturbed by their ignorance of what prior generations were taught and learned in grammar school. Is it their fault? I say no, it is not their fault, for they should not have been in college in the first place, they were and are too dumb to do college level work. Yet there they were, as ignorant upon graduation as they were when they were handed a high school diploma they could not read. The meek are not inheriting the Earth, the stupid are, for they are out-breeding the smart people by a wide margin, content in the one thing they know, that the smart people are obligated by law and politics to take care of them. I asked a few questions of a recent neighborhood college grad recently, and he answered honestly.

I think the Civil War went down
Around the time that noon did
A guy named Abe come into town
And shot Morty l’Woondid
Then 57 of the States
That’s scattered round the country
They went to war when Morty’s mates
Then fired on Fort Muntry
That’s close enough I quickly said
To hide the sickly quiver
I felt as questions buzzed my head
And asked about the river
He said the Mississippi runs
The length of Carolina
Of which it is one of the ones
Whose State bird is the mynah
But why you axing stuff so old
That everybody’s knowin’
We’re standin’ out here in the cold
And look around, it’s snowin’
He said that he enjoyed the quiz
And hoped he’d been forthcoming
He smiled and said the world was his
And said that he was bumming
And living with his parents till
A job that suited opened
And then he’s on his way, but still
At least that’s what he hopened

There are ominous rumblings of treachery in the ranks of the Republican establishment. It is said, that the Koch brothers and other major Republican donors have created a special fund of 100 million dollars to help Rubio, and if he doesn’t win Florida they intend to enter Mitt Romney into the primary contest in an effort to prevent Trump from being the Republican candidate. Other reports state that other big time donors have engaged a consulting firm to lay out a path for a viable third party independent candidate to run in the 2016 presidential election should Trump be the nominee, thereby guaranteeing a Democrat victory and retention of the White House and possibly a recapture of the Senate. If this is true, then those Republican elites are prepared to see a Democrat victory and control of the Supreme Court for another generation and the devolution of the United States into a socialist Venezuela in order to maintain their perks and status in the Republican Party. If true, these Republicans are prepared to see the country destroyed by a continuation of the Obama administration’s goal of national castration in order to retain their status.  If true, this is the vilest, most treacherous, most treasonous act in the country’s political history.

How vile, how treacherous, these cold men are
To plot destruction of a rising star
And let the Dems take an iron wrecking bar
To all that we hold dear
Our children’s futures thrown out in the wind
Destroy the man on whom our hopes are pinned
They smile and say it is not they who’ve sinned
We do it out of fear
We fear disaster ‘cause he will get beat
And lead the Party to a great defeat
With most of us thrown out into the street
We’re sure that you’ll agree
To which Trump people say go way, you smell
You stink of treason with your poisoned well
You say you think of us but buddy, we can tell
You think of you, not me

Some say that God is a clockmaker, who set the universe in motion and then gave it no further attention, while others say God is an architect, who drew his plans and built his dream to Divine Specifications, specifications we cannot readily comprehend though fragments have come to our attention. And when the architect finished his work he peopled his building with creatures in His own image, and who, despite His kindness and generosity, seem bent on destroying the building, leaving the architect grumbling and threatening to evict us all.

The God who is maker of clocks
Beheld a void filled with loose rocks
Just sitting in place
And taking up space
So sighing He pulled up His socks
And with a small mischievous grin
He put them in motion to spin
Where first they were lumps
That formed into clumps
And thus did the cosmos begin
The architect in the meanwhile
Said spinning stuff just ain’t His style
He fashioned a sky
All blue and quite high
So lovely it brought forth a smile
Next planets and comets and stars
He said were named Venus and Mars
Then people he made
To join the parade
And then before long there were cars
The fistfights began right away
Then sticks and stones carried the day
Quite soon all the rooms
Were filled with loud booms
All blamed on those darn feet of clay
The architect sighed and he wept
As into the dumpster he swept
His tenants and swore
That never no more
That tenants like these would be kept
The clockmaker laughed and then said
That doing it His way instead
Kept heartaches at bay
Each day a good day
And laughing went straight up to bed

According to a well-known book, the seven lean years should be followed by seven fat years. We shall see. It all depends on who is elected in November of 2016. The Democrats, whoever the nominee, will be formidable, with their built-in plantation and government employee union vote, plus their unrivaled ability to steal elections, while the Republicans lately seem not to nominate someone who gets people excited.

These seven years were one of change
The man in charge is passing strange
He thinks the world he can arrange
His mirror does not lie
We need no men to use blunt force
No planes or ships or tanks of course
He’s cut the pipeline at its source
And now he smiles goodbye
And leaves us with a bloated debt
Our future on his Muslim bet
Bleak times for us we see, and yet
We’ll see if the right guy
Can calm the storms and still the waves
Can call the ghosts from out their graves
To walk the road that freedom paves
And know the reason why
An obligation we don’t shirk
We long for peace but we will work
To seek the enemy who lurk
And make the basta*ds fry