In the real world, there are no safe spaces. The real world is caustic. Painful. Merciless.
As Col. Kurtz remarked in Apocalypse Now~
“We train young men to drop fire on people, but their commanders won’t allow them to write “fuck” on their airplanes because it’s obscene!”
Same applies in Killing Jane Fonda. The work deals with her and the
types of people who held orgies on the altars of Catholic Churches and betrayed men at war. Those people deserve no quarter and thus, none is given. There is no sugarcoating their actions, activities or vernacular in the series, which has been adopted and adapted for the purpose of telling this story.
Who were the assholes starting shit in the streets while this toddler watched his father writhing in the agony of phantom pains on a green carpeted floor; his mangled body extruding slivers of shrapnel from behind odd patches of skin used as a donor area to cover his nubs?
My adult self is aware they could give zero fucks about that Sky Soldier nor his child witness.
One of the kindest women I have ever dated lives in Chicago. Our politics matched, yet she often connected among the political well-to-do as a function of work, the types who supported for president the likes of those who’d leave Americans to die in a firefight without support, despite it being available.
Bill Ayers, a Weatherman, populates that crowd. In fact, he sat with her playing the piano. None the wiser until we discussed the era’s activists, she regarded the monster as soft-spoken, appeared kind and was proud of his walking cane collection.
Ah, the good ole puckish days.
Feral, twenty-something youth from the expensive side of the tracks, imbued with a false precept of superiority afforded them by education and pedigree, protested for recreation. Aged now, they sit at pianos enjoying life.
They have time to write memoirs.
They have a life to recall the fun times.
They wish they could stop time at their moment yet time stops only for the dead.
We are inside submarines at the bottom of the sea. We are in the bathtub waters of Pearl Harbor, entombed in the USS Arizona. We are one with the air over Germany, having exploded into a mist from what was moments before a bomber.
We are in the dirt on Pacific Islands, Europe, Korea, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam.
During the Vietnam War, servicemen in their last moments of life realized they would never see their loved ones again, hold their wife or have a chance to cradle their child. Meanwhile, on college campuses and in the streets thousands of miles away, people carried signs proclaiming he died a monster.
I can’t get over that thought.
Jane Fonda personifies every anti-American activist that fought to see us fail. If it weren’t for Her and Tom Hayden’s IOPC lobbying Congress, BUFF’s could have eliminated the NVA out in the open on the march to Saigon. Instead, we cast South Vietnam aside and committed to death hundreds of thousands more fleeing the regime in boats.
I saw it on TV.
DC did nothing.
They washed their hands of it all in the blood of 57,939 men and women on the memorial, not counting the wounded.
The era’s America and spineless politicians left the Veterans to their own devices, families included, to question the value of sacrifice as the voices and actions of the likes of Fonda held more value to decision making than the men executing the action.
I needed to address her, address the Weathermen, address the POW experience and the extended families. As players added, the larger this project grew until 180,000 words took up space on the hard drive.
Within all that text, I decided the climactic events compacted into one work would detract from the impact intended from each. Moreover, how this initial release is received may dictate, in some cases, how the story develops and perhaps, how it ends.
The means to an end remain.
Getting there is our journey.
I’ve done my best to avoid error and deliver a good read without some publishing house behind me or resources to spend on polish. Regardless of error, I believe this story valid.
Finally, on the art of writing.
Events in the book resemble reality, pulled from some element of truth found in dozens upon dozens of books read.
By no means, a biography, emotion from personal experience is repurposed to write unrelated scenario.
As the whole 180k words are incomplete, this is the first joyride at the circus. Hop on brother’s and sisters, and let’s drive this bitch to the end.
Wisdom comes with age Jane Fonda confesses. In the news recently, Fonda indicated she was the victim of rape and sexual abuse in her youth, stating that it changed how she carried herself through life; admits that wisdom has come with her age.
Wisdom comes with age underscoring the 20/20 hindsight. An emotional event, such as this, tweaks the mind. Even though we all have free choice, know right from wrong, I reckon the privileged in lofty castles, out of touch with the pauper, might be prone to disregard the realities the common man lives, works…..and fights in.
