Trump Marches on Washington For Economic Freedom


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Trump Speech:

I am here today to celebrate national freedom and economic justice for all Americans, white, pink, tanned and proud.

We have long had regulations lording over us oppressed businessmen of tanning booth sheen.  But I have a dream that the days of persecution are numbered, and that America will once again be the great nation it was when President Andrew Jackson kicked out the Cherokee people and made them march with their tails between their legs out of Georgia so we could plunder her gold reserves.

I have a dream today!

That one day, we will return to the glorious order of the segregated south, a separate but equal system uprooted by political correctness and communism.  Martin Luther King was a great man, like me, who wanted economic justice like I do.  For that reason, I propose an end to all regulations that restrict free trade, except in the steel industry and Canadian lumber.  CLEAN COAL!!!

And if men and women desire to hold, sell and buy slaves, we should abolish the abolishment of slavery, an institution that was good enough for Thomas Jefferson, so why not us?!!?

I have a dream today!!

That the bald will have hair, the toothless will have dentures that hold tight in the wind, rain, sleet and storm, during a speech, in the humidity of a Florida golf course, or on the dry cabin of Air Force One.

I have a Dream today!!!

That one day, my children will not be persecuted in my name, but will be the respected ministers of the American government they are!!

I have a dream, that peace will reign throughout the land not because of its diversity, but because our military and police forces will be so strong and lethal that all will fall in line with my will out of natural fear…

I have a dream!!!

That a man will be judged not by the size of his hands generally, but by his height and weight, by proper doctors like Ronny Jackson – who happens to be a rear admiral.

When I asked about getting a real admiral for the post (and my staff are working on this now), it occurred to me I could just move his “rear” over to Veteran Affairs.  He has been warned that his budget will be cut in half so that our current military can make a needed run for the southern border to protect us from all the brown drug dealers pouring over into Minnesota to sell our children pills and Americanized tortas and burritos at inflated rates!

I have a dream!!

That America will be great again, that slavery will return, that white supremacy will rise—which is good for blacks!  Look at my ratings!!  Look at the economy!!  Look at the stock market!!

Look at what we are doing today at the EPA!  No more will “No” be heard at the breakfast table of freedom, but Cheerios will be sprinkled with the sugar of “fuck you” and “who cares.”  Political correctness and environmental protection will die as sure as Christ suffered for our sins—except these regulations had it coming, while Jesus…  Well, when I read about him I will let you know what I think.

Fox News will be airing a show on the Christ soon.  Watch it!!!  The failing New York Times and Washington Post will tell you not to, and NBC will tell you lies that “Trump is bad” and “Trump is not a Christian.”

I am the most Christian person you know, believe me.

I am the least racist, most smart, least braggadocios, most truthful, most experienced president the country has known, who has done more for poor people and minorities than any president in our proud history has ever done—Believe me!!

I have a Dream!!!  Believe me, Dr. Jackson says my dreams are the best he has ever heard about, are signs of maximum health and success!!!

My dream is over!!

Hah!!  We’re living the dream.

I’m flying above you in Air Force One now, not because I have to (I’m privately rich and not in debt)—but because I love serving the people high on fast food sugar and fat.  All of this without a sip of water, Lil’ Rubio—all this without Comey’s lies and Mueller’s fake war record.

God bless you.  And God bless America.  This one, not the fake shithole ones to our north and south.

Thank you!!!


The president at that time was cut short by protesters.  He gave the sign for police brutality against them, a cutting motion with his hands.

Trump spotted Mueller in the crowd, raised his eyebrows, added “No collusion!!” on the microphone before approaching the special prosecutor for a meet and greet.  Trump tried to shake his hand, then go into a hug like the Comey White House shuffle, but Mueller just stared.

Trump pretended not to have asked for Mueller’s hand, looked for Melania, but she was praying at a local Tolerance museum.  He settled for a stroke of his own hair, double-timed for Marine One, happy with the speech, McDonald’s Big Macs calling him, Fox News and a needed trip to Mara Lago.


My March with Humanity


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March Collage3

-by Bill Watkins 4/13/2018


Learn to Labor and to Wait
—H.W. Longfellow

The last shall be chosen first.
—Jesus of Nazareth

Many are okay with the basic premise and founding of the current American government.  Even strong activists for change often come short of asking for full-scale revolution in order to create something pleasing to God between the oceans we call Atlantic and Pacific.

God’s will could be determined in the old spiritual maxim: It’s what happens. God’s will is “that which is,” is all things, includes all the bad things that happen, for without bad things there would be no good things.  The Tao Te Ching from China, “yin and yang” corroborate the obvious: the world and universe abound with opposites and contradictions, and as Ecclesiastes sings: “To every thing there is a season.”

This land we now call “America” against protests from north, central and south American nations was created by an unknown process some call God, others evolution.  People populated it after time, most say from Asian migration, and soon “nations” were developed by what we now call Native Americans, or American Indians.  They were care-takers of the land, lived off the land, protected and fought for life, with and against the elements, rival tribes—all the components you see in modern world politics without the concrete, asphalt and helicopters.

