Everybody is Hitler

It is becoming hard to keep track who is and who is not Hitler these days. It seems that every other politician in the USA and Europe is now Hitler and that their supporters are “literally Hitler” as well. This is just an example of PC gone mad and the left beginning to decry everything it sees as Hitler in their post Trump mania.
If Trump, Le Pen, Farage and Wilders are now Hitler we are going to start running out of politicians to call Hitler soon. My guess is that soon enough the left wing of today will start decrying their own champions as Hitler and white supremacists pretty soon. They already did it with Canada’s Trudeau which left me speechless but on second thought not exactly surprised.

I will probably get called Hitler for pointing this out, but then again it is so watered down of an insult these days that I do not really care.


Poem: Picking up the pieces.

Forgive me my past transgressions,
my heart was not used to love. 
Now my mind is filled with questions,
of what I was once part of.

Will my humor ever recover?
and restore it’s former lively state.
Or will I in this darkness take cover,
and to heartbreak capitulate.

I hope I can pick up the pieces,
and try to find love again.
Hopefully my spirit increases,
and my love of life, I will retain.

The beginning of a novel?

Hey guys, just thought I’d share something I’ve been working on today. It’s the beginning of the idea of a concept (lol) for a novel I hope to one day publish. I know some of you are more talented than me when it comes to this and I’d love some feedback.

I woke up from the same sound that had roused me for the past two months. The noise of the people working the morning shift scraping and shoveling the snow from the nearby gates. Occasionally one of them would hit the chain link fence and let off a metallic rattle. Not exactly a pleasant alarm clock but it did its job. “Hey Stan, wake up and let’s get moving I’m freezing my fucking ass off” Cooper bellowed. “I’m already up, give me a few seconds.” I replied and zipped open my sleeping bag. The stale freezing air of the tent hit me instantly, it had been unusually cold lately and not getting any warmer. I fumbled around for my clothes, the aviator jacket Cooper gave me, the pants from home I’d padded with newspapers and my beat-up sneakers. I zipped open the tent, stepped outside and looked at Cooper. As per usual he was wearing his old army jacket, two sets of jeans and a giant pair of homemade boots. “Took you long enough dipshit, if we move out now we’ll barely make it in time.”

Poem: Self Marooned Fisherman


Turning off the engine and the lights,
the fisherman let his boat come to a stall.
From the last light of sunset he saw his wake,
and knew he would go no further.

The fisherman had gone on his last voyage,
weary and seeking a final resting place.
Here in nature’s last frontier,
he would not find a nobler grave.

Poem: Lost Hope

Waking I feel naught but sorrow,
Will I ever see you again?
I dread to wake up tomorrow,
knowing I’ll end up in my den.

Hope has lost its faith in me,
faith is truth I cannot find.
I wish there was a light to see.
Then maybe I’d have peace of mind.