The spirits of our ancestors

The spirit world will prevail.

Religion, to borrow the hippie cry about war — what is it good for?

Independent of religion, there may exist a spirit world, and an afterlife. Spiritualism is far and beyond the pop culture of Christianity, Islam, and several other religions.

The Romans, in their life Before Christ, believed in ‘the gods,’ that is, more than one — polytheism — and in spirits. They believed the spirits of their ancestors watched over them.

This was a working and relatively civilized mindset. They did not impose their religious beliefs on the people they conquered in battle.

Then along came this guy claiming to be the ‘Son of God’ and upset the apple cart.

Who was this man, Jesus Christ? Was he a madman, a drifter and a grifter who pulled off the greatest hoax in human history? Or was he, in fact, the son of God? If he really was the son of a good and merciful God that deserves to be praised and obeyed, then somewhere along the way, something went hellishly wrong.

The religion that Christ spawned battles other religions — Islam being the most dominant — for recognition and prominence. Christians and Muslims fight each other with self-righteous fervor and a violence that degrade a sacred belief that could be the ultimate truth. They turn religion into a brawl more befitting the lowlife that populate political parties.

The spirit world will prevail.

Religion has become an ugly business, while the spirits — and yes, one hopes, the spirits of our ancestors — dwell in a sane and genteel space somewhere far beyond religion.

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The Shakespearian tragedy is over

The Don fights the Swamp — Swamp wins

Politics is an unpleasant but intriguing distraction, like catching a glimpse of a cockfight from a Greyhound bus window on the road to Nirvana.

American Daze Purple Haze saw enough of it to witness the heroics and insanity of the Trump era — riveting theater in which a non-politician took on the corrupt Establishment and knocked it on its politically correct ass. Many characters entered and exited from stage right, and there was much excitement and many shocking plot points. But in the end to no avail.

And now that it has ended and the chief protagonist has left the stage, American Daze Purple Haze has zero interest in hanging around the theater for the next play, a tedious farce with a hideous cast. In fact he’s so disgusted with the whole American spectacle he wants to change his name from American Daze Purple Haze to WhoGivesaRatsass.

As the new old actors enter from stage left, WhoGivesaRatsass leaves the theater and walks away and as he walks away there comes a skip to his step, quite comical it is to see him skipping on down the street, and now he’s running… running fast… and now he’s leaping in the air like Spiderman…

This is much more fun than bad political theater.


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Hope is hard to find on the road to nowhere

The body politic is diseased.

American Apocalypse

The body politic is diseased, its stench rises like foul air from a sewer. The disease is riddled with corruption and lies and it is repulsive. People react with fear, hate and violence, which like a covid, is contagious and spreads across America.

The cities become unlivable, people flee to the suburbs, hatred and violence in hot pursuit. Citizens are hounded and terrorized, their homes invaded. They call 911 but no help arrives, the police have been eradicated and America is over medicated.

Opioids, booze and angel dust, help us Jesus, in God we trust. Angels love and the devil hates, take your pick, choose your poison, poison your opponents, it’s an art form in Russia.

What can we do? asks the common man and Susie Q. Will my vote make a difference, will a different party of the same old corruption make a difference, or is the party over?

Lunatics throw slogans around like firebombs — Black Lives Matter, Blue Lives Matter, All Lives Matter, but in the end nothing matters as they topple statues and topple the presidency and you abandon your residency.

You head for the woods and live in a cabin and arm yourself with automatic rifles and when you run out of ammunition you hit the road with nothing to lose.

Everyone you ever loved is dead so what the hell, you live free or die on the road to nowhere.


Art by Ralph Steadman


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