Animals prospered in a near-noiseless paradise.  There was no bible, no white man, just the native people, their Great Spirit and beliefs, customs, occasional wars for territory and honor—no guns, no widespread disease, short life-spans but in an eternally accepted cycle of eternal life and dance with the ancestors, a story not written in books but on the wind, on rocks, and passed down to generations through spoken narrative.

Then the white people came.  Brought their bible, armor, guns, forts, and a desire to either escape their old world across the sea, to make a mark on a new world, to bring riches back to their king or queen, even to become famous.  The white person’s love of land was limited and had seemingly reached its end, so a jaunt across a grand ocean to discover and inhabit new land was attractive.

The United States was and is an immigrant haven, a human hodge-podge begun in false starts and failures from Roanoke, Virginia to Jamestown—a colony saved by a Native American tribe’s hospitality and trade.  Native people knew how to live here, had the keys buried in love of land.  That was the real gold missed by white people:  Native American wisdom and love for land.  White people sought the yellow rock instead of ideas that would have allowed them to better appreciate a rock called England, rocks in Europe that marked the burials of their fathers.

The native chiefs struggled to understand why white people would leave their ancestors’ burial grounds to come across an ocean and steal theirs.

We know that the white man does not understand our ways.  One portion of land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs.  The earth is not his brother, but his enemy—and when he has conquered it, he moves on.  He leaves his father’ graves, and his children’s birthrights are forgotten.     —Chief Seattle

I think that wherever the Great Spirit places his people, they ought to be satisfied to remain, and thankful for what He has given them, and not drive others from the country He has given them because it happens to be better than theirs!   —Black Hawk

A man who would not love his father’s grave is worse than a wild animal.
—Chief Joseph


Disease of More

Oswald’s 6th and CIA Omerta
seem lesser concepts when compared
to native plight, the
White man coming, conquering
and killing in the night.

The mob our government has locked
inside, from Ivy League schools
or wherever nice but lonely
rich kids can be recruited to be
in a family of brotherhood and togetherness.

To gather around crime is tempting
and even easy.

We group together, then justify wrong
acts because our brothers are doing them too.

The mob speaks of omerta, taking
secrets to the grave, and the CIA
is of the same mold.

God bless us all to proud truth of
who and what we are;

No matter how sick, perverse or wrong—

There is always a way out and back
to love and goodness.

The gospels are there for us when
we ask, we receive.

Or the Tao Te Ching.

Or the native river, writings of thanks
written on the wind, the leaves
changing so why not us?

Give them their land back, and let’s go
back to ours.


Gold, Riches.  Indian Wisdom?

We sought many things.

The thing we should have taken back to England
was Indian Wisdom:

To love your land,
stay loyal to it, give to it,
and thank God for it every day.

“Have No gods Before Me,” God hollered
down to Moses and the people.

“Not even alcohol?” was proposed back
by a wide path called ignorance.

On “Ownership” of Land:

Some of our chiefs make the claim that the land
belongs to us. It is not what the Great Spirit told me.
He told me that the lands belong to Him, that no
people owns the land.

Why Should Indians be First, Not Last?

This is their country, not ours.

“Aspire for Less”

More and more, every day.

“Be As Children”

More and more, every day.

“Growing Down”

Become more as a child,
and prepare for heaven.

White People Must Leave.

Follow me.


Well, we didn’t leave, but have stayed.  Did we improve this land?  When I walk our littered streets and sidewalks, hear our helicopters roar in metal and burned earth, plug my ears against sirens, and watch wildlife hide and die, I say “Not Yet.”

Bad L.A.1

Not Yet

Was this merging good?

Not yet.

Was it a good thing, to cross the sea,
invade a land inhabited by nations
of darker peoples, and take their land?

Not yet.

What makes it good and right?

Welcome native people back to the table, look back on broken treaties, amend our relations, do right by them, God and nature, reduce pollution, reconsider our decisions, pray about our origins and the graves we left behind, repent, and…

Make available immediately spots on city councils, state legislatures and Congress for Native people to serve, spots not voted on by the greater population but by the pre-white people themselves.


Humanity.  We find it within ourselves to respect our place in this world, honor our parents, walk a fine path without stepping on our fellows’ toes.

Humanity.  Something Martin Luther King marched to secure, something that recently brought folks together in Atlanta, Georgia as we remembered the preacher’s legacy fifty years after his tragic murder.  Martin would have said, as he did when JFK was killed, that it was not as important “who” killed him than “what” killed him.

Racism.  Evil.  War and those who had sold their souls to wage it.  Greed, and those who felt they needed war to feed their families.  Deception and “covert action,” dishonesty and ruses perpetrated and manifest in back rooms, lonely cults and clubs of collusion called “Central Intelligence” and “National Security.”

