Thursday, July 10, 2025

Frankenstein

Jeffrey Epstein was a pedophilic monster. But he has become something more: a Frankenstein created by Trump-supporting MAGA conspiracists. And now that they have power, the creature they built has come back to haunt them.

This is a Gothic tale of a political movement forged on social media conspiracy. It was politically useful to stoke fear, outrage, and anger when they were on the outside. But now that they hold power — and “the file is on my desk,” as AG Pam Bondi so memorably declared on Fox — they’re cornered. Either they produce the goods, or they have to figure out how to destroy the monster before it destroys them.

One tried-and-true tactic: distraction. Launch a new, juicy fake scandal to draw attention away — say, an investigation of former CIA Directors John Brennan and James Comey for the “Russia, Russia, Russia” thing. But it won’t work. First, it’s old news. No one remembers or cares about Brennan and Comey anymore. Second, the Russia investigation already happened — multiple reports, charges laid, convictions obtained. It’s been done to death.

Tactic number two: bury it. This is proving to be a debacle.

The official FBI two-page memo dismissing the Epstein case raises more questions than it answers, giving it the unmistakable stench of a cover-up. One reason is obvious: Epstein and Trump were Palm Beach party besties in the mid-’90s, during the very period when Epstein was most prolifically raping 14-year-old girls. Common sense says the likelihood of evidence linking Trump is pretty high.

“The client list,” which the memo claims does not exist, was always just shorthand for the well-connected, high-powered ‘johns’ to whom Epstein trafficked girls. The overwhelming evidence is that he did exactly that — and we know one of them was Prince Andrew, despite his well-publicized denial. Whether a literal list exists is irrelevant. What does exist, according to the memo, is “a large volume of images of Epstein, images and videos of victims who are either minors or appear to be minors, and over ten thousand downloaded videos and images of illegal child sex abuse material and other pornography.” The memo also claims Epstein had over a thousand victims. Yet no further investigation is warranted? It makes absolutely no sense.

Then there’s Epstein’s jailhouse suicide on August 10th. The memo repeats the official autopsy findings, and to support them, approximately 11 hours of poor-quality surveillance footage has been released — from a camera on an upper floor, trained on a lower-floor common area leading to a stairwell (mostly out of view) that goes up to Epstein’s cell. It settles nothing. It only adds to suspicion. The fact that a minute is missing from the video is almost incidental.**

There are so many anomalies and lapses surrounding the most high-profile, loathed, and feared (by the powerful) inmate in America at the time:

- There hadn’t been a suicide at the facility in 14 years — until Epstein’s.

- Epstein had already attempted suicide on July 23rd. At the time, he had a cellmate: multiple-murder and drug-conspiracy suspect Nicholas Tartaglione. Tartaglione was cleared of any involvement, no details given, and Epstein was removed from suicide watch after only six days.

- His new cellmate was removed the day before his death, on August 9th.

- The evening he died, Epstein met with his lawyers, who described him as “upbeat.”

- Epstein’s last phone call was unmonitored, against protocol, and was originally reported as made to his mother. In fact it was later determined to be made to a number in Belarus.

- No suicide letter was left — only a note complaining about large bugs on his body, burnt food, and a guard who locked him naked in a shower cell for an hour.

- The initial report said Epstein was returned to his cell at 7:49 PM. The video (and the FBI memo) shows he was actually led upstairs at 10:30 PM.

- After 10:30 PM, the guards didn’t do their scheduled rounds. Instead, they falsified logs. They claimed to be asleep, but the video shows otherwise.

- The camera near Epstein’s cell wasn’t recording.

- In violation of protocol, Epstein’s body was removed before crime-scene photos could be taken.

- The autopsy raised questions: the neck wounds, whether a bedsheet could cause such injuries, and whether a man of Epstein’s height and weight (1.8 m, 185 lbs) could have hanged himself from the top bunk. There was blood on his neck, but seemingly none on the sheet. Post-mortem photos show bottles and items still standing upright on the bunk.

If you’ve read Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, you know the monster is chased all the way to the North Pole by its creator, who dies trying to catch him. Similarly, this Epstein-Frankenstein will not die in the cold. It will survive in the server farms of social media. Those who gave it life will spend their remaining credibility trying to silence it — or be devoured by what they cannot deny.

** Since posting this I have watched a fascinating YouTube deep dive into the facts surrounding the missing minute as reported in the initial investigation which suggests that it may not be as incidental as first thought and could indicate something nefarious occurring. 

Wednesday, July 9, 2025

The Nervous Breakdown President


Tariffs are on. Tariffs are off. Then on again. Ten percent. Twenty-five. Forty. Two hundred. Back to fifty.

Vladimir Putin is a nice guy. Then he’s not. Bibi Netanyahu? Not a nice guy—until suddenly he is.

We’re withholding arms from Ukraine. No, wait—we’re sending them.

What we’re witnessing is not policy. It’s not strategy. It’s not even chaos in the traditional political sense.

It's a public nervous breakdown of the most powerful individual on the planet.

I’m not a psychologist. But to my untrained eye, trump doesn’t belong in the White House—he belongs in a hospital ward.

