Posts Tagged ‘political analysis’

Suckers

So the lovers of the Punk are not dumb and intellectually maligned ….. not vile and decrepit ….. not mimes with little or no critical abilities or desire to access reliable information or facts.

So the lovers of the Punk are true believers in the venality of all others and true believers in the great bile of the world around ….

So the lovers of the Punk are Hate the hates, love the loves, like the mob, like steel toed boots kind of hard chargers and true patriots.

So the lovers of the Punk really really really do believe that the middle finger of a sociopathic punk is a finger to be cherished and adored and trusted and warmed to.

So the lovers of the Punk are canny salt of the earth, street wise everyday  core of “merica” heavyweights who can look the fleecer in the eye, feel contempt for a punk a mile a way, are far too street to fall for any c

Mr Punk will never turn on me …….. Mr Punk will never turn on me ……. Mr Punk will never turn on me ……. I will never turn on Mr Punk …… I will never turn on Mr Punk …… I will never turn on Mr Punk …… Mr Punk will never turn on me ……. Mr Punk will never turn on me ……. Mr Punk will never turn on me ……. Oh please…. Oh please…. Oh please….

So the lovers of the Punk, never suckers, sell not their souls to a Punk shining a mirror back at ’em playing them and everyone else in the well trod path to power, pain, manipulation, intimidation, retribution.

Canny.  Streetwise.  Salt of the earth.  Too damned wise to get played, conned, used, abused.

The lovers of the Punk.

Dominance Games…..politics, news, commentary, analysis…. The dumb …… the honored creed. The rancid bastards …… the true…. the thrill…http://dominancegamespolitics.com/

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The business model of these United States

And when there are no jobs for the masses and everything is efficient and cheap as the grand trends of technological prowess and little use for the labor or the thinking of the regular regular guy comes to pass ….. and when those who may benefit tout the changes … promise worlds of wonder ….. reap the benefits of the forces they push, see and love … as those same wish to ride and direct said forces, implement a good solid business model ….  cheer as the dull, stiff, stifling, dreary business model of these United States just goes on and on and on …. the oligarchical political models of these United States just go on and on ….

Any pragmatic wished for wistful, dreaming, cherishing, planning for the ghosts of a phantom and chimeras vibrant middle class amongst the happy little  foul manipulators, power players, would be oligarchs and fascists ….. tis a task for the  dead, the dreamers and schemers and foolish unethical drones who wish to spread the wealth, undo the cornering of the survival markets …. mock those worthy to be  mocked, dropped, fought, discredited ….

Concentrations of power and control of assets, movement, wealth distribution need stand firm and tall and free.

The future belongs to the game and those who can game it.

dumb …… the honored creed. The rancid bastards …… the true…. the thrill…http://dominancegamespolitics.com/

books…  http://bschiff.com/

http://twitter.com/BSchiff2

refer

http://www.etalkinghead.com/

http://thepoliticalforums.com/

http://www.thejeffersontree.com/

Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering. Suckers

Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering.  Suckers Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering.  Clowns

Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering.  Suckers. Gerrymandering. Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering. Jokes.

Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering.  Suckers. Gerrymandering. Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering. Losers..

Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering.  Suckers. Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering.  Clowns..

Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering.  Suckers. Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering. Gerrymandering.

Gerrymandering.Gerrymandering.  Gerrymandering.  Suckers.

You win what you win.

The riches of divine power.

Good little political system.

Suckers.

Dominance Games…..politics, news, commentary, analysis…. The dumb …… the honored creed. The rancid bastards …… the true…. the thrill…http://dominancegamespolitics.com/

books…  http://bschiff.com/

http://twitter.com/BSchiff2

refer

http://www.etalkinghead.com/

http://thepoliticalforums.com/

http://www.thejeffersontree.com/

Catch your tail if you run hard enough

Catch your tail if you run hard enough.  The conundrum.  Run every which way but loose and up and over upon the great Syrian question … what to do … what to do …. what to do?