The pious fraud that ends justify means, that “Martin must die to assure our war on communism wins.”  The racism that pervaded FBI and J. Edgar Hoover’s cold heart.

Can you march all that away?

Slaves brought against their will, packed worse than sardines against themselves, reduced to lower animals, whipped like miscreant cattle, their souls neglected by soulless, sad white people, who had lost humanity the moment they believed the lie that a darker person was not as human as a lighter-skinned one.

National poverty racial breakdown: (

Poverty Stats

A lie that still walks over trash-littered communities, homeless people and hard times—inner cities full of people, a high percentage black and descendant from the sin of slavery.  And our community, city, state and national leaders keep wearing their suits, driving nice cars, making six figure salaries, perpetuating a second great American evil after the native expulsion.

40 Acres and a Mule


They keep moving the goalposts
when the promise is inconvenient.

General Sherman in 1865 promised
a lie, just as U.S. presidents and generals
would go back on every treaty with
Native Americans from the beginning.

Just like Samuel asking for a king,
kicking God out of the post—

We all lose!!!!!

And so I’m waiting for my mule.  My
forty acres of land to work, its cash

Perhaps I’d like to be able to apply
for a grant to study my background;
how I got to America.

My guess is through my forefathers
whipped in chains, forced here against
their will—

I’d like to know that story better, visit
West Africa, grieve a few things.

Perhaps after the government of the
United States pays off its twenty trillion
dollars in debt, its land debt to natives—

Perhaps it can pay some of us African
Americans for our suffering from the
sin of Slavery.


We promised 40 Acres and a Mule after the Civil War.  Black people made physically free, but when promises were forgotten, Jim Crow rising, there was a funny race being run around a large oval of life here, one in which white people had a 200 yard head start in a 400 yard dash.  Could a black person in America make up that stagger without help?  Do white people owe black people for the sin of slavery?  Have we paid enough?



I took a Greyhound bus from Los Angeles to Atlanta last week, a fifty-five hour trip into the dark and light of this country’s southern section, along Interstate 10, for the lofty purpose of joining the Martin Luther King family in mourning their father fifty years after his death, and Marching for Humanity.

March for Humanity

I was a Phi Beta Kappa high honors drunk from UC Santa Barbara, always a fan of learning, not always so bright in life but a great manipulator of a faulty education system that does not seek to know and help its students on an individualized basis.  I was graduated from two high-rated educational institutions a full-blown alcoholic, the educators without a clue as to who I was, or worse yet: they knew and did nothing to help me.

It was not until I went to a recovery center in Palm Springs, California to support a loved one who had checked herself in for treatment, that a black man named Lee Harris, PhD, squared me up, talked with me, and spurred on truth from me that led to my spiritual awakening.  That was on February 7th, 1995.

February 7th, 1995

The scales lifted, the eyes clear.

Honesty, finally the truth at
twenty-two given with a tear.

“I’ve never had a girlfriend”
coaxed when the moment was right,
I let down my guards to finally
see the light.

You can’t be helped ‘til you ask
for it.  You can’t ask ‘til safe,
I looked left and right before I
truth supplied and saw that it was all
right—I came out!!!

I was unhappy, even though I had
friends after friends coming to my
bar-b-que party.

I was empty even though the trophies
and plaques on walls increased
and filled—attempted to fill, this would
have to be enough!

Spiritual Awakening—LORD, have me!
Done hiding it was safe to bloom,
and now, no more garden parties,

I separate the happy with the gloom
and see the world in poems—

I did not ask for permission and leave
another world behind: self-doubt, beer,
hollering around death, we put up
our hands at fear.

Trapped no more at Betty Ford
the 7th of February a.d. ‘95
ready to turn the boat around…

Trapped no more you want more
and more so ditch tomorrow for today.

They criticize you and analyze you
as you smile and accept today


Greyhound reflects our country as it stands: the pollution, the lack of care, running on fumes, burning fuel and making noise on roads that cut across fine land, wildlife and us trying to breathe and hold onto life despite the temptations and actions to take, buy, use, sell at will.  Thank God for thoughts toward preservation, Teddy Roosevelt, John Muir, white people with a will to think of tomorrow and saving beauty against Trump-like corruption and greed.

The drivers and Greyhound staff were fifty percent angry, eighty percent surly, the passengers (especially in the back) prone to cursing and filling lungs with cigarette smoke at every little break in travel.  Littered butts in cracks unsure and unaware why they were so anxious and addicted to smoke.  The native American student in me, the spirit in me manifest in my adopted native name “Naked Horse” knew that this was the wide path to destruction spoken of by that rebellious rabbi Jesus Christ.  Many are on it.

All I could do at some point in my trip was to find a makeshift ash tray, promote and help these people to rethink cursing and smoking—certainly littering our mother.

Honor Your Mother


It’s not just the woman who bore
you, folks—it’s the Earth that moves you.

The Mother who spins on axis, swirling
around the sun and stars on time

So we can wake up and live and try at life.

