Fatemah Qaderyan’s Indomitable Spirit ~ Vid of the Day

 

On this day, Ayesha and I began following each other’s blogs and I thank her for raising my awareness re [1] her fine writing style and [2] the indomitable spirit of a science/tech savvy, published author and Afghani feminist, Ms. Fatemah Qaderyan.

Were there such a thing as a Thesaurus where words and pictorial representations get cross-indexed, then, whenever we’d be looking up synonyms for terms such as intellectual curiosity, courageousness and heroism we’d find portraits of Qaderyan.

Indeed, this young woman won’t settle for anything less than life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness… to see that her gender’s curiosity, imagination, dreams and ambitions are all rewarded… not punished like some sort of crime.

Regrettably, such a stance places her in the unenviable position of being in defiance of the Taliban… jihadists notorious for their barbaric, sociopathic, misogynistic traits… not unlike the set in stone, faults of a certain fake prez whose travel ban had, temporarily, denied Qaderyan entry into the U.S.

Without revealing much more of her eloquent speech to the attendees of May 2018’s Oslo Freedom Forum… she speaks of paying dearly for standing her ground… tells of societal demands for female submissiveness… where what should be the full color palette of female optimism gets splattered with the dreary shade of black… the blackness of bullets… and lurid red… the redness of spilt blood.

While Fatemah Qaderyan’s eyes do well up and spill over with sorrow, they also gleam with hopeful optimism. Her story is guaranteed to cause every clearheaded, warmhearted soul to regard her as the feminist hero who she truly is… to wish we all could’ve been among the Forum attendees who had given her a standing ovation.

Watch this must see video!

 

226,000 Slaughtered Souls ~ 1 Quick Limerick #060 & #061

 

In nuking Hiroshima, Truman sure blew it,
The ghastly apocalypse sketch, he sure drew it,
Despite known death toll, pain and grief,
That calloused Commander-In-Chief,
Nuked Nagasaki, too! Why did he do it?

 

Said Englishman Alex Pope, “To err is human,”
(But) “to forgive, divine” (can be) undue, man,
Harry’s nuke revolution,
Warrants NO absolution,
Alda’s Pierce said it best, “To err is Truman!”

 

Yeah… I know… in posting 2 limericks instead of 1, I’ve (once again) strayed (slightly) from my above headlined premise / promise. But think of it this way… the monumentally wrong Harry S. Truman, who bombed out 2 times in 1945 (August 6th and 9th), could never be adequately dealt with in just 1 poem.

Re my 2nd quotation filled limerick… I thank both the centuries ago writer/poet Alexander Pope and the decades ago MASH teleplay writers for their inspiration. As for that specific “To err is Truman” line, these words had been quipped by actor Alan Alda’s character, Capt. Benjamin Franklin Pierce, M.D.

 

For more limericks (as well as other verses and song parodies, etc.), head over to my “Categories Menu” and select “Poetry”.

 

The Life and Times of a Posting Prospector

 

INTRO: The PB of this blog’s companion video will enhance our reading experience. So will our allowing virtual narrator Gabby Raconteur’s dramatization to play out in the theater of the mind. Let’s all now give a “listen” to the western frontier tale…

 

The Life and Times of a Posting Prospector

 

As our story unfolds, the sun rises over Dark Canyon. In days of yore, it had been a Wild West, bustling boomtown. These days? Well… DC… no… not THAT DC… has nearly become a rundown ghost town. This faltering community… nestled within Dystopia, USA… is as windswept as the Great Basin desert which surrounds it. It is here that the town-folk harbor a heartbroken spirit as desiccated as the post January ’17, dried up American Dream.

About one dozen miles west of this far-flung locale, we find the crusty, cantankerous curmudgeon, Mr. Merlin Luther, awakening from a fitful sleep… facing down yet another day of metal detector prospecting for silver and gold.

“Life” within this hemmed in by mountains, forgotten by time, ofttimes, telecommunications / internet dead zone is fraught with both online and real world woes. It is that fact which… in the hearts and minds of the locals… has made Merl, a man with a knack for storytelling, a much admired and sought after source of amusement. Words do come easily to him, however, the thoughts they oft convey are not always popular… well… that is… outside of Dark Canyon. Although he is a true blue patriot, he suspects his free-thinking posts have unjustifiably pegged him as disloyal… branded him a reviled, blue-hued pariah… well… at least in the small mind of a particular, peculiar, deplorable, deranged, DC despot… yes… THAT DC / THAT despot.

With last night’s campfire now reduced to smoky ashes, while Merl gathers more firewood and kindling, he feels the icy winds of change in the air. There’s also a dryness in his mouth and pangs of hunger in the pit of his stomach. Now back at his campsite, he folds up his tattered sleeping bag while chawing on beef jerky and crunching on trail mix… eventually washing it all down with a few swigs of Jim Beam™. As he sits atop his makeshift, sleeping bag chair, leaning up against a boulder, he stretches and yawns, rubs the grit from his lifeless eyes and strokes his grey, scraggly, Father Time length beard.

He feels fortunate that his innovative, tech savvy son, Merl Jr…. just prior to headin’ off for the greener, Silicon Valley pastures… had set him up with a couple of his patent pending devices… a wifi turbocharger and mini-solar array… both of which have proven themselves invaluable in keeping Merl Sr’s laptop fully connected and charged at all times.

Logging in, a quick check of the Weather Channel confirms what he already knows… the overnight desert cold will soon be changing over to blistering heat. He next opens his email and… within a nanosecond… is feeling duly pissed. Once again, the ISP and social network big shots are both demanding that he squander his precious time pouring over and agreeing to updated versions of their verbose, arcane, legalese loaded, Terms of Service and Privacy Policies.