Are my economic interest better if oil keeps flowing … and will oil keep flowing if we never leave the bastard alone? Good ole’ oil.

Will my position in the world of world power bases improve if we shuffle the cards and I can get some nice guys to help support good commerce … some nice guys to help support nice guys?

Will my position in morals court pay dividends if I find the high ground and let high minded drones win the day and squander advantage by running from risk?

Will glorious peace in our time be achieved by enforcing the interests of the authoritarian secularists against the interests of the authoritarian religionists … oh, oh, oh …. who can be a more cynical and loving partner going forward?

And.  And.  Oh who oh who can they be that can muster enough spit and force in order to make this world safe for good solid, slowly going ephemeral, middle class values so that they can take hold and give masses everywhere a chance at heavenly self determination based upon the right and the might to back up the also ever ephemeral synthesis of all ambitions?

What a stew pot?  Can I gain from my decision?

Dominance Games…..politics, news, commentary, analysis…. The dumb …… the honored creed. The rancid bastards …… the true…. the thrill…http://dominancegamespolitics.com/

books…  http://bschiff.com/

http://twitter.com/BSchiff2

refer

http://www.etalkinghead.com/

http://thepoliticalforums.com/

http://www.thejeffersontree.com/

The mean games.  Play for the prize with the chips of the drips.

The mouths move …… the stories follow ……. the cries cry  …….  the idiots are in delight …….. puppets, puppets, puppets for those who have the smarts and need the clowns in order to reach the mass of clowns who like the happy hate and droll passion and rancid mean and crusty cruel.

The attack dogs and con men and circus freaks play and pay the needed bills and rile up and caress the humble crowd on the midway so that the clowns all can get fleeced and diced and sliced and that the good grimy gamey game runners can turn the profit, the stealing, the power grabbing, the improvement of the game rigging, and ascend to mystical heights.

Poor, poor us.  There is no accepted, acceptable, respected, respectable power structure, idea structure, purpose structure, structure structure in these great and powerful United States of whatever.  The players play and play and gain independence from law, regulation, enemies, checks, balances, challenge, the suckers.  The cream rises to the top.  Rancid cream.  Misplays put the dregs of the scum of the bottom in full blown charge and mean jack booted, loin loving splendor.

The mean games.  Play for the prize with the chips of the drips.

Let the drips think they have no master.

Dominance Games…..politics, news, commentary, analysis…. The dumb …… the honored creed. The rancid bastards …… the true…. the thrill…http://dominancegamespolitics.com/

books…  http://bschiff.com/

http://twitter.com/BSchiff2

refer

http://www.etalkinghead.com/

http://thepoliticalforums.com/

http://www.thejeffersontree.com/

Jobs may come and go as a sop to circumstance.  Power flows in the directions it is sent

Unions are wonderful.  Except that they are pigs.  So says the red white and blue.  So says the victims of their pig-hood.  All power players overplay their hands.  All power players take too much trust for granted and they lose it when they can’t enforce it.  Sell the good.  Address the fears.  Don’t push one rotten master for another.  The losers need a good power base … not a jack boot.

Selfish is as selfish does.  Buying stability with rational fairness is a hard sell for those who see no benefits to themselves or their own by helping bastards who can’t help themselves and who don’t have the goods to blackmail the populous with no jobs or jobs on our terms …. a happy equation that the free independent minded American seems overjoyed to accept.

The key is the protection from the underclass or the forces of the underclass.  Weapons are good for that.  The underclass is the dangerous class.  In the proper caste system the underclass is under the heel.  They get out on Our terms if at all.  They serve, give up their bodies, their labor, thank their lords and masters for the chances given for survival.  With great wealth and power comes great wealth and power.  Few give that up easily.

Jobs may come and go as a sop to circumstance.  Power flows in the directions it is sent.

