Trump or Clinton? What Difference Does It Make?

Hello!

ProvidenceMine here.

I would like to start off by saying that I don't normally write about politics, but considering this past election I think that I really need to say something here at this time.

First off, I am an anarchist. I think that the two party system is one huge gargoyle, and that the Republican and Democratic parties are just two wings of that gargoyle.

Secondly, I really don't see what difference it would have made if Clinton had won the contest.  She had a very dark past of crookery that goes all of the way back to Whitewater up to the Clinton Foundation which took advantage of the miseries of poor people in poor countries.  As president, that psychopath would have been a disaster just like the orange haired simp who will be heading to the White House early next year.

Truth of the matter is whether you wanted Clinton to win or Trump, you are a Kool-Aid imbiber.

And you need to go cold turkey and detox right now.

I am so sick and tired of people on the one hand complaining about the system, and then on the other hand supporting that very corrupt system by participating in it. I understand why some might not have gone for Clinton, as she was a part of the establishment.

I get that.

Why then, in the name of All That Is Holy, would you vote in another establishment figure.  Trump is a billionaire real estate tycoon who has used foreign labor that he later stiffed, used imminent domain to take property from a family for his selfish purposes, and has grabbed the countless pussies of uncooperative young ladies among other things.

And yet you saw him as anti-establishment.

Clearly, the average person doesn't know what anti-establishment is anymore.

Dwight MacDonald, John Zerzan, Ted Kazinsky, Emma Goldman-these are anti-establishment figures.    If you truly want to know what anti-establishment looks like, then you should look up these people on Wikipedia.  Then, you will see that Trump-like Clinton-is NOT anti-establishment. You can educate yourself or you can continue to suck from the bottle of Kool-Aid while sitting in your oversized baby doodoo diapers.

 Both Congress and the Senate got single-digit ratings in various poles. We had two retrograde creatures as presidential candidates who were supposedly disliked by most potential voters out there.
People reported that they were tired of the corrupt political system where they felt voiceless and ignored. People were tired of losing jobs while the rich got richer.

And what did you do?  You participated in that very goddamn system that you claimed to be so tired of.

You rallied for these clowns and saw them as the messiahs for change that they never were.

You also rallied for a man named Bernie Sanders who basically fed you all the same bullshit that Obama fed you eight years ago. Hell, the campaigns were so similar it made my mouth drop that you all fell for it all over again-even the slogans were similar for Christ's Sake!

Obama: Change We Can Believe In!

Sanders: A Future We Can Believe In!

Really, people?

If a system truly disgusts you, if you truly want to see any change then the last thing that you should do is participate in the system that truly disgusts you. To expect change that way is beyond madness, it's mental retardation.  I know that's politically incorrect, but it's true.

What should have happened during these campaigns is no participation. The candidates should have been on their platforms pontificating to near empty auditoriums, and Election Night should have been a time of staying home en masse.  The turnout rate should have been so low that its silence would have been deafening, and the Powers That Be would have been shocked to the core.

And frightened.

Instead, you came out like good little boys and girls and voted for people who don't give a rat's ass for the common man. While Trump's supporters partied like glazed-eyed children high on fructose, the Clinton supporters looked so forlorn that they could have been  extras for a movie version of Oliver Twist.  One young woman looked so heartbroken that you would have thought that she was denied seconds of porridge!  

Trump supporters should enjoy their time in the sunshine right now because when Trump disappoints, as I know that he will, they will have the same forlorn looks on their faces as their houses go into foreclosure after finding out that they have been denied foodstamps after losing their jobs to foreign workers on work visas.

Don't say that I didn't warn you.

However, after your disappointment you could do some  shopping therapy and get yourself something nice to put a little spring in your step and a little smile on that face.

I know of a really great place!

Have you heard of Rolling Acres Mall?

It's all the rage.

I do have to warn you.

If you don't want a good reality smack over the head then you'll need to make sure that you duck the wrecking ball as it swings by.

I Don't Normally Talk About the Cast Members of the Reboot...

Normally, I only write remembrances of the original cast members of TOS.  However, I really couldn't go without saying something about this tragedy that hit the reboot cast hard.  So, let me begin...

As I have said in an earlier post, 2015 was a pretty sad year for Star Trek. Nimoy left us, then Whitney, then Hynes, as well as others like James Horner, Harve Bennett, and probably others who I can't recall right now. These people were part of Star Trek's past, and as sad as it is, you do expect that at some point they will leave us.

Who on Earth would have thought that someone from Star Trek's reboot future would leave us too soon?!

I was blown away when I heard the sad news of Anton Yelchin, the young man who played Chekov in the Star Trek reboot films. While it is true that I never liked the first Star Trek reboot, never saw the second one and don't plan to see the third, I truly did like this young actor.  He always gave a strong performance in all of his roles, including the role of Mel Gibson's son in The Beaver.  I even thought that his performance as Chekov was spot on, getting all of the Walter Koenig inflections right and yet making the character his own.