So how on Earth can you litter?

Throw your cigarette butt, already littering
your lungs and heart on her?

What devil inhaled you, when you
decided to inhale smoke, killing yourself
slowly over many years?

God bless us to honor our mother.

To live a long time in this land, we
must honor her, and fight to keep her

Honor your mother, man.

Honor your mother, woman.  Honor that
which gave us life, and never

throw trash on her, no matter how low
we go; turn around, it’s better to go
back to pre-civilization, pre-religion,
living naked with the natives than to
roll around in this human-made muck,
helicopters and sirens calling out a warning
shot to the Father god that we don’t care.

Send Samuel back, and ask God to be
king again.

Shhh!  Listen.  Close your eyes.

See yourself caring.  Loving.  God bless us
to honor our Mother and care.


If I had to grade Greyhound they’d get a “D,” so I guess they passed, despite yelling at passengers, forgetting that customers are first, and that dirty and broken is no way to present a service to any people, let alone this striving young mix trying to find itself still called “American,” anything but united.


Ahh, the many sins and shadows of this America!

Killing Kennedy, Martin, another Kennedy, Lennon—great voices for peace, anti-war all, the CIA lurking, supporting the murderers of Oscar Romero in El Salvador as well, locking up “classified” documents to preserve violent and/or embarrassing secrets in the supposed interest of “national security.”  Nearly fifty-five years since they took over our government, the Langley spooks still finding it hard to disclose, admit and tell the truth about our pious, national security securing murders.

I marched against this.  I mourned with the King family on April 9th, from the King Center in Atlanta to the front of the Georgia state capitol building, Martin enshrined in statue there, a confederate general named Gordon in back.

Georgia State Capitol Collage

I arrived in Atlanta after my fifty-five hour Greyhound sentence a better man made better by good conversations and challenges, one by an Atlanta native named Jarvis, who seemed to dabble in civil rights, philosophy, history, politics and comedy when not working hard in the produce trade.

He warned me that besides the King activities in Atlanta that weekend, there was a Neo-Nazi rally outside of town.  Lo and behold, in my second full hour of being in Atlanta, walking down Peachtree Street, I spotted and heard three masked skinheads revving loud dirt motorcycles through downtown, looking around menacingly and angry.

A young black teen, who I later learned was an actor on a Showtime series about Chicago, was taping the confused racists with his cellphone.  I promptly approached him, and put my arm around him in solidarity.  We talked about Martin Luther King’s approach of loving our lost, sick white brothers—an approach born from Christian and Gandhian study and application.  I waved as the loud, hating white bigots motored by, I hope not with sarcasm but with invitation to openness and love, and they were gone.

A glimmer of hate returned before we Marched on that Monday, as a dreadlocked black man called all who spoke at Ebenezer Baptist church that morning to re-enact and commemorate the MLK funeral procession of April 9, 1968… “crackers.”  He called every speaker “corny,” looked me off when I looked at him, called me a “cracker” too, as I stood watching a live-stream of the Ebenezer events, holding flowers for Dr. Bernice King (Martin’s youngest), and an American flag bearing Martin’s face with a quote I had purchased online months ago in preparation for the march.

MLK flag

Was he there for himself?  Was he paid to hate?  Did he just feel jealous?

Whatever the motive, I believe a show of hate at a memorial or funeral is empirically off-base, insensitive, inhumane, and frankly: insane.  God bless that man wherever he is, and God bless the skinhead revvers, who do not want to be unhappy, but have bound together with a gang of hate to feel loved, protected and a part of a community—albeit a bigoted, violent one.

I myself almost jumped in with a gang in Pasadena, California once, tempted by an end to loneliness.  By an illusion of family and friendship…


So there I was, after the bus test, a tough journey but without bricks thrown or fires set, murders committed—as happened during the Freedom Rides of the 1960’s, Freedom Summer in Mississippi, a time of war to seek the fulfillment of Jefferson’s ironic promise of equality for all American citizens.  Native people were not included in “All men are created equal.”  Women not in the statement, children, nor of course Black people. Jefferson, in his Declaration of Independence, would have been more honest to write: All white men are created equal, but that he did not perhaps was a clever road map that future activists could follow.

Native people still live, breathe and fight.  African Americans still march, as evidenced last Monday, for Humanity, justice and equality—caring white people like me locking arms in the struggle not just for one people, but one to recognize all God’s children as worthy—a universal good that makes my own peace of mind rise, every Christian needing others to thrive for him or her to make a path to heaven.

Success is a peace of mind, knowing you did the best you could to be the best you were capable of becoming.   —John Wooden

Could the word “success” in John Wooden’s quote be replaced with the word “heaven?” Where is this all going?  Another march?  The beginning of a program to distribute needed blankets to Atlanta’s homeless?  The end of private campaign spending, which corrupts this land?  The beginning of a new welcome mat to native Americans into our political process?  Guaranteed seats for natives at our decision-making tables?  Restitution for the sins of slavery?  For murdering our own president in 1963 and covering up the evidence, failing to admit our sins?  For continuing to support a CIA, who’s secondary mission of secret-keeping and covert action is undemocratic and unaccountable to the People?  Their Twitter bio blurb talking about “going where others cannot go, accomplishing what other cannot accomplish?”  I’m American.  Are the CIA?  Can I not have the same rights as they?  “A right to murder?”  No thanks.  “A right to keep secrets?”  No thanks.