Dominance Games…..politics, news, commentary, analysis…. The dumb …… the honored creed. The rancid bastards …… the true…. the thrill…http://dominancegamespolitics.com/

books…  http://bschiff.com/

http://twitter.com/BSchiff2

refer

http://www.etalkinghead.com/

http://thepoliticalforums.com/

http://www.thejeffersontree.com/

Installment 3

Dominance Games: An Essay on Power

A Novel

Disembarked from Europe, the damned war, discharged, Richard  Kenny went home.  He would pick up his life.  He would pick up his wife.  He would settle his life.

Richard  Kenny’s wife made money.  She made money for herself.  She knew people, Richard  Kenny’s wife.  She could take her pick of all different kinds of suave, Richard Kenny’s wife.  She could dance naked in the streets of the Bowery when snow was in season, Richard Kenny’s wife.

Recuperating Soldiers had been assigned to areas in the South of  France.  There was aid and comfort given.  Richard  Kenny took pleasure, rest, recreation.

There were not many people there not of French citizenry, sans armies; there was one woman there, an expatriated American.  She gloried in the life there.  Her money was safe.  She was a political sparrow, a rare bird of hidden prey.  She respected her politics.  She grappled with the circumstance of war.  She had been widowed in New York, had found it in her best interests not to remarry.  Her husband was precocious in corruption, precocious in death.  She had refined sensibilities, Richard  Kenny’s wife; defined realities.

Richard  Kenny’s wife had known Richard  Kenny in New York.  She had known Sweet Amy.  She had been seen and left by all of the usual snakes.  There was usual carnage she had seen on the battle fields of the slick and willful.

The once and past husband of Richard  Kenny’s wife married smartly.  He was older, she, younger.  Her own background had been moneyed, once.  Much of what held it went the way of all flesh.  She was alluring, attractive.  She was lean and lithe, had sincere, perceptive eyes.  She was smart enough not to be slain by inches.

Rational thinkers.  She was descended from rational thinkers.  She was educated, fascinated, Richard  Kenny’s wife.  She knew pity.  Never young and callow, tribute was hers.  Those who were not saved was not saved.  She garnered respect for the infinities of presumed strength.  Richard  Kenny’s wife knew the games of her fathers, her mothers.

* * * * * * * * * *

There were newspaper people, those with the key to plans for good and clean living, blessed vision, truth, beauty.  Faith, hope, charity.  An abundance of knowledge Richard  Kenny’s wife had.  She would enter Richard’s party, sleek deviate, naked, fallow, susceptible to the weak, marginal and strong, a scholar herself in the study and practice of her arts.

She was pleasant, perfunctory, Richard  Kenny’s wife.  She showed Richard  Kenny respect.  He showed her the same.  She was a woman of much substance, Richard  Kenny’s wife.  Richard  Kenny showed her respect.  It was more than respect for a wife.  That she was the mother of Babe only seems right.  Babe was of her.  Babe was special.

Like her mommy and daddy before her Babe Kenny loved the dance.  It allowed her enjoyment, companionship.  It gave her pleasure.  Daddy, Richard  Kenny, was not heaven’s gift to the goodness needed somewhere, somehow on god’s green earth but Babe  Kenny knew that Daddy had the requisite degrees of meanness and joy.  Richard  Kenny had his points.  Daddy was a good man.  He had shame in his past.  About such things as Babe was concerned, daddy was one who understood.

Richard  Kenny did not want that his Babe should have the type of life that he had had.  He vowed to remove her from the types of pressures that had made life for him, at times, a very trying experience.  If little Babe grew up to be just another run of the mill flighty little bitch then so be it.  He would try his best to help make her canny and wise to the ways of the world as he saw it, smart enough to know when and how to speak, to whom and for what reason to speak.

Richard  Kenny had great hopes that he would have his little girl grow up to not be a damned little whiner, to not be one enmeshed of trivial nonsensical banal emptiness.  He did not want his Babe to be married to the damned pretentious, the usual clowns and hangers on, the high place and good breeding numbing flag waving absurd.