When someone is in the midst of a nervous breakdown, they’re in severe mental distress. The stress can cause irrational thinking, paranoia, mood swings, verbal incoherence, sleep disruption, difficulty with basic decision-making, and disconnection from reality. It often looks like someone struggling to function in daily life, stumbling through tasks they once handled with ease.

Sound familiar?

And here’s the thing: there’s a known set of guidelines for how to treat someone going through a breakdown :

1. Create a calm, quiet environment. Remove stressors, noise, and triggers.

2. Keep the person comfortable and secure.

3. Stay calm yourself. Your composure can help stabilize them.

4. Offer non-judgmental listening. Avoid confrontation.

5. Validate their feelings. Offer support, not challenge.

6. Avoid criticism or shaming. That only escalates the situation.

Now think about how successful foreign leaders and domestic allies have handled trump in public settings. They’re not conducting diplomacy. They’re managing a psychological crisis.

Bibi’s figured it out. So has Zelensky. Macron too. Even Keir Starmer and Mexico’s Sheinbaum seem to get it. These leaders aren’t negotiating with a peer. They’re keeping the environment "safe" for a volatile man with immense power.

His advisors and enablers are caregivers.

And the media? They’re not just failing to call this out—they’re participating in the performance. They play a part, obsessing over his outbursts, his latest contradictions, his every move. They shouldn't be broadcasting his daily inane, babbling media scrums. But when they do, they should be followed by panels of psychiatrists and mental health professionals, not political pundits. 

This isn’t policy inconsistency. This isn’t political posturing. This is instability playing out on a global stage, and too many institutions are complicit in pretending it’s entertainment.

He's not getting help. He’s surrounded by people whose jobs and ambitions depend on him staying upright. One prediction I can make with confidence is that it’s going to get worse. The only thing I can't say is how bad the consequences will be.

Monday, July 7, 2025

Gardening


I read at least one poem

every day.

It comes to me from the internet

by email.

I open my email and say to myself,

what kind of cornucopia is this?

That a poem should just appear

to insignificant me

every single day?

How wonderful is this world?

Poetry sprouts in my inbox

like a garden,

digital seeds

blooming 

with expressions of love,

and hope 

expressions of need,

and wonder,

beauty,

and paradox;

I will be the gardener,

weed

to make space

for growth.

Sunday, July 6, 2025

Serge Fiori

CLICK HERE TO HEAR THE SONG


Je voudrais chanter en français,

Comme Serge Fiori et Michel Normandeau.

Comme les nuages dans un ciel blanc et gros,

Comme la pluie qui remplit un bateau.


Que sais-je ? Qui suis-je ?

Dans mon pays, avec ma famille.

Avec mes amis, dans cet ennui

En chantant une chanson de Serge Fiori.


Je ne sais pas composer harmonie,

Ni les concepts d'ontologie,

De quoi il s'agit, De quoi ça signifie,

Peut-être que c'est juste de la folie.


Que sais-je ? Qui suis-je ?

Dans mon pays, avec ma famille.

Avec mes amis, dans cet ennui,

En chantant une chanson de Serge Fiori.


Je me pose des questions, 

Sans réponse et sans du sens,

J'aurais préféré créer une danse.


Ma copine appelait la police,

Après avoir fait sa valise,

Elle s'est libérée de toutes mes crises.


Que sais-je ? Qui suis-je ?

Dans mon pays, avec ma famille.

Avec mes amis, dans cet ennui,

En chantant une chanson de Serge Fiori.

Saturday, July 5, 2025

The World Is Perfect

CLICK HERE TO HEAR AUTHOR READ


The world is perfect -

the sky is vast and biblical

as the Sistine ceiling.


Down here among the mortals

water laps at the side 

of our aluminum hull 

like a loyal spaniel.

Waves lift us,

gently lower us,

in rhythm

to the moon's clock.

The magnificent fireball sun 

extinguishes salmon pink

behind shoreline trees,

cottage lights blink on

signalling that fish 

will soon be biting: Quiet 

anticipation.


A carefully chosen lure 

wobbles and jerks

mimicking prey, catching

the day's last rays  

in weedy depths,

flash of chrome

to trick pike or bass 

into suddenly attacking -

turn predator into prey.


Who will be lucky

who not


                STRIKE!

               (like a missile)

      our cradle skiff 

jolts, rocks

        with violence

and surprise.


Senses are returned quickly  

by the work at hand,

shriek of whizzing reel,

command of bowing rod,

tug and splash

of struggle -


the primal desire 

to be free.


In a few minutes

the dorsal fin 

full of spikes surfaces,

sleek elongated body

about the length of an arm,

green with yellow spots,

tail flapping like a small flag -

toothy prehistoric mouth

hooked clean 

between lip and snout;


tired now,

too tired

to fight 

anymore.

Wednesday, July 2, 2025

The Work I Do


The work I do

is write poems.

I call it work

because it takes

time,

concentration,

and effort.

It’s not work

in the sense

of money—

which is okay,

because

if I got money

to write poems

it would ruin it.

Tuesday, July 1, 2025

CANADA DAY

HAPPY CANADA DAY!

CELEBRATE 

SOMETHING TO ADD TO YOUR PLAYLIST