Monthly Archives: December 2017

Stave 2: The First of Three Spirits

(Continued from: A Carol to Sing)

brainpokeThe warning bells rang.  There were the campaign promises of a spider to a fly; a billionaire to a laborer, and truths leaked, but they were dismissed.  The spirit entered the room. “Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?” asked the wanton character of our country, the squeezing, wrenching, (grabbing), scraping, clutching, covetous, gnawing, biting, breaking, hacking, burning, destroyer and usurper; the old sinner.

“I am.”

“Who, and what are you?”

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.  I have come for your welfare.”

“I will not give you any welfare.  You are nothing but a beggar!  Go back!  I am done with my giving.  I will tax you instead!”

The ghost face-palmed himself and then flicked the old sinner on the nose.

“Ow, that hurt!” whined the old sinner.

“You misunderstand what your welfare is.  I will explain it, instead, as your salvation.  Ignore me at your own peril, dismiss me, and in that breath you will blow out the candle of hope that was lit for you.”

The glimmer of good that was left in the soul that the old sinner now represented warmed him long enough to keep from damning himself forever with a sarcastic tweet.  And also the spirit threw the old sinner’s phone out the window when it saw what the old sinner was contemplating.

“Hey!  That’s a two story fall!  Give it back!”, whined the old sinner again.

The ghost looked up, “Do we really want to save this guy?”.  The ghost paused, nodding, and looked down humbly, “Okay, if you think there can be redemption,” acknowledged the ghost, as responding to some celestial voice.  The spirit looked up, glanced at the old sinner and rolled its eyes, then gathered itself and grabbed the old sinner by the … ear, and walked him through the wall.

The old sinner whined and shouted “Covfefe!” as the spirit transported them.

“This is your past, the past of the body you now occupy, and you should learn about it”.  The spirit had taken them to straight to the National Archives, and pointed to The Constitution.  “These are the principles you daily defy, but are what you vowed to defend”.

“What is that, The Constitution?  Ha!  You thought I wouldn’t know it!  I do not defy it, stupid spirit sent to save me!  You don’t even know anything.  I am just liberating different parts of it.  What do you think I defy, stupid, self-righteous spirit?”

The spirit yanked the old sinner’s earlobe down so hard, it stretch the tissue in it,  and then the spirit transported both of them again, to an all but empty classroom.

“The school is not quite deserted,” said the Ghost. “A solitary child, neglected by his friends, is left there still.”

The old sinner said, “Stop with the symbolism, do you really think I get your ‘literary allusion’ and your ‘metaphor’?” air-quoted the old sinner as he mocked the spirit,  “Just cut to the chase.”

“Okay, okay.  You don’t really give me a lot to work with here, but, here it is:  Public Education.  You have all but deserted something that is the cradle of democracy.  The government is often the sole advocate of those who would someday be powerful and in turn share their power, -you have neglected the child.”  The old sinner stood blankly.  The spirit face-palmed itself again, and spoke as it rubbed its forehead, “Which is a symbol for all children, and the future of democracy.  Do I really need to spoon feed you all of this?”

“I prefer silver spoons, spirit, I was never this child, I was always rich, and I have no sympathy for this wretch!”, boasted the old sinner.

The spirit reached through his skull and poked his brain directly, this time, “THINK!”  demanded the spirit.

“Ow!”  said the old sinner, again.

“You will die.  The world you leave your children and grandchildren will become more desperate, and even their privilege will evaporate.  Feasted and entitled, your descendants will not be the clever inventors of solutions to problems they are kept from.  The walls they surround themselves with will conceal the want until it runs over them like a flood.  Your legacy will be washed from the Earth.”

The poke from the spirit’s finger seemed to have jabbed away some of the deposits on his old brain, and the sinner was more receptive, or at least fearful enough to want to avoid that pain again.

“Oh,” the old sinner said.

The realization or the appearance of realization were not enough to keep the spirit from poking the old sinner in the brain, as he punctuated each of these words with a poke as he said loudly in the face of him: “‘An educated citizenry is a vital requisite for our survival as a free people.'”  The ghost put down his finger, and backed up as he could see he had about given the old sinner a cerebral aneurysm.  “Thomas Jefferson said that, a primary author of  The Constitution!  The money you siphon away from a knowing public weakens the democracy, and centralizes power to populations that will fail the interest of democracy!”

“Leave me! Take me back. Haunt me no longer!”  whined the old sinner.  The spirit, grateful for having finished his time with the all-but-hopeless miser, pulled once again on the miserable old man’s earlobe, a distraction from the pain in his frontal lobe, and transported him back to his bed, unescorted.  The old sinner cowered under the covers dreading the coming of the next promised spirits, and rubbed his forehead.

Next, Stave 3: The Second of Three Spirits, which will come when it moves me…





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A Carol to Sing

marley'sghostThis is a cautionary tale, and starts with our character in a seemingly hopeless situation, but I’m hopeful about the odds of redemption for our character, in the end.

Stave 1:

“Business!” cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. “Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!”

The ghosts of the past condemn us now, the memories of the promise of freedom.  The ghost of what might be looks upon grave conditions.  We got tired on the way toward “a more perfect union”.  Generations forgot the struggles of their ancestors, storytelling that passed down values were replaced with “binge-able” entertainment served up endlessly with machined precision to exploit personal preference.  We got more than disillusioned; we got distracted.   Made thirsty by endless streams of our choosing, like the waters of Narcissus, we take in evermore.  The sheer impossibility of chasing perfection is not for the short attentions Appreniticed by millionaires and billionaires who surround us on screens with the seven deadlies, and wrap us in want like babes in blankets, uninterrupted on all channels, with promises that their lives of unrelenting greed are much better than ours, and that maybe, if we are lucky, the work of our little lives can be digested to feed their endless appetite.  We got tired of the pursuit of what is right, and held up high instead the personification of the unfettered monstrousness of our own naked lust, intolerance, and greed.  We voted it in.

And now,  as it begins to feed on the poor to decrease the surplus population, the squeezing, wrenching, (grabbing), scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner delivering on the destruction promised (1,2,3), there is some regret rippling through our democracy, and questions of how to get back.

To redeem our character we will be visited by three spirits.  The first one will come when I write it…

Okay, I have summoned The First of Three Spirits!





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