Between the jumping fools he knew that paraded as men and the laughing idiots he knew that paraded as women, Richard  Kenny knew that it was a bad  proposition to expect that his little girl grow up to be anything like a fine and decent person.  For sure, Richard  Kenny knew that there was no damned such thing.  He also knew that his dream was cock-eyed and dumb and that if he had ever met such a woman as he had to himself described he would probably kick her in the  ass and try to turn her into the damned no good  whore that he would have been sure that she  had been.

Richard  Kenny wanted his Babe to have some guts.  He wanted her to be able to have a little bit of  class, have some reserve, some manners.  Given what he knew of the damned  world he knew he was hoping for too damned  much.  There were many things which were simply not in the repertoires of the worlds in which he lived, probably not in the repertoires of any world in which anyone  lived except for the little dream  world he had in his  mind that would make and allow his  little girl to be at least bearable.

She, Babe Kenny knew herself to be an American citizen and she felt that New York, offering what she thought to be at least a different world from the one in which she lived, offered the largest chance for her to attain the understandings and plays she so clamored after.  She, Babe  Kenny felt that someday she might very well turn out to be some poor little rich  bitch with some  asinine Italian  lover dangling from her rich  little arm and some other asinine little  peccadillo with the  cook’s  little  daughter to scream about to her worthless  friends.  For the mean, though, she would look towards, for, something else.  If she failed there would be all of those rancid little pleasures waiting.  If she failed to find that which she was looking for she knew that the  cook would have an sick fuck assed daughter with death in her  heart, that the asinine  Italian lover would be a stiff and that he would  try to steel her money and make her crazy.

Babe  Kenny felt that there was not much more to be had for her, her father, in the South of  France.  It had become a poisoned well.

She had then a fondness for the English speaking peoples, and she would not have been adverse to either London or Paris if Richard  Kenny could find some  cause to see either of those places as desirable.  Babe  Kenny knew that daddy was not one who held New York as his favorite place, having long since given up its ghost, and from what she could make out, having long since given up its ghost with  pleasure.

Babe  Kenny, then, would try to find a way to force movement to London, or at least Paris, but she would hope for a way to return the family to New York from whence it came.  She would, she knew, be able to move where and when she wanted.  She was free, she had means.  She could do as she damn well pleased.

* * * * * * * * * *

Babe Kenny was facetious.  Her mother had left her.

She loved not too wisely but too well, Babe Kenny.

She eluded the grasps of wild eyed men, Babe Kenny.

Queen of sustenance and honor reaped by  worship, Babe  Kenny.

She baited and cooed, Babe  Kenny.  She, laughed, darted, promised lusts with her hips, said goodbye with her lips, Babe  Kenny.  She, inspired trust, Babe Kenny, her voice aching want.  Specters, false bravados, itinerant needs, Babe  Kenny.  A past that wished only to collect on its debt to itself, Babe  Kenny.

She liked doing business with men who would conquer the  world, Babe  Kenny, liked helping flies lose their wings, Babe  Kenny; liked helping megalomaniacs get stronger, liked getting with those cynical, perverse to a point, Babe  Kenny.

She dealt with policy makers, Babe   Kenny.  It behooved her to skepticism.  She reserved special insight for those special individuals with wholesome abilities, Babe   Kenny.  She saw and did intelligent things.  In matured and intelligent splendor she found time to exhibit depths of understanding, sharpness of vision.  Demure and outstanding, Babe   Kenny was fascinated.  She was tempted to throw herself at the feet of all overriding capacities, all overriding capabilities.  Her honor easily marshaled, her awe easily overcome, she was a rotten hostess to money and power.