God bless us to a truthful America.  To one that looks back when necessary and makes amends for past sins.  To one that pays all its debts, financial and moral.  As an alcoholic with sixteen years of sobriety I know the value of glancing back to amend, the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous actually written in the past tense:

12 Steps of A.A.

1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God, as we understood God.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
5. Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
7. Humbly asked God to remove our shortcomings.
8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood God, praying only for knowledge of God’s will for us and the power to carry that out.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.


Is America alcoholic?  Is it a place with people on it, prone to doing good an evil like any other place, perhaps a wide path going bad, a narrow path heading in a focused way toward peace of mind?

All we can do sometimes is just to march.  And pray.  Put in good work and hope for the best.  Saint Paul’s work and faith; Longfellow’s laboring and waiting.  Lao Tzu telling us we “cannot change the world,” while Wyatt Earp reminds us it’s okay to try, that rebellious rabbi saying “stay the course” in that staggered race, because if in the back for whatever reason:

You are spiritually winning, heading toward God and heaven, the path of the rich a much harder one unless you know where to find a very small camel and/or a very large needle!

March collage1

March collage2

Honor Your Mother


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It’s not just the woman who bore
you, folks—it’s the Earth that moves you.

The Mother who spins on axis, swirling
around the sun and stars on time

So we can wake up and live and try at life.

So how on Earth can you litter?

Throw your cigarette butt, already littering
your lungs and heart on her?

What devil inhaled you, when you
decided to inhale smoke, killing yourself
slowly over many years?

God bless us to honor our mother.

To live a long time in this land, we
must honor her, and fight to keep her

Honor your mother, man.

Honor your mother, woman.  Honor that
which gave us life, and never

throw trash on her, no matter how low
we go; turn around, it’s better to go
back to pre-civilization, pre-religion,
living naked with the natives than to
roll around in this human-made muck,
helicopters and sirens calling out a warning
shot to the Father god that we don’t care.

Send Samuel back, and ask God to be
king again.

Shhh!  Listen.  Close your eyes.

See yourself caring.  Loving.  God bless us
to honor our Mother and care.

College Scam


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John Stuart Mill was the first to go through
what we went through, the modern
liberal arts education.

He had a nervous breakdown, before any
of that education was of any use.

In all the classroom work, and work, and
work some more he had never

learned how to Live.


The basics in life; feelings expressed, a friend
with whom to talk about real things, no guide
asking him what his dreams were.

Parents’ dreams are another thing, and while
I believe in honoring them, that does not
mean doing their will over God’s for you.

Who is asking you what your dreams are?

If you are a child, and no one is supporting your
dreams, break out now before it’s too late.

A nervous breakdown awaits, if you think
“college” will sort all out for you some day.

Sort it out now.  Live Today!!!!

“And ascending and secure,
Shall tomorrow find its place.”

“And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.”

Alcohol for burning things, youth for free expression
toward our dreams.

Obstacles, teaching Gradgrinds driving facts
as fictions, such as “college” prep over Life
Prep we must overcome

“Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.”

Break out or breakdown, live your true
purpose or be sheep to shear and slaughter
on the way to shattered hope.

Choose a higher power, step away for
truth to shine, get strong and build your
spiritual home invincible against

the wide pound of rain that has been
other peoples’ ideas for you.



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I am not white.

They call me white, those who seek
to box me in, probably from pain of
being boxed in themselves.

Black, brown, tan and pink—the color
of skin and hair, eyes that care,
the multi-colored reality that is
difference, in the soul…

which dreams to be free of your
restriction or theirs, color blind
to the time or look, the thinness of
superficial appearance having nothing
to do with the substance of life’s

the journey a neat ride of overcoming
obstacles, unless you choose to die.


I chose to live, after my friend killed
himself; I overdosed twice trying to
decide what “death” was and that if
perhaps I wanted to taste it.

I hurt myself, I found God through
the muck of alcohol, drugs and lies,
the kind that divides—doctors’ offices
stealing from the public treasury so
our sidewalks fester in trash, cracks
and flies—

No intentional harm done, but the
devil running us away from God into
that office.

“Please, person with multiple college
degrees, tell me what to do.  My life

SAY IT!!!! the devil hopes, SAY IT!!!  Put
your life in a doctor’s hands, put your life
in a fellow fallible human’s weakness,
and I, sayeth the Punk, I have you!!!!


Or say no.

Say no to waste, to superficial haste,
to judging because you once were judged,
turn the other cheek as Jesus advised,
or do nothing as Lao Tzu supplied.

