A reply to Fintan O'Toole by a 75 year old American Poet living in Guatemala

  

There was much controversy in the election of Donald Trump as future president of America. I thought I'd seen it all until I witnessed the rage and protest of the mob not getting their own way.

The educated masses are in bewilderment, the liberal elite aghast and the racists and the xenophobes are out in gleeful mood. Ireland's own Fintan O'Toole wrote an excellent piece on his view and our own William Joyce replied.  

Letter to Fintan O'Toole of the Irish Times

                   Guillermo O'Joyce

                   Antigua, Guatemala

                                            Dear Fintan O'Toole,

                                                                              Thank you for your fluid and far-reaching perspective on King Donald the XIV.  But His Majesty would never have gotten into a position of running for Power if he hadn't been worshiped because he had Money.  And money is nothing, a dreary medium of exchange inflated to Godhead. And the people who have it are Zeroes, dull personalities turned to vultures, who can't sing a song nor tell a story.  Worse, they have no ability to listen to a story nor sit still for a song.

                                                                              What is called an Upset in Politics is nothing more than a Mirror Reflection of a lot of people outside the power centers crying  out for revenge against the college-educated power brokers.  And whether they are from the Rural Areas, the college towns, or the derelict cities, they all share the same phenomena: they eat bad food, drink bad liquids, and gulp each day an astounding array of pharmaceutical pills.  The U.S. is a nation of junkies, a desert whose soul jumped into a gear box in 1998.  

                                                                             Had Donald Duck or Chauncy the Gardener been elected President of the U.S. it wouldn't have mattered.  None of the 100 million voters got up this morning and praised the amazing miracle of the hydraulics of their intestines that ushered mounds of shit into the toilet bowl thus granting them Resurrection.  No!   One group is celebrating a defunct Casino Manager while the other group is now on the streets protesting his ascendancy.  It is only a pretense this protest on the streets.  What this mob is really upset about is their mother's advice: "It's not What you know but Who you know."  

                                                                             The college professors enforced Mother's advice by preparing their wee charges for exams, not Life.  Now the suck-asses from the colleges and the cities are flailing in all directions, blaming their lack of direction on  a pathetic ex-groper who's in shock now that he's running the show, in shock that he may have to redeposit all his caustic remarks into the vault of the always-neutral Money Machine to be laundered like the real estate funds that vaulted him to power.  

                                                                             If language can't spare the children of Aleppo, Laos, India, and South Chicago, it is Nothing more than a front for the Bullies to lubricate their Killing Machines.  Get rid of it.  Let's have silence while we wait for the bombs to fall.  Let the bodies pile up.  Give the birds and the stray cats and the streams a chance to breath.  

                                                                            Finally, none of this is new.  It is only a reminder of what an Irish poet said in 1916:  "The worst are full of passionate intensity while the best lack all conviction."