Babe  Kenny, a young woman of twenty five.  When not pursuing the ferocious games she was involving herself in, she was involving herself in what she thought to be conditions in her world which could justifiably be called wanting.  She did not usually throw off the gains and relics of a misspent past.  She did not put on herself the mantel of St Joan, cloaks of sack cloth and ashes, purposes enmeshed with deep burning desires to right all of the inequities, the inequalities, of mankind.  She did not commit herself to the creation of a new and better world, did not place altruism upon the list of virtues towards which she aspired.

Much curious as to the nature of the United States, her country, her people, the well from which Daddy sprung, his problems sprung, Babe  Kenny, involved herself with some groups involved in aspects of the coming social upheaval.  She involved herself with some groups which had primary interests in preventing evil, in maintaining right.

She traveled much, also, in those years, Babe  Kenny.  She established for herself a satisfactory ability to survive, neatly, efficiently.  As a means of continuity, she involved herself with the fields of publishing, running errands, doing some light research for friends connected with national organizations.

She was able to produce what was asked of her without making undue demands, Babe  Kenny.  She established satisfactory loose relationships that served adequately the aims and desires of all parties involved, Babe  Kenny.  She went often to Washington.  Often she stayed for protracted periods.  She did not find herself over weaned, overwhelmed.  The many bright young things, the many bright young smiles ran up and down the highways and byways of goodness and charm.  This was not a heaven to capture Babe  Kenny’s fancy.

An occasional congressman, an occasional sterling thing from State, Justice, tried to convince Babe  Kenny of the goodness of his heart, the warmth of his purpose.  Babe  Kenny was not overly eager to be in the clutches of the idealistic, the cynical wonders who smiled so brightly, worked so feverishly, championed so greatly the dignity of justice, of man, of mankind.

There were media people, there were those with the key to god’s own plan for good and clean living, the revelation of his wonders.  In their hearts they knew that they were blessed with vision.  Truth and beauty followed in their wake.  All would lead the way ever after to the foundations of the noble and true.  All bright young things were of firm beliefs.  They all saw through sham and injustice.

Babe  Kenny, also in Washington, met many of the many who lobbied for the cause of all things great, all things which would make all things greater, all things which would be guaranteed to be great.  She met those representing things that had made America what it was.

They were bright and they too were young, the heroes of Babe  Kenny.  Anxiety jumped upon practicality, strength triumphed reason, disorder was a mother.  Disunity fomented.  Spring was cherished.  The earnest and so pure.  Babe  Kenny liked them best.  Babe  Kenny dealt with policy makers.  It behooved Babe to skepticism.  She reserved insight for those special individuals with wholesome abilities.  They saw and did intelligent things.  Charmingly lucid.  In matured and intelligent splendor they found time to exhibit the depths of their understanding.

The earnest and pure.  Babe  Kenny liked them best.

* * * * * * * * * *

Dominance Games…..politics, news, commentary, analysis…. The dumb …… the honored creed. The rancid bastards …… the true…. the thrill…http://dominancegamespolitics.com/

books…  http://bschiff.com/

Books …… Dominance Games: An Essay on Power     A Novel    …….. Lust Games: An Essay on Honor    A Novel      ……… Void Games: An Essay on Revenge     A novel ….

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/39291

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/39730

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Installment 2

Dominance Games: An Essay on Power

A Novel

There were foreign objects; there was pain.  It was the 6th of fucking June.

On came Richard fucking Kenny and his fellow fucking brave hearts.  On came God’s fucking crusade in some fucking death trap of a fucking landing craft in the fucking English fucking Channel just dying to help a bunch of fucked up, fuck assed fucking Frogs get their god damned, fucking fucked up fucking country back from some god damned, fucking fucked up fucking fuck assed crazy assed fucking goose assed stepping assed, fucking, rot in hell fucking Krauts.

Dreams for Richard fucking Kenny.

A putrid soldier’s dreams.

Richard fucking Kenny found himself with the first assault waves of American heroes climbing up the fucking beaches of fucking Normandy.

