Mr. Roger's...Are You Real?

What 'alternate universe' do we live in? A few years back, around the turn of the millennia, there were television, and radio reports of the famous village of Shaolin, China...where the Shaolin monks reside, being wiped off the face of the earth, by a blinding deluge of rain and wind, that lasted for 'five minutes'.

I looked it up, this morning, and there is...nothing! Anyone remember 'the report', back around 2000? See the video? My wife and I did...at the time. It was big news, for five minutes! Can 9/11 be wiped out, as easily? As if it never happened? And, how long would it take, before people just went..."Oh, well, that never happened."

How long, before 'Chernobyl' never happened, or 'Fukushima', or Hitler, and 'the Holocaust?' How long, before events, we remember, having happened...just cease to exist, as if, the 'collective consciousness', itself, had dementia, or Alzheimers or 'we're the fukawee?' It reminds me of the movie, 'The Forgotten', where children, had been 'abducted' by aliens, but the parents had 'forgotten', and the government, was too 'scared shitless', of the aliens...to own up.

What is happening to our world, and its 'iffy' news reporting, and more...'remembering'? What is happening to the truth and honesty, of the people in this world? Is the universe real? Is it all a 'hologram'? Is the Earth flat? Is it hollow? Is it only, in our mind? Is any of this real? Are you real...'good neighbor'? Can I be your neighbor? Is anything real? HELLO! Hello?

And then, there's, google plus...hello!!!???


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Mr. Rogers, google pic

Let The Spirit Return

I could not be more white, if I took a 'chalk bath'. but my pride in the 'Native American people', could, likewise...be no more complete. I have observed, the European way of doing things, and the American native way of doing things, for nearly 70 years. 

The earth cannot, much longer...suffer the fools, who took away the birthright of 'native Americans'. The earth dies, of a lack of true consideration. The native American, and 'world indigenous', teachings, with regard to the earth...are far more sound, and rooted in 'balance' and 'common sense'...than the 'white mans'. 

While the white European, sees the earth as a 'thing to take from', the native...sees the earth, as a living being, in need of being cared for, nurtured, and given back to. In concert, indigenous minorities, from around the globe have reasoned with white men, and pleaded with them, to consider the needs of the earth, for years. But, white men do not listen. 

They have lied, to themselves, and reasoned falsely, that it is their destiny, decreed by strength and cleverness...to take from the earth and her people, whatever they may desire. Why? Because, they are 'white?' That is a poor criteria, to measure anything by. 

White men demand the right to things, that are not theirs, and seek blessing, upon their enterprises, where no blessing is deserved...nor shall be forth coming. My hopes, and my prayers, are that balance will return, and reason, to the land. 

A great spirit made this world, and put a great people, in charge of her care. The European 'visitors', have proven themselves unworthy, of the challenge of 'care for the earth'. It must be returned to its protectors and guardians, the native people of the America's, and indigenous people from around the globe. 

Only then, will the mother of us all, rest in peace. Amen.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Native American's on horseback, artist unknown at present

This Path

There are some good people. There are many good people, and I know, it hurts them; to see the world 'degrade' so. The intentions of many, are foolish. The intentions of a few, are evil. Most of us feel powerless, to act, to change, any of these 'poverty's of spirit', as we watch, parade past...row on row, these ones, so proud of their desecration's, their hell raising's. 

It is for naught, they do, and that, they do...will fall, for failure,is their draught, and they do drink it deeply. Beyond sight, without judgement, we know...we know, bereavement past enduring...for, a tearing of our soul is had, so deep within; when every day is hard to bear...a heaviness, as if a cross, upon our back...were there. 

Indeed, our cross to bear, across the carcass of this poor world...suffering as we. For, there is no tongue to say, what needs be said...now. It can only be witnessed, and it is. Until, it's finished...we must suffer on, as one before us did. Until, our day is done, the hour has come...that we depart this flesh, we must endure this whip...held in every hand, and thank our lord for giving us, this path.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: St Christopher, bearing 'the christ', upon his shoulders, by E.F.B
Author's note: I believe, anyone who bears 'the weight', for the christ, bears 'the christ'.

Just Shut Up!

