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D for Determined

February 2024

It’s been almost five years since I wrote the essay, “Don’t Give Up the Ship,” and posted it in Continuing Composition.


Since that March of 2019, I’ve been busy, seeing to completion the construction of my Dream House, Larkhaven, during the summer of 2020.  By the time that I started to feel that this new home was “my home”, historic events, of quantums still being measured, had taken place.  They’re still taking place.


On my way from there, to here, I encountered not only people who gave up the ship; I met a few who were fiercely scuttling their own ships!


Long ago, I was told that my name starts with “D” because I’m one of those determined, dominant types.  Actually, my name starts with D because it’s Debra!

I nonetheless understood the analysis, which was accompanied by a smiling sense of approval.  I’ve also been informed by certain individuals, “I’ve met your type.  I have to get along with them . . .”


The essence of self-restraint within me prevented my daringly curious side from asking, “And what if you don’t . . .??”


This morning, I put on the scratchy, overly worn tee-shirt from that 2019 photo-op.  I’ve since purchased newer fight-for-liberty-message tees, and, so, I decided that this one is going in the rag pile. Jolene, beagle extraordinaire, has another, identical, pilled and depleted tee that I gave to her, a few weeks ago, as a comfort measure upon which to fall asleep, at the bottom of the bed.

Works like a charm!


I suppose a person either stands firm in the face of panic, or surrenders to it; or, in a worse-case scenario, tries to fight it and loses the fight.


The writer in me opines that the struggle would have been noble.  The “D” in Debra says the loudmouth show-off was all talk, no action, and he got ambushed by a reality he refused to see, due to a swinish personality, and even more loutish ways.  That arrogant sicko is just like the brazen icicle called the Woman Politician.  In actuality, she’s a rough-tough cream-puff.  She covertly hires others to do her dirty work, then has to pay so much dinero, during the shut-up phases, that an entire Global Slush-Fund has to be formed and fabricated, for decades.


In the olden days, before the Mass-Media Age (which has mercifully crumbled amidst the unplugging craze), a person was better able to discern a phony who would cut-and-run at the first sign of trouble, aka being found out.  You knew who you could count on, or, to put it more elegantly, you knew upon whom you could count.  And a practiced liar knew better than to promise big, and then flake out, at the last minute, when the chips were down.

Once upon a time, shunning had a virtuous place in a free society based upon real morality.  In certain power-grab scenarios, shunning is still effective, for why else would the enemies of liberty memory-hole, shadow-ban, and outright ban the champions of liberty from the public square?


The advent of political correctness, supplanted by its ghastly offspring, woke-ism, was a foul, but failed, attempt by atheists and other assorted haters of humankind to replace Judeo-Christian beliefs.  The mere idea that a warped media and the now-wizened hippie relativists could conquer thousands of years of Biblical wisdom and faith, it’s almost laughable.    I find the haughty hypocritical hubris to be a sick joke because, as of today, nobody, with a conscience, is laughing at the filth those faithless fiends and frauds perpetrated upon this, the fruited plain of America.

I don’t specifically know when fraud started staring friends and neighbors in the face, and getting away with it, but I do know that a transient society helps the con-man, and con-woman, to shuttle in and out of rentals, apartments, hovels, and jobs where few questions are asked, and even fewer answers found.


In a rather odd reversal of fate, or life-style, I was the odd one, on-the-go, decades ago, during the 1970s and 1980s, when American Society, such as it was and was not (and I’m still sorting out those actual facts and sham façades), was stable, stable enough that a landslide victory by Ronald Reagan was possible.


That type of political ship coming in is nearly impossible today, and the U.S.A, as well as many other “Western Democracies” are all the poorer for this climate of corruption and chaos that has been cultivated, fed, fostered, and fomented by a Ruling Class that does not rule, only consume.

And the cannibalistic consumption occurs at such an alarmingly rapid rate, it’s astonishing to observe how quickly voting “blocs” get tossed to the block, and forgotten, as if those persons never existed to begin with.  In the mind of the narcissistic user-politician, a person exists only for the vote cast, or concocted.


Many individuals blame the politicians for having bred a dependency class in the United States, primarily in the urban pits known as Cities.  I put the onus upon the individual.  The parasite known as the politician merely feeds upon the misery of others, attempting to profit from not solving any problem, and, in reality, bankrolling off of sabotaging any improvement to the human condition.

I’m both old enough and young enough to recall when living life in this nation did not involve working around the hideous deeds of the political class.  I’ve been able to perform those manœuvres of survival because of unintentional training in the home.  Surviving my family of origin required the use of my creative, analytic, intuitive, and rational skills.  I simply (which is not so simple) transferred from a private sphere to a more public domain my sharply honed abilities, talents that far exceed the levels of competence in the stupidly-coined “skill set”.


The Dependency Class is having an enormously difficult time not being fed, promptly, at feeding time, by the con-artists called Career Politicians. There’s no morality from an empty stomach; but, from what I’ve seen of the Dependency Class, of late, they’ve been pampered, drugged, coddled, gaslighted, zoned-out, and deceived for so long, they can’t get a fix on reality in the urban-zoo.

Their fix is on hatred, narcotics, and the numbness of an existence sputtered away in alternate worlds: pot-heading, digital gaming, online perversions, the types of vices also preferred, on a much more lavish and expensive scale, by their elected zookeepers and feeders.


It’s very sad to watch any human being not live up to the potential for which he, or she, was born.  It’s tragic to watch that individual refuse to reach individuality.  The human cost of empowering scoundrels has always been horrific.  My novel, THE DAWN, covers that macabre history fairly well.


I still, however, find it difficult to accept the truth that some people strive downwards.  It’s the dreamer in me that balks at such an unkind fate; and I let her, my Muse, object to, as much as she wants, and needs to protest, regarding what is, indeed, an objectionable oddity in life. For the majority of God’s creation, humanity, are good, kind, decent, and humble.


I don’t have any books to write regarding the swamping of America.  You see, I’m determined not to write pulp fiction, or formulaic sleazy pot-boilers.


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