Memorial Day 2020
For protests, that is. Memorial Day this year can receive no higher honor, no greater tribute, no deeper dignity than for the true-blue, red-blooded Americans to show up to be counted as lovers of liberty in boats of rebellion upon the waters of this great land.
The Freedom Regatta has arrived!
During the past few decades, the traditions of so many professions became wretchedly degraded and besmirched. Even the ancient profession of lying has slid down a sordid but sure slippery slope. The current crop of fabulists, falsifiers, tricksters and toadies in the Media Blob is deplorable and deplorably inept. I am reminded of the time, many years ago, when I was mercifully informed by one relative that another relative was “a pathological liar", and to beware of her.
I was shocked, stunned! “It can’t be. She is so bad at it — how can this be true?”
Sadly, very sadly, many of the standards of this nation have sordidly slipped to the point where even the once-fine art of lying has become abysmally bungled. Even the lies told in silence are farcical. Fiction looks like a pale imitation of reality, unless it is reserved for satirical comedy, and, even then, it is hard to tell the difference between satire and real-life.
The art of comedy has taken a huge hit because of the Puritanical Political Class, the overseers of a nation that now largely ignores those toxic hypocrites.
What a wonderful feeling for me, on this day of wondrous memories, to celebrate the old as if it is new — the patriots have declared their independence from all of that tommy-rot that is held to be sooooo sacred by the idiot hypocrites. Is there an American alive today, a true American — who does not sense the patriotic fervor of revolution, even the daring act of going un-masked — anywhere!
Of course, masking and unmasking have come to mean the hiding of rather sinister deeds upon the liberties of man- and woman-kind in America; and the discovery of those foul acts, foisted upon America by foul and terribly bad “actors”.
We the Patriots shall continue our acts of kindness to one another as we fight the nanny-state leviathans to protect our God-given rights and liberties. We can rise with our hopes in the uplifting knowledge that we are all a lot stronger and smarter than the nincompoops-in-charge tell us we are — and infinitely wiser than they. We possess virtues that the dingbat dictators loathe, and seek to destroy. We are the natural and deserving inheritors of the freedoms for which our beloved ancestors — beloved relatives, friends, and unknown patriots — fought and died.
May we all raise our voices in prayerful song to the Almighty, who blessed us with enough courage and enough conscience and enough common sense to distinguish truth from falsehood; candor from poppycock; and faithful devotion to virtue from the cheese-ily crafted corruption and greed that are presently on display round-the-clock.
My classic-flick pick for this evening is the extraordinary Hollywood film of 1944, Gaslight. This Victorian film noir, directed by George Cukor, features Ingrid Bergman, Charles Boyer, and Angela Lansbury, among other timeless thespian luminaries. One of the final scenes of Paula Alquist Anton voices the words of a woman triumphantly facing the man who had tried to rip her off through gaslighting her.
The entire world of caged citizens in my nation needs to watch this flick to more fully comprehend the despicable drama playing out before our very eyes. We the Patriots are not mad; we’re furious.
If I were not mad, I could have helped you. Whatever you had done, I could have pitied and protected you. But because I am mad, I hate you. Because I am mad, I have betrayed you. And because I'm mad, I'm rejoicing in my heart, without a shred of pity, without a shred of regret, watching you go with glory in my heart!
On this day, as I commemorate Memorial Day, I take a break from my work of translating the latest chapter of THE DAWN into L’AUBE, Chapter 69. Last night, I worked on the very silent murder by Emile the Blacksmith of the Notaire, the notary, for having pilfered title deeds from French prisoners-of-war. One victim is Gustave Marquet, son of Roussillon.
Scary!!
The following except from this chapter proves that treachery is not a new invention:
Guillaume stared at the notary. He was of average height, average build, average weight, and average appearance. Even for a French man, this man was just average. Yet, mediocrity was no excuse to become a traitor. Had not Jean Giraudoux said, Only the mediocre are always at their best? France was now filled with millions of average men and average women who were confronting the ordeals of wartime in their own average ways. Curiously enough, they were prevailing over their own fears. They neither demanded supreme acts of their own, nor did they sink into and wallow in the mire, the mud and mire, the putrid mud of corruption and the sinkhole of perfidy.
Happy Memorial Day to all Americans in a land of liberty, filled with treasured heroes and cherished memories that cannot be robbed from us — ever!