Anton Yelchin was only 27.

Never to see 30.

But, the most tragic thing of all...

He was an only child.

Could you imagine the loss his parents must be feeling right now…



Anton Yelchin
1989-2016

Just dropping a line...

Hey guys,

ProvidenceMine here.

Just wanted to let you know that I am almost finished with Draft Zero, so the continuation of the story is on its way.

Thank you so much for being patient.

Janice Rand will enter the building soon.

See you soon :D

Aren't You All Aglow In Your Thousand Yard Stare Chapter Four

Aren’t You All Aglow In Your Thousand Yard Stare

Chapter Four

ProvidenceMine

From the expanse of the bleach whiteness of the ceiling, a small blue white light encircled overhead from where Rand sat.  It was like a comet, its illuminating tail leaving a pathway behind it, as it encroached itself towards her, its humming sound getting louder with each passing descent.  It made a sudden stop, and Rand was able to see reflections of light elongated on either side of the circle.  It was a tube, clear and long as it moved closer to her.  Rand could feel the blood drain from her face and neck.  These officers were not going to stop at the electroshock torture, but were going to bring down a new brand of hell-on-earth for her-this she could be sure of.

The tube finally stopped and hovered about 12 inches from her head.  Rand was transfixed by this new and deadly unknown, the crystalline instrument glinting against the whiteness of the interrogation room.

“Perhaps you might be able to answer the question now, prisoner?”

Rand’s attention was forced back to the cool, measured voice of her Vulcan inquisitor, his upper body leaning forward over the table as he looked at her levelly from his slit-like alien eyes. 

“I told you I can’t answer that question!  Ask me something else, damn it!!”

Rand and Glok glared at each other for awhile until Rand felt something cold and hard snap around her ankles and wrists clamping her onto the arms and legs of the chair.  She looks down and panics, struggling fruitlessly against the restraints which were as black as the chair and tables themselves.  The tube, which had been hovering above ominously, lowered itself smoothly to the floor, effectively encasing her in its walls.  When Rand heard the rim seal itself around her, the restraints suddenly popped open. 

“What the hell?!”  Confused, Rand raised her arms towards her and rubbed her wrists.  She saw Glok and the male guard looking at her.  She couldn’t see the female guard, so she turned behind her sharply, and saw that she was next to the entrance where she and Rand had entered this room earlier. 

“Cadet, please answer the question.”

Rand’s attention returned to Glok.  “I guess this means we’re going to run around this tree all night?!”

“If you like.  If you want me to wait, prisoner, I can be a most patient individual.” 

“Patience is a virtue, so they say,” said Rand, her nerve rearing itself upfront.

The silence lengthened between them, so much so that Rand became a little fidgety.  She yarned, she bent over in her chair, she rubbed her nose, stretched her legs.  All the while Glok sat there, watching her.  There was no sign of irritation, impatience, nothing.  Rand sat back in her chair and crossed her arms in defiance, and Glok crossed his arms as well, easing back into his own chair.  When Rand saw this copycat gesture the sheer absurdity made her break out in sudden laughter.  It started out as a giggle, low and soft as its echo bounced off the walls of the tubing and floated around the silence of the room.  Her laughter build and grew, morphing from giggling, to cackling, then to bursting guffaws-loud and crude.  Tears ran from her eyes as Rand heaved and gulped in the waning air between fits and mirth.  As her laughter continued, her ears began to plug up and Rand found herself swallowing in order to unplug them to ease the discomfort.  She went on like this for some time, almost like autopilot--laughing, swallowing, heaving, gulping.  Her breathing became more shallow, her throat became more dry.  Again, Rand began to panic.

“Can you answer the question at this time, Cadet Rand?”

Glok’s voice was condescending, slithery, eerily calm like still water.  Rand grips onto the arms of either side of the chair and leans forward in her chair.

“For someone’s who’s a Vulcan you don’t hear well, do you?!” 

Her voice came out high, strained.  The dryness that was forming inside of her throat was now spreading to her mouth and nose.  Rand stumbled blindly off of the chair and banged on the surrounding tube with both fists, like a madwoman.  Glok pushed himself away from the table and got up from his chair.  He walked towards Rand until he was face to face with her.  Standing poker-faced, he asked the question again while he watched her struggle against the thinning oxygen in her torture chamber. 

Rand opened her mouth and tried to speak, but it was as if a thick arid wad was stuffed down her passage, blocking all means of breathing, all means of life.

Oh, God…Oh…My…GOD…!!

Rand’s eyes started to blur, the images smeared across her vision like glittery apparitions, her knees starting to give way.  As she collapsed, the last thing Rand heard before blacking out was Glok asking her that same goddamn question spoken in his native tongue.