Once we’ve settled in on the problem, we must pursue a solution. What do we do about it, and how do we go about doing it? Win the hearts and minds of a few young mothers, about the need to avoid vulgarity and road rage, then teach their children. What of the fathers, you might ask? But in this society, my question is, what fathers? Society is riddled with absentee men.

If we can persuade a few young mothers, they will also persuade a few of their friends in casual conversation and begin to teach their children verbally and by example. Within a generation or two, vulgarity and road rage may begin to abate, then random, senseless violence will begin to abate, if the influence among subsequent generations is widespread. Somehow, love got lost.

Our language got too lax, then our rage got too widespread. This has not happened before, because there has not been the technology until recently. It’s understandable enough, it’s just not excusable. If every other word is vulgar, it brings anger, contempt and eventually rage. People cannot understand why it manifests in acts of mass murder, because they’re not thinking.

The kind of language I’m talking about, brings on murder, because it dehumanizes other human beings, just as technology of all sorts dehumanizes human beings in one way or another. That’s alright. Stop cussing each other out, in and out of each others earshot, and it may defuse incidents of rage. Defuse that, and mass murder may abate, because our fellows develop feat of clay.

Accept the fallibility of your own humanity, and that of your fellows. Accept the human capacity for error, both great and small, in all that each one of us does, and give up resenting other people’s shortcomings, as you give up resenting your own. Accept the frailty of others, and your own as well. Once you’ve succeeded in accomplishing that, you have truly done a day’s work.

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What we’re facing as a nation is some hard truth. It’s something we all have to face, and make every effort to change, or we will destroy ourselves as a culture and a people.

We all have to deal with the human condition. Possibly traveling at lethal rates of speed, in otherwise uncontrolled chunks of steel; somebody makes a bad decision all too often. But why would we ask God to damn what we want him to bless? Our language, our states of mind, are ours to choose, and we’ve chosen road rage, vulgarity, anger and hatred, behind the wheel at 60 mph.

Granted, it’s only natural. Nonsense. As human beings, we have the choice to control our language and our feelings, to a much larger extent than we give ourselves credit for. Let’s start with language. Words have power, meaning and authority over our feelings and behavior. If we give into vulgarity and rage consistently, one of us is going to get a gun, and start killing people.

If we choose to swallow the instinct which becomes rage, and choose some other reaction, any other reaction, choosing anything else in place of vulgarity, whatever it is, and we’ve won that battle that time. I’m one who has a disorder which effects my feelings and emotions, and I know all too well, how hard it is to swallow anger and vulgarity, and disarm rage, nipping it in the bud.

But that one absurd behavior is what we’re called upon to do. Practice colorful speech some other place than behind the wheel of our motor vehicles. Practice verbal and emotional restraint when we manage our car. Be honest with yourself, and make healthier choices when lives are on the line, or someone is going to continue to act out in the ways people have already been doing.

Quit telling ourselves, and our children, the words of anger, hatred and rage when we drive, and mass murder will begin to dissipate. Take responsibility for our language, and feelings will follow.

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Don’t have any idea what to write about. There was this guy outside my door giving an as-a-matter-of-fact testimony about nothing whatsoever, for a long time this morning. Holding forth, the problem with that, is that there’s too many people anymore, and no one has the opportunity to be an individual, because there’s just not enough space left among us, for anybody to do so.

There is a prayer warrior in the atrium this morning, making ceaseless entreaty to her maker, for all and sundry prayer requests and petitions to the Almighty. He may be able to listen, but it’s getting on my flipping nerves. She doesn’t know what else to do with herself, therefore making an unending, urgent plea for some, similar nothing, for that which was pointless testimony otherwise.

Now, these are two, entirely different characters I’ve been hearing from, almost simultaneously, hold forth in a most disconcerting fashion, unendingly. No one can effectively tune either one of them out, it seems, while I’m already on the last nerve of my very thin patience, at the end of my rather short, proverbial rope. Next, my darling dear sits stoic at the piano in the atrium, to endeavor.

She could stand rehearsal, but having been a church organist, she knows that the human ear listens to the most intrepid sound, first and foremost. Therefore, she plods along, whether accurate or no, and makes attempt at certain preconceived pieces. It’s all a little tentative, but she ends up making music after all, and the greater part of the population of Watauga Hall endorses her.

At inconvenient intervals throughout our tedious day, we of the very beleaguered Watauga Hall, are all required, once again, to endure an unidentified woman’s, preemptively loud entreaties to her maker, to Lord only knows what end. It just seems to me that she’s inappropriately vying for attention she ought to be getting behind a locked door, in the White Room we don’t have here.

Hours have passed, and we’ve all had our lunch, to tend to our basic needs and cravings at table, at our noon day. I’m back in my room by now, where my love just moved onto other endeavors elsewhere, after being ever so warm and tender with this old geezer that I am. We all need someone we can let down with, and my Anna Kate is the one for me. She’s the MacGuire I said.

She’s old enough now, to change her name, the way it says in the song.

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The current administration is getting some alarming press, and one cannot help but wonder whether the public will become alarmed enough to put down their cell phones, to venture out with anything decisive about this national crisis.  Are we going to take professional evaluation seriously?

There have been licensed psychiatrists make public statement that Donald is dangerous, and unfit to remain in power.  The government has refused to yield to these reports.  It is incumbent upon the people to take a stand.  What’s it going to be, Google what I’m saying until you loose interest, or take to the streets, to hold the man responsible?

This is not 1776 or 1861, or even 1970.  This is 2017, and the time is at hand.

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It was an honor to be asked to write about the trees.  Since trees have been closest to my heart, I could not write about them without writing about what I feel.  The woods have been my safe haven, my asylum, like the quietude in the middle of me, that place nothing can penetrate.  That place within me, which nothing can conquer.  I built a mighty fortress within me.  It’s walls are silence, it’s floor is still.  It is safest there, of any place.

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One of the benefits of having the deluxe model laptop to work with, is the advanced document retrieval system. The system has a built in temporary file system, where your work is automatically saved, independent of whether you give the command to save the file or not. You may also draw the file out of that temporary folder, if your system looses power suddenly, called autosave.

Since my blog is either formatted in wordpad or notepad, which is a real time document, like most systems are, even in most versions of word. I like to write blog posts in my own word processing program, to utilize the autosave feature I’ve grown so accustomed to, on this processing system. Having spent the extra, I find this goes the extra mile in the matter of document retrieval.

It’s a luxury I like to enjoy with all my word processing of any substance.

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It occurs to me that this document has very little in common with the word format I’m accustomed to using.  Therefore, it obviously has different properties than word.   In fact, I think it’s notepad, which I have never specifically used anywhere else, but I guess I don’t mind addressing it somewhat.  It seems somewhat elementary, but I can manage, long as I don’t loose power.

My Ladykin has been here, in my humble abode, with her helter skelter computer.  Always lost in the bowels of her system works, who knows what she’s trying to accomplish?  She works hard, and produces nothing, apparently.  The dictionary in this program is very limited.  The document she’s trying to write does not stand a chance of becoming documented.

It seems she does not know the basic commands in word.

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