The young man next to Richard fucking Kenny on the fucking landing craft on the way to the fucking beach sang the praises of Christ the fucking Lord.  The one next to him puked his fucking guts out.  Richard fucking Kenny had not only come three thousand fucking miles to get his fucking ass blown off but he had to do it with some fucking idiot’s fucking puke all over his fucking gear and some other fucking idiot singing the fucking praises of Christ the fucking lord in his fucking ear.

Richard fucking Kenny was very fucking agitated, disgusted about the whole fucking thing.  He was fucking annoyed.  He would, he thought, have, at least, died a happier goddamned fucking death if he was sliced and diced by one of his old fucking playmates and left to bleed to death in some god damned fucking stink hole puddle in some god damned fucking stink hole alley behind some god damned fucking, rotten assed, fucking greasy spoon.

His god damned, fucking father, where ever the fuck he was must be turning over in his god damned, fucking grave at the thought of his only fucking son running around with a bunch of fucking red necked fucking bloody fucking American he-men about to fucking charge good old fucking Europe, from whence his god damned, fucking father ran, to play god damned, fucking wonder soldier, god damned brave fucking wonder fucking hero.

Kraut soldiers were without bitter appreciation.

Richard fucking Kenny hit the beach on the shores very early in the fucking morning.

The fucking Kraut soldiers did not want to lose precious ground.  They wanted Richard fucking Kenny and his fucking friends to be fucking dead.  They appreciated fucking greatness, not Richard fucking Kenny.  Little fucking Addie Kraut was their mad fucking fool.  He was strong.

A wonder fucking soldier, wearing his spiffy little super duper little fucking uniform and traveling fucking on, Richard fucking Kenny was a thrill a minute.  Richard fucking Kenny was getting his fucking tail shot at pretty fucking good.  This day was to Richard fucking Kenny was a particular pain in the ass.

Richard fucking Kenny in the middle of a fucking, stinking, dirty, fucking, fuck assed, fucking foxhole in the middle of the fucking, stinking, dirty, fucking fuck assed screw assed fucking war.

Richard fucking Kenny became a dirty, fucking hero, another fucking smart assed, wise assed fucking wise guy, wise assed fucking savior.

Two fucking throwbacks to some fucking simian past.  Two fucking, anti-Semitic, anti-human, sub-human fucking throwbacks.  Richard fucking Kenny killed seven fucking Krauts.  Richard Kenny knocked off a fucking Kraut machine gun nest

Richard fucking Kenny barely stopped himself from killing the two fucking southern fucking fuck assed fucking throwbacks to some fucking simian past, the two fucking, anti-Semitic, anti-human, sub-human fucking southern throwbacks.  He saved his fucking outfit.

The lieutenant who was barely fucking alive only by grace of God and the captain who was half dead were both fucking very fucking happy that Richard fucking Kenny didn’t kill all of their own fucking wonder soldiers.  They were both exceptionally proud that Richard fucking Kenny was a member of their, this man’s, fucking Army.  They were most certainly overwhelmed.  Richard fucking Kenney was their great fucking hope.

Richard fucking Kenny was put upon the god damned fucking earth to do great things, to fuck rotten fucking ladies, to be sharp as a tack, twice as mean.  He loved to save the lives of the fucking wonderful who would be very happy to hang his happy little fucking New York fucking assed neck from a god damned fucking cross when he was back in the god damned fucking fuck assed States.  Richard fucking Kenny just wanted to jump up and down and salute the god damned fucking good old fucking red, white and fucking blue’s best fucking examples of fucking class.

* * * * * * * * * *

Richard fucking Kenny demeaned dangled leaden calves, gave up on dangled fucking leaden losers.  He jack assed backward through the straights of hell.  Sanguine, straight, Richard fucking Kenny jack assed backward through low dealers, low weasels, low wants, low fucking kills.