For nothing is a far cry, and far better indeed
than doing Something dumb.

God is the Best Health Care


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Believe in yourself!

Believe God made you right, perfect
for who you are and when you were born—

there is nothing wrong—are you alive?

If “Yes,” say “Thanks!” and go help
someone in the few minutes we get
on earth to make an impact!

Pray to something big.  Live good days,
and if you feel a lot of pain—

bearing a cross can yield a rainbow from
the rain!  No pain and no gain my sweet,

I gave a few bucks to a dentist once to
pull out my teeth!  Grateful for that, and
some doctors’ expertise.

But let’s take all Western Medicine with
a grain of salt—not alcohol!  Let’s be a little
tougher, know it’s okay just to let
nature heal us—

Something that can’t be done very well
in a metal box firing down the freeway at
seventy miles per hour.

We have to live on the ground a bit to truly
see the vision—see your power!

“I have a vision,” the sober say when they
wake feeling good like a child at Christmas

We deify too many things, but relax:

It’s exactly as it seems!

Words are the glue we spew to fill the seams.

The talk of equality nothing compared to
the Dream!

(It’s a Martin Luther King thing!)

95 theses tacked on a door to rise up
and live while alive, avoid the place
where too many flies fly—

Keep as clean and sanitary as you can
without obsessing and calling your
doctor now, then and again and again.

Trust your body!  Believe in yourself!

Take up your bed, Lazarus!—or Bob, Robby,
Ricky and Mike—Darla, wouldn’t it be darling
to don the smile of the healthy while the
health appeared to be falling.

“Fake it ‘til you make it!”

Read a Henry Longfellow poem, better
yet a positivist Ella Wheeler Wilcox rant!

“Optimism” reminding us that when you
speak health, God will hear your words…

And make them true.

Pyongchang 2018


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Winter Olympics 2018 Collage

Mike Pence should get her a
hot dog, for what else is the Games but
a chance to be human and celebrate

She came from the North, sister to
a Korean prince, and during sixteen
some-odd days there was peace
on the Peninsula—

And why not?

Wasn’t that why we had a United Nations
after the horror of two world wars?

We forget to love—that being the doom
of man, that and calling ourselves
“Christian” while we talk of waging
war and giving bloody noses to people
we don’t want armed and nuclear, again
forgetting our own arsenal, that log in our
eye picking at our neighbors’ splinters.

Pyongchang, rhyming with the North’s
Pyongyang—for sixteen days one unified
Korea in a glimpse of what could be,
the shining face of sports for all to

The North’s delegate above the American
“vice president,” so why he doesn’t look up
is a mystery, unless the awakening alludes
him, the one that taps us all on the
shoulder at different times in life to say:

“We are all human.”

Pence missed the first moment to win
the gold of brotherly love.


There are always two prizes in sports,
the trophy, the “win,” and the one we
garner when we shake hands—the friendship,
the nod for sportsmanship.

One Korea, a unified team brings tears to eyes
of people who love peace, while folks
who talk and believe in war and division poke
holes and criticize.

One day at a time.


Shaun White, Shaun White, the red mop
flying in the night, now with less hair full of
passion, focus and talent, a final jump into
the abyss that can kill on the way down,
“Gravity” thwarted but not beat, Einstein’s
bent space curling gold for the U.S.

Lindsey gets what she needed, another medal
like Bode’s in 2014, a great bow with Julia
covering events for channel four Los Angeles.

Athletes from Russia were tough as always in
the Winter Games, but Norway being Norway,
Sweden and the Dutch on fire.

Canada came to play, but the U.S. ladies borrowed
the gold back in hockey, the men as good
except in penalty shots, which require flare,

the Russian lady skaters showing plenty,
ballerinas on ice, old school beauty, while
jump obsession infected many skates minus
the spirited Adam Rippon putting art first.

American guns shoot children, while
activists debate murder as self-defense.

Meanwhile in Asia are lost arts and philosophies
of the martial kind.

The Sage is fully self-aware, aware of surroundings,
and is ready to help—abhors lethal weapons;
has no real use for them.

The preference in self-defense is never killing
but the restoration of peace!


And so the hot dog not bought, the frown
of the Pence in front of the sister of
the Northern Prince.

A sense of humor, a poem, a joke—anything to
cut tension was and is the gold we want
as we snowboard toward another medal
ceremony in winter snow, White’s tears
melting on the close of another Games,
four years in the making, four years from
the next time to make the snow light up
in Olympic flames.

We are at peace, and for those who are not
may we make a prayer.

The two trophies for achievement
and friendship, may you have them both;
Shaun White with three golds now, amended
for the little trash talk in Vancouver, grown
up and back from a misstep in Sochi.

He is the Most Valuable Athlete in the Games
for me, though you may put yours forth.

We watched Shaun grow up, and may he
help the next generation shine.

May we all rise up beyond our sports and
put love into every corner of the Earth.