The elves, fairies, pixies, brownies...were always known, to be prankster's, prickster's, trickster's...masters  of the, "here I am!" "No! I'm not!" "Just phuk'n with ya!" "Yoohoo!" I had it happen up on an indian reservation. If you want to know, what one? Read my early posts. In fact, if you want to know, a lot of things, READ! My posts! 

There is a wealth of understanding in 'connectivity'. In this prankster's convolutionary 'wierdbrary', all things are connected...end to end, or beginning to beginning...however, you wish to make sense of it...or me! It's like 'circular breathing'. I am a cyclonic 'fukunaut'...forever spiraling, contravening, every 'can't, cunt, wont, and shouldn't!' 

It just doesn't wash, in my world, to block things with a period. or hedge them with "a quote". Entirely inappropriate, to note...but let's, use them anyway, for just...this time. There are words, I like! 'Maybe.' There's a good one! Possibly, perhaps, conceivably, perchance, peradventure...like, you're on a trip, seeing new things, open window, open mind...doing 'sixty', drooling out the wind wing...like a Labrador Retriever. 

"Is a good boy...is a good boy, yeah!" Duh? I love words, and dogs, and trips, and...seeing it all go by, like WTF! Man, it's going by now! It's like a mushroom, hit me in the head...or a 'soft vanilla cone', doing 80. Gotta slow down! Nah! Gotta speed up! Bullshit's right on my ass...kissing the bumper! Oh! Did you see THAT?  Whoa! Whatever she is...it's naked!

"Greetings! I come in peace." Natives seem friendly...think I'll live here, for about 20 minutes. "Can the dog have a goody? How 'bout me? What's your name? I'm 'Horny!', I mean...oh, yeah!" 


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Adventure, google pic

Here's The Deal

Robots in your face, nano-bots, in your cereal...drones flitting, and buzzing through the sky's, and air we breath...like so many 'insect swarms'. Big ones, little ones, mosquito sized ones...all bearing 'injectables', and 'gasses', and virus, and camera's for little tiny eyes, and little 'shrimp size' cannons...'ten thousand shooter;s', to blast us in the ass, as they pass, with little 'mini-microphones', to listen to us scream?

Is this what you want, people? Is this what you will advocate, and allow? Are you mad, as well as damned? They market, this oncoming hoard of hateful nuts and lethal bolts, of tech...as though it were 'for us.' No! It is for them, 'their bottom line'. They 'bring the business home', but they 'automate', the thing, and who is that supposed to save? The jobs are gone! Get it through your head! They don't need us anymore!

SCREAM, at the machine! It is your death...all neatly fixed, and cleverly endowed...to 'put you down!' Is this the way, you want this all to end? Why did you think, the 'body bags' were there...some catastrophe to come? The 'catastrophe' is here! They don't plan on saving us, with space age medicine, and nursing us through 'social growth' and abnormalities. They've only planned, for 'them!'

Run for your life. Kill every damn machine, out there. There is no social justice. There is no 'homeland security'. There is no Insurance, or assurance, worthy of the name. It has all been fixed. 'It's just business'. It's all been a lie, by the same people, that bring you endless death, and violence, and 'prime' cuts, of every meat, and sweets, out there. The sacrifice of Earth prepared, for wars, just didn't rid enough of us.

They want more! They insist on this! More blood, more power, more lies. Peer within their minds, see how they work...these serial killers, day and night...perfecting their machine, planning how to share the pie, together, in the end of things. The coldness of their calculated plans...entirely exonerated, by the Presidents, the Popes, the Queens, and Kings, and Judges...that they chose...all bought and paid for, to legitimize their crimes...as if, by law, no crime, indeed, took place.

But one thing remain...even darker, than their dark insanity's...dos.reboot. You will feel this, as the world goes to 'candle power!' In that moment, of your 'blasted' question. 'Huh?' you will know...it's ALL over!


Written by, Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Dead mans hand, from Harry Boslem, ibuzzle

Isn't It Ironic

My mom despised , my dads 'happy bird songs'. But, dad was irrepressible...and he would 'belt them out!', to the joy of us kids, melting even, that little chunk of coal, in moms heart.