Having to study her has long provided insight. It’s provided comparisons I’d rather have not considered.
In biographies, she’s called a chameleon, able to change to her setting. In fact, what’s happened to her, perhaps shaped her acting.
On the negative side, she confesses an inability to ‘free think’ and say or do exactly as is requested by someone in charge.
When did this change?
When was she abused?
I’m wondering if she was just a ‘normal’ privileged girl (absent the love of her father and mother — a whole other discussion) — an attractive, puckish teenager at a dance with a hatpin in her hand, pricking the backs of necks of doting boys she danced with.
The revelation adds more to her explanation. She is not very different, I don’t think, she still showed up at the Keystone Pipeline. Is she making up stories to excuse her past?
I don’t think so. Bragging on a large stage about such abuse is no small matter and as a woman’s advocate, she’d harm her cause otherwise.
The warrior loves to sling beer, talk shit and be braggadocious about what they would or wouldn’t do whilst taking turns to visit the urinal and pee on a target with her face in the middle.
At the end of the day, warriors young and old who have or have not seen, been in or have been directly affected by “the shit” the right thinking man, or woman at the end of the day should consider who they are having served and consider her with pity, because….because that is “themis,” a concept the denizens of Hollywood know little about.
Hatred the emotion is of the Devil. Hatred is the taste of blood in your mouth, iron-like but coagulated like warm spoiled milk. Hatred is verdigris on your tongue, that green film one finds on a penny exposed to the elements.
How does it root in the heart of a four-year-old?
The boy remembers it’s rot, feelings of dirt on his soul, animosity at any Asian seen which to him, all were Vietnamese and culprit for his father’s maim.
Youthful ignorance, untaught and uncultivated, conclusions defined in a toddler’s mind, a worldview no farther than the living room floor, in daylight rain coming, his father writhing again in agony as if he were a slug caged in a salt circle poured by war.
It didn’t matter to a three-year boy. Only one thing mattered. Only one thing affected him. His mind hadn’t developed enough to realize that his father Luke was different from everyone else’s dad. The boy only knew that he loved the man and that something violent had wrecked his father’s body leaving him in agony.
In that little section of the world in the deep south surrounded by bayous and swamps, living on the silt plain precipice of a muddy bay named Vermillion, he could not realize his status as less than a chessboard pawn. The political world reserved that monicker for his father contorting in agony on the floor before him, phantom pains of legless nubs gnawing him like salt on a worm.
Benghazi (clown show went to sleep to make a campaign trip next day)
But it was a video.
But hey, at much lamenting he allowed the SEALS to off Bin Laden but killed off the team with BS ROE in Afghanistan…..
Tonight’s speech was a powerful reminder of how much better the nation will be when the ink in Obama’s pen runs dry, and his government cell phone contract is dropped.
I don’t care if this MoFo was a Dem or a Repub, I decided to keep an open mind about him after the election, give him a chance, after all, he was touted as a “constitutional scholar”. –> we got “I have a phone and a pen.”
“Hey, we have a black president, maybe he can be a role model for inner-city kids” –> we got a racially divisive, cop hating, domestic terror supporting virulent Marxist-anti colonialist imbued with the hatred of his butthurt father and mentors.
Ayers and the Weathermen
I know about Bill Ayers. I know about Alinsky — a person cannot exist drinking the dia’rhetoric from anus’ such as those two and truly lead the people of a nation like this. The corn never falls far from the turd and Ayers, Jeremiah Wright, Alinsky, Jarret, Abedin are some of the biggest pieces of shit that have ever slimed the planet.
I feel sorry for people that don’t have the ability of self-determination or critical thought because they are blinded by the scrim of racist tinted glasses leaving one unable to objectively analyze bias, biased media and investigate claims by the propagandists within. Goebel’s said (Alynski repeated) the mantra, “Tell the lie long enough, it will eventually become truth….” But the O’Admin rarely had to go as far. They just told the lies, and everyone else lapped it up like sugared ‘truth milk’.