Merl, feeling himself heading for an epic, full-blown, intracranial conflagration, opens up a word document and lets his keyboard poised fingers “do the talking” / channel and vent his rage against “the system”. Within fifteen minutes… minus two for… ahem… a behind a cactus pitstop… he is ready to publish his scathing screed. With his typical posting time nearing, he pauses to weigh the pros and cons… all the while wondering if he has overreacted? Merl decides to throw caution to the wind.

But just prior to posting, he proofreads it one last time. Let’s all peer over his shoulder to follow along…

 

 

Upon opening up my email inbox this early a.m., once more, I discovered a couple of those online ultimatums… you know the drill…

“Please read and accept our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy so you can continue using… BLAH… BLAH… BLAH.”

Firstly… “Please?” Aw shucks pardner… ain’t that sooooo heartwarmin’? As if sugarcoatin’ a demand with pseudo courtesy makes something that’s deep down NOT OK… somehow… some way… ALL OK?

Secondly… you’d have to be a some sort of Pollyanna clone to ever believe that privacy… either online or real world… even exists anywhere… anymore! Not with that veritable alphabet soup of three-letter acronymed spy agencies stumbling about our once great land. Hell, their agents’ Job #1 is to ensure that not one of us can even surreptitiously fart without that “momentous” event getting documented and filed… in triplicate… within our already bulging, computerized dossiers.

Thirdly… we are dealing with power-tripping, in CYA mode, muckety-mucks ISO our validation. Why must we legitimize their illegitimate terms / policies, which rarely, if ever, benefit anyone other than those who authored them? Let’s cut to the chase. What their tossed word salad is really saying is, “We choose to do whatever we damned please and you cannot do one damned thing about it!” One can practically hear their haughty “So theres!” and stuck out tongued, spit spewing Bronx cheers.

Fourthly… just what the hell does the word “agree” even mean, anymore, when it’s obtained by disagreeable coercion? And let’s not forget coercion’s passive cousin, “who” admonishes us that our very act of Logging In is akin to our agreeing to ALL of their mucked up terms… whether or not we’ve even skimmed over them.

Lastly… if we opt not to knuckle under to their high pressure, “my way or the highway” arrogance, the highway will be our reward.

Seeing how my POV could easily offend the ubiquitous, vengeful ISP and social network gods… this could result in my being summarily punished… oh… say… dropkicked out of cyberspace… real world exiled within climate change fried Dark Canyon and Dystopia USA. Fated to spend whatever time I have left stranded and stumbling about this sweltering, windswept, sandstorm prone, hellhole desert… tantalized by mirages of oases ahead… threatened by fanged rattlers aground… stalked by the starving buzzards circling above… birds of prey just “dying” for me to bite the dust.

Well, my friends, if any of you are out there… cruising and crisscrossing Dystopia’s system of crumbling highways and byways… should any of you just happen to find yourselves in the vicinity of DC… Dark Canyon… not THAT other DC… and you spot me staggering about…

Either pull over to rescue me… or… at the very least… try not to make roadkill out of me.

 

ADDENDUM: Hmmm… about the only thing worse than excessively long Terms of Service / Privacy Policy statements are the Terms of my long-read screed. Of course the big diff, here, is that you’ve read this voluntarily!

Even so… please forgive my long-windedness.

 

 

 

 

Tweeted “Sheet” to Hit the Fan? ~ 1 Quick Limerick #059

 

From Tweetstorm crow’s nest, Don Trump doth address,
To warped warmonger stance, grants foes access,
Sec of State’s flip-flops / retractions,
Might not abate, stop reactions,
Trump’s self-made enemies, pissed, could aggress!

 

Oh… btw… I’m including an earlier version of #059, where I assigned the title “prez” and referred to the Secretary of State by name. Of course, I soon realized it’d be unwise to be so specific… owing to the ongoing Robert Mueller investigation and the present-day, White House’s toxic work environment / revolving door where staffers / appointees are here today gone tomorrow… where tomorrow could literally be TOMORROW!

 

From Tweetstorm crow’s nest, “prez” Trump doth address,
To warped warmonger stance, grants foes access,
Pompeo’s flip-flops / retractions,
Might not abate, stop reactions,
Trump’s self-made enemies, pissed, could aggress!

 

For more limericks (as well as other verses and song parodies, etc.), head over to my “Categories Menu” and select “Poetry”.

 

 

DANGER! Unsafe Sex! ~ 1 Quick Limerick #057 & #058

 

At safe sex issues, he’s flippin’ off snubber,
He is foolhardy, has brain made of blubber,
He “dates” blond, porn star honeys,
And mates with, Playboy Bunnies,
Yet, wears no “raincoat”, made of latex rubber!

 

Spurned spouse will not hold his hand! She’s astute!
From her boudoir, does she give him the boot?
She knows his flings, with his cuties,
Could spread microbial cooties,
To be prepared, she should buy Hazmat Suit!

 

Yeah… I know… I’ve posted 2 limericks instead of 1. But think of it this way… the marriage of 2 people forms 1 couple AND the risky conduct of 1 can endanger the health… HELL… the very lives of 2.

Additionally… ever since America’s earliest days, presidents have been deemed role models to look up to and admire. Even though this is no longer possible, we can all still learn… that is if we FIRST deem him the perfect example of how NOT to live our lives and NEXT act accordingly.

 

For more limericks (as well as other verses and song parodies, etc.), head over to my “Categories Menu” and select “Poetry”.