Wednesday, February 16, 2022

14,151. DISTANT LAND

DISTANT LAND
I sometimes like to live in a
normal world, yet this is all
imagination. I can't tell the
image from the real.
-
Everything remains abstract 
for me, and I feel that's the
only way it should be. Those
places I remember, they come
from some other place: maybe
other routes I've never taken 
again, but I can't tell.
-
I remember things, like concrete
towers and oil wells, yet I know
I've never been there and cannot
find the way. Distant land, distant
land, oh beckon me again!

14,150. THIS PLACE

THIS PLACE
So this place is yours and
we can keep it together: All
that distant noise is what's
left of the world  -  dowagers
and gamblers and constables
and field-hands for the Mob.
-
The bank-tellers aren't talking,
as their fingers near the bell.
In only a second, the alarms 
will go off at headquarters and
we'll be sunk in our shoes.

14,149. MAKE IT OR BREAK IT

MAKE IT OR BREAK IT
The capillary runs the heartbeat
like a baker runs the Army. And
that's all I know. Step Two is
always a pre-condition of want.
-
The textbook from which I took
all of this has now been burned
again. It's ash and rubble sits
piled where so many other books
also burned. At the end of time
there is no language left.

14,148. MY WAY OF SAYING THE WHOLE CREW IS DEAD

MY WAY OF SAYING THE 
WHOLE CREW IS DEAD
In a sort of paranormal infestation,
in about 1965 they hung a banner
on Avenel Street. Right across
from where the old St. Andrew's 
used to be. It said 'Woodbridge,
NJ, Sesquicentennial City.' I 
used to laugh at that.
-
Such enormous laughter I never
knew, for I knew the entire crew.
All idiots, hardly able to even
say the word, let alone spell.
It should have said, 'Woodbridge,
NJ, First City In Hell.' No matter
now, that place is long gone.
-
Bogus enchiladas. Bullshit tacos.
Double-burgers made by the Devil.
Big Macs with sauce made by thieves.

Tuesday, February 15, 2022

14,147. MESSAGE ME HOME

MESSAGE ME HOME 
Tinkerbell in the star-lit sky,
come here I wish to talk. The
way through the heavens is
now growing dim and I wonder
shall I ever return? All these
humans, with their myths and 
stories, twice-told and three
about every little thing. The
Gods made the Gods but who
made the Gods? They live in
a conceptual ring.

14,146. MY FIRST GIRLFRIEND

MY FIRST GIRLFRIEND
...Was pretty much naked all of
the time; which never bothered 
me much. I was learning quickly 
how these things worked. A coffee
and a cigarette, in the morning, to
review the night before. I always
remember, now, thinking back,
that guy from Queens I used to
work with. Craziest guy I ever
met, he'd come in nearly every
day to work complaining how
sore his dick was from the night
before. And I met his girlfriend
(from Queens also) and just had
to stare  -  I couldn't stop myself
from looking at the treasures there,
of which I'd already heard so much.
Day after day after day.

14,145. I THINK IT'S THE CRAZIEST THING

I THINK IT'S THE 
CRAZIEST THING
How we live on this planet, seemingly,
to talk and to talk alone. Jabbering
on inconsequentially, as if it all did
matter. When it doesn't at all. Your
opinion of that new packaging is 
very nice, yes. I'm glad that brand
new play is to your liking; the plot
makes sense, you say? Hooray!
-
There's got to be more of a 
semblance to another reality here. 
First and foremost, it gets pretty 
boring, I'd say - Yes, sometimes: 
racehorses and football guys, 
pretty much the very same thing, 
going around and around again
to beat their line or place their
finish, in some memorable way.
-
I lift mine eyes from the dreck
my stumbling heart lives in, and
wish I were someplace else indeed.

14,144. FANTASTIC MOVES

FANTASTIC MOVES
This fire moves like venom.
Among the weeds of story
and rhyme, the flash of the 
flames astounds. I remember
the Iranian girl who used to
get my name wrong. 'Gady'
was all it ever sounded like to
me. I'd sit and think: 'Maybe
she's right; after all, I don't 
actually 'own' the name. It's
just another word to designate 
something vague? And anyway,
who knows what I'd be called
if I was somewhere else.'
-
I've read about those method
actors who's take a role and
take a name, and live it to the
hilt. DeNiro driving a cab to
get the ropes for Taxi Driver.
Down just pat? Then who is
who, and after all what's that?
-
Pacino grabbing ass on his
co-star of the moment, and
Brando, acting rude and surly:
All for the part, and the part
alone. So, I ask  -  what then's
in a name?
-
There's some silly science for 
everything that is; whether it's
acting or stage and charting 'stars'
as the celestial things are called
as well. I actually do think they
came first. Funny figures of an
ancient fame, all outlined in a
passing sky? So what's a name,
and who am I?

Monday, February 14, 2022

14,143. WICHITA KIMBERLEY

WICHITA KIMBERLEY
All the names were upside-down
and I could not see a thing. The
preacher-guy was preaching, and
then they started to sing. Up in
the choir loft, Papa John was in
command. The songs were great,
ringing out o'er the land.
-
All things at once, I wanted to 
know. A crazy curiosity overtook
my mind : seeking solace was not
enough. There had to be meanings
beyond the meanings I'd not seen.
If I was still at home, I'd know
just what to do.
-
All the lines of every song : One
total completion of living.