In reality, for some, Obama could visit their house, kill the family, rape the dog, suck off the cat then shit in the mouth of the surviving denizen and tell them it’s chocolate. The survivor smells the shit, knows it tastes like shit, knows it IS shit, but will do a happy jig and argue with the cops it was chocolate simply because Obama said so.
That’s how f’d up people can be — what really is the content of the character in this man, what is truly in his head, what were his grades in college and what courses did he take? We never knew.
He bragged about a post-racial America. No, it’s worse. The shit I’ve seen has hurt, made me hurt for friends who’ve been ashamed. Perhaps, in the future, a real man (or woman)(non-glablist), with the character of MLK can step in and lead, minimizing the voices wot call him an “Uncle Tom” because he’s not toeing the Democrat line.
He can be a centrist, and independant…hell, a Dem, a good one like from the old days, as long; as long as he can lead the majority of the country that doesn’t live in the Ivory Towers of either coast (especially H’wood — fuck you Meryl Streep).
So goodbye, Obama you anti-American POS. I know you’re getting flushed, but I sense your stench will infuse the media for plenty of time to come. Maybe I’ll get Trump to re-sign my retirement paperwork, it’s about as valuable to me as the journalism degree.
In a recent post, Bill Ayers happened to be in the news while I was heavily working on an edit of some old writing. It goes without saying, after so many starts and stops over the years while working on this, my skill level changed, my maturity changed and so forth. The premise remains, this still is the truth.
An important development–I’m splitting KJF into a series for a few reasons.
A 50k word novelette is easier to manage than 180k of unfinished scribbling
One climax per series!
I just didn’t like the idea of trying to cram so many “highs” into one book.
The notoriety of the short product will pave the way for the follow-on
Feedback will help me tailor the writing all the way to the end result.
That said, every time I work on this chapter, I get angry–that goes without saying.
Writing is fun…and a chore, especially when (reference above) redoing old work. While pressing through, I balance between two genres, two personas–the PDF is downloadable here: The Rape of Donna Ron.
The issue is much larger.
The truth is more malignant.
I’ve known about Donna Ron since around 2003 where she was mentioned, I believe, by David Horowitz in his book Destructive Generation which I have used for inspiration throughout this book.
Donna was raped in 1964. Fast forward to the election of Obama in 2008.
When it became evident that Obama and Ayers, a rapist, a radical domestic terrorist were intertwined, Obama sought to distance himself. After 8 years of Obama, he performed as expected — he performed as someone no more than a ‘community organizer’ — a trouble maker.
At the time Obama backpedaled on the relationship, he said, What Ayers did, well that was forty years ago.
Say you move into a new home. You befriend the next door neighbor. Then after a while, he was a pedophile, a child rapist that was busted forty years previously. Would you trust him around your children? Would you still be friends?
For the Obama’s, who spent twenty years in Wright’s,
Not God Bless America…God Damn America
Church but heard nothing — retaining the relationship is par for the course. His ‘legacy’ reflects it.
While in college at the University of Mississippi, during my second year English course, long before I decided to write anything about Jane Fonda, I realized I had a talent for writing having extended the ending of A Handmaiden’s Tail, one of our assigned books. We students around Ole Miss at the time regularly rubbed shoulders with John Grisham (rumored to have had Brad Pitt as a guest which translated to hordes of sorority girls hanging near his fence). In fact, I sat across from him a few times at the Beacon Restaurant on a few occasions but our interactions never extended beyond a nod or a smile.Killing Jane Fonda (KJF) on the other hand, enjoyable to write but its been a work in progress for almost a decade.
I’d always wanted to write something — and eventually developed an idea I titled, “The Last Drive-in” but never began writing; the idea for Killing Jane Fonda (KJF) hit me like a brick taking its place. There’s a story to its inception, development and the long, long — very long process which has me here, editing a post I wrote in 2014.
A day job doing things like, you know defending your country and war stuff slows the down the process.
Consequently, instead of spending all my time overseas, I did write Soul Tool for fun, an experiment, a ‘practice’ in writing shall we say that is ultimately for the benefit of KJF.
I owe an entry on KJF’s birth — personally, I think it’s amusing.