'The Red Red Robin' was one of his favorites, and one about a 'blackbird'. Mom could heal the sick, and 'raise the dead', but she had something 'political', against 'innocuous laughter', and 'happiness at large'.

To her, dads, 'fun loving', freedom of expression, was 'a loose canon', and grim reminder...of an innocence lost. I loved them both. There were some great 'bottle throwing' fights at our house. A few times, a cast iron frying pan, got in the act.

None the less, these were 'post world war', 'pre politically correct' times, and enlivened as only Scottish and Welsh 'bullheads, can enliven them! "The proof is in the pudding". One time, after an all day drunk...the forgotten pressure cooker, 'went off', and the 'doo-hickey', that prevents pressure buildup...ended in a bowl of pudding!

That sort of 'was', my family's 'mission statement'...in those times. Then,one stopped drinking. The other started hiding it. Eventually, they got through all of that. It was an object lesson for me. I never picked up the habit. I owed that to them.

Dad used to insist, "You must drink uesky, to survive". I admit, 'the flesh may', as pickled as it is...on that stuff. It gives a whole new connotation, to 'keeping a stiff upper lip'. It's like 'formaldehyde' for the living. 'Water of life', indeed, but not really. I'll seek elsewhere!

I always ask, 'where's the pub?', but, I'm the straight guy, in the corner sipping coffee...'designated driver', Mr. Sober sides. It goes unappreciated, till they need a hearse, and some 'Clydesdales' to pull it! Then, it's not about them. It's about 'putting the fun, back in funeral!'

State of the art...state of the world!


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: majestic Clydesdales, pulling the red wagon, Hallamore 2003

*When The Red Red Robin

The day after Christmas, is usually, filled with 'self realization', some self loathing, a lot of gas and disappointment. The 'day after', nags at the psyche, urging us to cover our heads, with our blankets and deny deny deny, that Santa didn't come. 'Something came!' We have this huge 'rift', in our credit card...to prove it. 

But essentially, we are children, no matter our age...pretending, hoping, 'making it up', with the fabrication of a fat man, in a red suit...that lies to us every year, sends us a bill...and 'vanishes!' Santa didn't do it to us. We did it to ourselves. Santa is our 'excuse', our enabler. But he's not the guilty party. 

Our gods are all, archetypal entities. Santa is a joyous spirit, of gift giving, and he fills us with his spirit, year to year, and...we do give. Not all give, but many do and we always look forward to that 'spirit of giving', because, quite frankly...it is far more fulfilling, than all the wrapped presents, under the tree. 

It is the same with Jesus. Jesus is with us. Not all believe, but many do, and as the holiday of Christmas, and years end approaches, so approaches, the love and 'remembrance of Jesus.' The gift of love, is there. It is far finer, than a material gift. It is the spirit itself, which cannot be contained or reduced...but which, enlivens every one. 

The children know. They know Santa, and they know Jesus. They know, that, just for a little while...their parents are different, imbued, with a holiness, and solace of spirit, that magically appears during this season. They 'feel the love', behind and beneath the greedy 'commercialism'...for, even though, 'materialism' is opaque as tar, the spirit can be seen and felt. 

It makes the children happy, and more secure, and it makes us more secure too. It anchors us, in a reality...not of this greedy world. So, though, you are in it to your ears, and you feel overwhelmed, and buried in tinsel tarnished crap, you are also, 'overwhelmingly' loved by the great spirit of the heavenly father and mother. 

As the times near the end, so, like the seasons...we come to a remembrance of that, which was always there, always with us, and shall be to the very end...and then, 'The Surprise!' Love to everyone! Merry Christmas, and a happy New Year, no matter where...here or there!

Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: American robin cameo, from 'The Hobbit'


*"When The Red, Red Robin Comes Bob, Bob, Bobbin' Along"

When the red red robin comes bob bob bobbin' along along
There'll be no more sobbin' when he starts throbbin' his old sweet song
Wake up wake up you sleepy head get up get up get out of bed
Cheer up cheer up the sun is red live love laugh and be happy

What if I've been blue now I'm walkin' through fields of flowers
Rain may glisten but I still listen for hours and hours
Well I'm just a kid again doing what I did again singin' a song
When the red red robin comes bob bob bobbin' along along
What if I've been blue...