14,142. DEAN DEADLY

DEAN DEADLY
One time, in space, that
wrinkle came back, that
wrinkle in time we hear 
of. Dean Deadly scoffed.
Having coffee we were, at
Small World Cafe, some
sidelong glance of a place
down Witherspoon way.
-
'It's a world of declamations,'
he declared; and I thought
that was kind of funny so I
laughed. 'What's so funny
about that?' I was struck by
how deadly he was.
-
Outside the window, still
another car or two wrangled
for the early-morning spaces.
That Mexican girl went by,
as she does every day. They
file off the early-workers'
bus and amble to their street
of kitchen work.
-
It's not the best of worlds, but
at least it's not INS, and the
Princeton wealthy just have to
have their food  -  served and
prepped by slaves, though
of another brood.

Sunday, February 13, 2022

14,141. AN ICELANDIC MAIL BAG

AN ICELANDIC MAIL BAG
'Carrying something to the edge
of the clouds, you cannot drop 
anything, for there it disappears.
Minds go empty. The wind tries
rustling through an empty grove.'
-
I got up, and told the guy who'd
written that he'd missed the mark.
-
'Too many things all mixed in a
cold bag of nothing.' I never did
like these seminars : fish-schools
of poetry-fools trying to dimly
outwit each other.
-
Now I'm here. They're all gone
and only this memory elapses 
my time. They were working
stiffs, in Westfield, NJ. From
Merck, no less, which gave its
workers some money-incentive 
to 'better' themselves. Free
credits to nothing at all.


Saturday, February 12, 2022

14,140. OVER TIME

OVER TIME
Over time, things slow up.
You can see it everywhere.
Those great yet beleaguered
cities break down, as they
eventually crumble. What
soars are men's towers, but
never their dreams.
A person tries counting, or
outlasting the count, or then
running from it. Nothing works:
the Autmn leaves will still
fall beneath a cold November
sky, and all we are left with
are regrets and old dreams
where an oasis once was.
We thought. We think.
Over time, all occurs.
 

14,139. ALKA-SELTZER AND HOW CAN THIS BE?

ALKA-SELTZER AND 
HOW CAN THIS BE?
A young boy like me always sought
to remember. Contac and Alka-Seltzer,
way back when. Like a dissolving
mind, Contac claimed 'time-release.'

14,138. WINTER WET WOOD

WINTER WET WOOD
A day strapped in too long;
a companion self to nothing. 
I leave a lot to chance, in this
confiscation of a life; which 
is how I see things now. With
everyone a captive to something,
there is nothing left.
-
The ladderback chair seems
here ready to topple, with
that big fellow sitting upon
it. He's eating some sort of
seeds, sunflower perhaps,
and spitting them out to the
wooden floor.
-
Even that little movement
wriggles the chair. I wonder
if he knows, or realizes - like
that pebble thrown in on one
side of the ocean that creates
a tsunami on the other, all
things eventuate, and he 
too will soon enough be 
on that floor?


Friday, February 11, 2022

14,137. THIS IS REACH

THIS IS REACH
This is reach, and I feel
not alive anymore: Reach
is as far as I can go, the
depths of my feelings, the
intensity of my likes and
dislikes too.
-
Once, at the Brooklyn Navy
Yard, I had visited the studios
of various artists who'd invited
me in. It was a Mother's Day
weekend, as I recall, and I do
recall only because I witnessed
one of the people there stop
what he was doing and 'text'
his mother his Mother's Day
greeting. I'd never seen that
sort of thing before.
-
We sat around, for what seemed
an endless amount of time, on
a quite warm day, in a heavily
glassed-in atrium cafe. The
views of Manhattan were nice,
though I'd seen better angles
before. Then later, while we
walked around  -  the old slips 
and piers had really attracted
us; more my style than was 
the art-studio stuff  -  a harbor 
police guy on detail to the
Navy Yard/Wallabout Bay
swooped down and threatened
us with arrest if we did not leave
those pier areas immediately.
 -
I said, 'What the fuck? What's
up with this? I get invited in,
to visit, and I get treated like
this?' My anger bordered right
there on crossness. The guy
put his hand to his nightstick,
and he also had a holstered gun.
So I hastened to back off, and
apologized instead. 
-
Figuring it wasn't worth dying as
an innocent over, I rolled, and
we left. But it's always stayed
in my craw now some 15 years
later, how when you give power
to some unworthy shithead, it
goes right to their ego, and pumps
up their image of what 'self'
should be.