The All fucking American fucking boy was not something Richard fucking Kenny could put up with too much longer.  Richard fucking Kenny reveled in his own fucking wonder.  He was fucking proud that he had saved the lives of all of the fucking red necked fucking fuck assed fucking hicks.  Richard fucking Kenny was tired, very, very tired, and he didn’t want the All fucking American fucking boy to wake up one fucking morning and turn on Richard fucking Kenny when Richard fucking Kenny wasn’t fucking looking

Many forms, many shapes the All fucking American fucking hero.  He said many different fucking things.  He was sure to turn into a no good fucking asshole sooner or later.  Poor Richard fucking Kenny.

Richard fucking Kenny survived the fucking war.

He survived it.  The first day, the first day off the fucking beach.

Richard fucking Kenny survived the second day, the second day off the fucking beach.

Richard fucking Kenny survived the third day.

Richard Kenny survived the fourth day.

Richard fucking Kenny survived the first fucking month off the fucking beach.

Richard fucking Kenny survived the first fucking year off the fucking beach.

Richard fucking Kenny survived the fucking war.

* * * * * * * * * *

Amy.  Sweet, sweet, Amy.  Amy Lucille to the young men and women of pride and honor.  Amy Lucille to those who sought the glint in her radiant brown eyes shining brightly as she allowed company with the sons and daughters of manners and property.  She, Amy Lucille, able to touch their hearts vigorously, in worship and adoration.

Amy.  Sweet, sweet, Amy was that which could make life worth living, a shining beacon apart from all others of a peculiar conflagration of will, of a peculiar conflagration of mood, a treasure, Amy.  Sweet, sweet, Amy.  She wished to be the ideal to which all fine young dreamers might aspire, who did not let the pedestal upon which she found herself not allow her to not do what she must.

The giver of sunshine and shadow, the purveyor of pleasure and pain.  The killer of mothers, the lovers of fathers, the seductress of aunts and uncles.  The touch, the brush, the sweet, sweet kiss, the dear, sweet caress.  Amy, sweet, sweet Amy.  The nectars, the juices of sweet, sweet existence.  How sweet, sweet Amy craved.  How she craved.  Sweet, sweet Amy.

Sweet, smart Amy.  Amy, sweet, sweet Amy could only think of thighs and such and water her lips with the tip of her tongue.  Amy.  Sweet, sweet, Amy could only think of sighs and such and water her lips with the tip of her tongue.  The sweet, sweet lovers of sweet, sweet Amy, sweetly, sweetly maimed, murdered, before sweet, sweet Amy could ever again enjoy their sweet, sweet pleasures.

The lures of those who fondled, the lures of those who craved, Amy, sweet, sweet Amy would live to crave a thousand lives.  The sweet, sweet lovers of sweet, sweet Amy, sweetly, sweetly maimed, murdered, before sweet, sweet Amy could ever again enjoy their sweet, sweet pleasures.

She was the last best hope of daunting sin, Amy.

Some men died for love, Sweet Amy figured.  Some men died for money, Sweet Amy figured.  Some just wanted freedom from ghosts, dead spirits, evil, she figured.  Some took the path of least resistance.  Some, the last alternative to life.

Amy.  Sweet, sweet, Amy.

She baited, she cooed, Amy.  She laughed, she darted.  She promised lusts with her lips, said goodbye with her hips, Amy.  She was a gift given, Amy.  Her lips inspired trust, her voice aching want, Amy.  She drew hearts out as a magnet, Amy.  She drew spirits with ferocious fire.  The sweetness.  The contempt.

Get to a strong man, a weak man, a smart man, Amy figured.  Make a magic wand, Amy figured.  A turn of the screw, she figured.  A way in, a way out.  Will to will, strength to strength.  Strength to weakness, guile, subtlety.  Amy knew the equations well.  Worked them well.