It is not what we get that counts as
much as what we give.

“America First” dies gloriously when we embrace
humility and generosity.  God sees the lowliest
effort and rewards, so give up keeping and guarding.

Give all you have. Reach one more time past what
you think you have, because a power greater
than yourself has more.

Appeal.  Receive.  Reach for the finish line,
and make a lot of friends along the way.

A little life is lived every time the Olympics
torch is lit.

As this Olympic Games ends, I grieve a little
bit but gather steam to tackle my life
with the gold medal spirit I just saw on
display, a Korea unified in Peace.

Pray for the warriors and guard Olympic
flames and dreams for the young and small
just for today.

Jump into the stands and hug your mom.

Vow to never lose like that again.

Thank God for the win.  For weather in
your favor.

For being the best GS skier in the world,
but realizing that effort may leave you weaker
in another discipline!

We are so human!!  Wait, did your see the
Russian girls skate?  Maybe we are sometimes

We strive to overcome our shackles and restraints,
Shaun White one more time off the pipe…

Land, squat, Repeat.  We lost a bobsledder.

Land, squat. Repeat.

See you in Beijing…

Land, squat.  Repeat!

To Los Angeles:


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50/50 with a Fringe on Top


Welcome to Betty Ford.

We must recover, many of us know this,
but have we admitted yet that we have
a problem?

L.A. is not the greatest city in the world—

But it could be.

It could lead like the LAPD in Lethal
Force Policy—Matt Johnson and the
commission talking De-escalation,
Obama taking notice, the nation
watches and seeks good Ideas.


Something whose creation money cannot

Private Campaign Spending should be
now and forever outlawed, right
next to hiring a pedestrian cleaning
force—call them “Street Angels”—

We must clean this city from the bottom
to the top, let’s trim the budget of
fat—like the bloated salaries of political

This is supposed to be a humble service job;
how much did John Adams spend to
become President?  I think it was $0.00
because he was a lawyer with land in
the private sector—

I recommend to our leaders that if it
is riches you want… Invent something.

Get out in the private sector with your
skills, which should be protected by
the public sector… and make a ton of

City Council?  The Mayor?  A Police Chief?

A Supervisor for the County? Where wages
start at 200,000 dollars a year?

And we wonder why graffiti plagues us—
it’s a revolution, a rebellion saying “Screw
you, suits!  You have forgotten us, are not
protecting us, are not maintaining our
roads, sidewalks and communities so we
formed a gang to secure ourselves.”

“Gangs” could be budgeted out of existence.

Maybe fund Animal Services to enforce
every code instead of running a public zoo.

Enforce every code.

Don’t play with illegal fireworks—

eradicate it.  Budget them away, put our
heads together, take a walk from border
to border in your district and note how
many clogged storm drains you see.

People tell me sometimes, watching me
clean, that the problems are too vast
and deep—and what you clean today
just comes back tomorrow!

So come back tomorrow and clean again.

God bless us to rethink our bloated
salaries, “benefits” which often include
non-emergency “health” care which government
should never grapple.

“What is health?” is answered differently
by every person, like choosing a religious
faith—in fact my health program is my religious
faith (Christian Science) and by the First
Amendment, Congress shall pass no law on it.

Wake up!

Lazarus, take up thy bed and follow me
into the fixable gutters and graffiti of L.A.,
the bombs exploding from June through August,
the rebellion—folks without a voice, disenchanted
with you, voter turnout poor, as we shake
our heads at the mailbox—

Filling up with the Trash that is private
campaign spending.

“Vote for me!” on an expensive post card.

“Don’t Vote For Her!” in despicable color
and glossy font.

While our sidewalks crumble, the Homeless
waiting not on “housing” as much as
a purpose.

Give us day labor posts, a morning lineup
for a job to clean our city for eighty-five
dollars a day.

I’ll be first in that line, let’s fan out, out
of our offices and suits, but if addicted to
them, give me a bib and a broom, pay me

and watch this place start to shine.

Our budget should be fifty percent
safety, fifty percent infrastructure.

Anything not related to those two things
should, like fringe stuck in a storm drain—

be taken out

Trump Afraid of Success


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-by Bill Watkins 1/22/2018


Success is a peace of mind, knowing you did your best.
—John Wooden

Some people are addicted to people-pleasing.

Some people are not yet enlightened.

Some people walk the wide path to ignorance, fear and destruction.

Some people are racist because their father was racist.

Some people lie a lot because their father lied a lot.

Some people are violent and support violence because their father did.

Some people are Neo-Nazi/KKK sympathizers because their father was.

Some people are easy marks to be compromised by foreign intelligence operations because they are loose with sex and are highly in debt to foreign banks.

Some people never thought of others, or completed even an hour of community service work, then become the President of the United States because the President of the United States has only age and place of birth requirements.

Some people cheated to get elected by recruiting help from a foreign adversary.

Some haters allowed that to happen because they hated someone named Hillary and another named Obama.