* * * * * * * * * *

Memory is a sometimes wisp of smoke, a fog that traps those who wish to run with the fires and furies of the whirlwinds that spin dangerously amidst the cunning who understand the fragility of the soul and the meanness of the spirit.  There are those deep and dear and those of substance and depth are often taken for granted and given rides to test the waters of eerie endeavor and feel the heat of vile creatures.

Characters that spring upon the hidden planes of existence, hidden planes of attack may be of an interesting kind, may be of a rancid, sinister kind and play in dominance, survival, and find themselves oriented to the mysteries of life with stories following around roots and edifices, movements through time and fate.  Dreams and drama induce momentous rides and searing portraits of self and season.

My world is a wanton place with playthings in long spacious corridors angling in to slice and vanquish as they present their great homage to prosperity and glitter.

She was the last best hope of daunting sin, Amy.

She drew hearts out as a magnet, Amy.

She drew spirits with ferocious fire.

Purges were purges.

Amy screwed Death for eternity and Death took Amy as his own.

Amy screwed Death for eternity and Amy took as Death her own.

Somewhere in her passions she fused with fulfillment.

* * * * * * * * * *

Dominance Games…..politics, news, commentary, analysis…. The dumb …… the honored creed. The rancid bastards …… the true…. the thrill…http://dominancegamespolitics.com/

books…  http://bschiff.com/

Books …… Dominance Games: An Essay on Power     A Novel    …….. Lust Games: An Essay on Honor    A Novel      ……… Void Games: An Essay on Revenge     A novel ….

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/39291

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/39730

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bschiff

Government is evil … except when it is not.  Private power is venal …. except when it is not.

Government is evil … except when it is not.

Private power is venal …. except when it is not.

Absence of governmental power gives free reign to competing private interests and private corruption, intimidation, hammers.

Absence of private power gives free reign to governmental monopolies of souls, of movement, of thought processes, of the right to bow down and be useless.

Power is power ….. governmental, private, religious  ….. all just the structures for its rendering  … and it can be rendered mean.

Power is power ….. governmental, private, religious  ….. all just the structures for its rendering …. and all just the venues for wretched masters to go bang their heads against nothing, head winds, competing interests, fools that protect the rest of the rabble.

Power will hurt whom it is aimed at.  Power will steal from whom has it not.

Politics is about the regulation of power.  Make opponents weak.  make self strong.  Gain the spoils, the edge, the whip hand.  The whip hand.  The best hand.

Starve the government.

Dominance Games…..politics, news, commentary, analysis…. The dumb …… the honored creed. The rancid bastards …… the true…. the thrill…http://dominancegamespolitics.com/

books…  http://bschiff.com/

http://twitter.com/BSchiff2

refer

http://www.etalkinghead.com/

http://thepoliticalforums.com/

http://www.thejeffersontree.com/

Play into their hands

So the government now knows all the stuff that we poor bastards have been giving away for free to corporate America and corporate world and corporate hackers and sweet little second graders in Dubuque and we are are charged, chagrined, apoplectic and mercilessly scared.

So they have our thoughts, our dreams, our movements, our loves, our hates, our night sweats and our false stories and false hearts.

They have our fears, our limits, our fugues, our dirty little heroes and our loose little demigods.

They have our tricks, our safe places, our movements, our pulse of pulses.  They have what magic we don’t have and they have the imaginations we have given away in sending to the public space the mean grifters and lout shadow boxers who would play the excesses we fear for all they’re worth just so that they could keep it going and have enough time to get a handle on it.

Government is an evil thing.  Lack of government is an evil thing.  Break it too much and mean power grabbers get more.  They are mean and know how to exploit all evils good and bad.

They smile while they blow.  Play into their hands.

Dominance Games…..politics, news, commentary, analysis…. The dumb …… the honored creed. The rancid bastards …… the true…. the thrill…http://dominancegamespolitics.com/

books…  http://bschiff.com/

http://twitter.com/BSchiff2

refer

http://www.etalkinghead.com/

http://thepoliticalforums.com/

http://www.thejeffersontree.com/