Some people treat objects like Women, man!  Then treat money as a means to filling a never-filled, empty soul of hatred and fear of non-white skinned people.


Now, about Donald Trump…

Soft on CIA for 70 Years


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Our Complicity in Crime and Deception

—by Bill Watkins 1/17/2018


According to their corrupt, criminal-leaning Twitter bio blurb, the Central Intelligence Agency accomplishes “what others cannot accomplish,” goes “where others cannot go.”

They have been that blatantly un-American and pompous since their formal christening on the White House lawn in 1946.  Not without reason, the group was spawned from world war, fears of communism’s spread.  Fear was allowed to legislate, similarly to how President Andrew Jackson legislated Cherokee Indians off their native land to get to apparent gold reserves.

Greed and lust are neighbors of fear, it’s safe to say—a fear of not having enough.

Fear kept slavery around years after it was outlawed in England.  Few in the South could conceive of working their own land, having become addicted to the lie that their white skin made them superior to dark-skinned people.  Fear kept the slaves in line until the 1860’s blow-up of war and a start to freedom.

Fear reared its head in Jim Crow South, was confronted and defeated by Martin Luther King Jr. and others who harnessed the teachings of Jesus, God, the bible and a little man who kicked the British out of India after World War II.


But fear keeps the CIA in operation, even with their shady, diabolical mandate:

CIA Mission

“…conducting COVERT ACTION” and “safeguarding the secrets that help keep our Nation safe!?!?!?!?!??!!?” In a democracy?  Secrets?

No, thank you.


I’m all for discretion in diplomacy and government action; wait until all the information is there, then decide and publish. That is fine, to me.

But Secrets???  I don’t know a healthy one.  And I can’t imagine one surrounding the Murder of John F. Kennedy fifty-four years ago, for instance, that cannot be known by all Americans and the world today.

Oswald’s attorney post-death, Mark Lane, used to claim that in many cases, the CIA and FBI classify documents and information as “Top Secret” simply because it embarrasses those agencies.  In his book, Plausible Denial (Thunder’s Mouth, 1991, pp. 121-3), Mark relates a conversation he had with ex-CIA analyst, Victor Marchetti, who had written a tell-all about CIA activities that was not allowed by U.S. courts to be published until certain redactions were made.  (The CIA and the Cult of Intelligence, Knopf, 1974)

While defending Marchetti and Liberty Lobby against a 1984 libel suit by CIA’s Howard Hunt, Mark asked Victor about the redactions in his book.  None of the redactions had anything to do with national security, according to Lane—but all of them had one common ingredient: agents would be embarrassed, if the true story reached the public eye.

Mark then includes an example where the CIA spent American taxpayer money to cut open a cat and place a recording device in its tail, so they could get a feline grab of foreign leaders’ conversations at an embassy party.  The experiment failed, when it seemed the cat was more interested in caviar than espionage, and finally became obsessed with critter noise in the embassy walls.

The anonymous call to that embassy enlightening them on their rodent problem was an expensive home improvement tip to make, paid for by American citizens, locked up as a covert operation, classified “Top Secret.”

The CIA and FBI justify redactions and in keeping entire documents from public view with Section 102(d)(3) of the National Security Act of 1947, which states:

That the Director of Central Intelligence shall be responsible for protecting intelligence sources and methods from unauthorized disclosure;

(4) to perform, for the benefit of the existing intelligence agencies, such additional services of common concern as the National Security council determines can be more efficiently accomplished centrally; (5) to perform such other functions and duties related to intelligence affecting the national security as the National Security Council may from time to time direct.


What happened to Congress?  The Bill of Rights?  Democracy and transparency in a government supposedly run by the People for the People?

Slinking around secretly, killing, plotting, stealing…

Quite a resume for admission to the peace-loving United Nations!

That the United States of America would host that organization in New York is comical in light of all the acts of war perpetrated by CIA, from propaganda campaigns to propping up dictators, assassination programs and other war games too long to list, and too secretive to fully expose.

Martin Luther King has been widely quoted of late, as he should be.  A quote that keeps arising out of racist remarks from the White House refers to the complicity of those who do not stand up to such remarks:

“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”

The CIA—its Howard Hunt, Frank Sturgis, and anti-Castro Cuban killers—were not the only ones to kill John F. Kennedy on November 22nd, 1963; Martin Luther King on April 4, 1968; Robert F. Kennedy on June 6th, 1968; Archbishop Oscar Romero on March 24th, 1980; and John Lennon on December 8th, 1980.

We all kill Jack, Martin, Bobby, Oscar and John every day we fail to probe into facts, call out the lies, demand justice, transparency and true democracy from our government. Our government, not the post-World War II perversion that is covert CIA, an organization which still plagues truth and accomplishes “what others cannot accomplish,” and goes “where others cannot go.”

Senator Diane Feinstein and Congress slapped wrists hard regarding George W. Bush-age CIA torture, but today I appeal to her and others to go further.

Join me, reader.  And go further!!