14,136. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,246

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,246
(all things at once: pt. one)
Always having problems, 
that was me. Often enough 
anyway. The unforeseen is 
usually what gets you. Lots
of people, in that regard,
recede or fade back. Mostly
I just went the other way: into
the maelstrom, as it were, and
head-first into the storm.
-
New York City was a weather
central for me, in 1967: get
on the bus Gus and all that. 
It brought me right into the 
center of everything I'd never 
known about. A person can
learn a lot from sticking two
arms into fire. I used to watch
the TV images of those Buddhist
monks who would 'immolate'
(nice word for burning oneself
up) themselves as a protest of
some sort against whatever the
heck was their problem in
Vietnam. I'd think, 'Boy, they
don't mess around.' I never
was able to figure why it went
that way, except maybe in their
Buddhist conception of separation
and detachment. But that was
really extreme, except that once
you're in that 'moment,' the
rest comes easy and just plays
itself out. There's no turning
back. Out along the Bowery, it
seemed pretty much the same  -
all those ancient drunks guys,
wham-doodled already out of
their skulls by alcohol, just
kept making the same step,
over and over, and if nothing
anymore mattered. I connected
that to the same emphasis as the
Buddhist one. Even though I
knew I was way-off and wrong,
the idea at least gave me something
to stay with as I viewed the new
world I'd entered.
-
When a person piles too much 
upon one small pivot, it's apt
to topple. I got to thinking, years
later, that perhaps that's what I
had done. Too much of nothing,
and too quickly too. No wonder
the house fell down. I was just
a kid still, from a dumb place,
where I grew up professing little
but wanting to escape with less.
The streets of Avenel didn't harbor
much 'learning.' The people were
dull and straight to the grindstone
sorts, who went to work and
struggled, and to whom the
actual idea of being there  -  a
strangely swampy hell-pit cut 
out of shiftless woods  -  was
achievement enough. There
really wasn't enough in that
place to build a real 'character'
from. It was a lot of 'drone'
stuff before there were drones.
The plodding-people kind, not
today's airborne-camera things.
Trying to think back to the 
days of being a kid, I can 
recall any number of old 
people I'd meet, but none 
of them ever said a word, 
nor seemed to have any
recollections, of the place 
they'd lost. There was nothing 
'traditional' left, and they just 
accepted it all. Maybe they'd
never even realized it as 'lost.'
It always seemed to me that 
they ought to be screaming 
and squealing over what was 
being  -  and had been  -  taken
from them. One of the good
things (and there are plenty) 
to be had from learning and 
searching, reading and then
researching, on one's own 
and leapfrogging past the 
rigid protocols of school and
university, was that you could
see from the needed distance
what a pile of crap the rest of
it all was. Formulated attainments,
of the sort that make a 'success'
out of planners and developers,
the people who actually ruin and
destroy the world we live upon.
And call it gain.
-
That's what it was like around 
there. Every new interchange 
or highway or strip mall or 
cluster of stores was applauded.
By the late '50's, a chrome-zoo,
or any parking lot of the bizarre
and outlandish 'family-cars,' was
seen as positive growth  -  replete
with screaming-backseat-kids,
traffic jams, and the aromas of
boiler-plate meats and goodies
to chew upon while waiting. Just
make sure they'd been given their
One-a-Day vitamins, Mom. The
weird thing too, about America,
was that by the mid-'50s, a broad
and essential idea of a looming
Armageddon was pushed, and it
was used as reason and means
for getting all this garbage done.
No one whimpered; they just
kept taking  -  The Russkies
were going to blow us all to
Smithereens; traitors and 
Marxists were hiding behind 
our every curtain, sabotaging 
and infiltrating towns, cities, 
schools, colleges, and universities.
There were two great pulls, each
tugging against the other and in
opposite directions. Behind it all
was a Government that was 
lethally growing and protruding
in every direction   -  interstate
highways being built for purposes
of 'national defense,' but instead
becoming catacombs and byways
for more building and zoning
corridors which then absorbed
even more of the birthrighted
lands 'we' thought we had. It
was, in time, all lost  -  coastal
corridors of glass and steel and
highways to nothing, bringing
people down without their even
knowing. Everyone was seen as
a consumer, and nothing more.
Even Medicine and Education
went commercial. The Rutgers
college kids I'd see were just
faces entered into a trance-like
state of extended adolescence,
their ideas of adapted learning
doing nothing but chancing them
up for four more years of fun
and a thin veneer of picking their
lessons off a tray. The future was
a fun house, or so it was said.
-
I guessed that a person wasn't
supposed to get mad over things
like this  - wasn't even supposed
to have an opinion about it. That
was the American way, though
it never worked for me. I ended
up with opinions about everything,
and to no real effect: Brazzaville;
U Thant; the war in the Congo;
Dag Hammarskjold; Algeria;
Vietnam. Then the World's
Fair came  -  Belgian Waffles,
an ice-cream/waffle concoction,
soon took the place of the Belgian
Congo. Were they from the same
place? What the heck was going
on. There were issues and wars,
and rumors of wars and famines,
flying everywhere right over my
head. no one cared, not even a
whimper. About anything at all.
What was going on? What did
any of it mean?

Thursday, February 10, 2022

14,135. THE NICK OF TIME

THE NICK OF TIME
I went to the deli counter at a 
place called The Sandwich Isle.
There were a few others there,
all looking for something while
native girls pranced and men
swept the entry. The thing about
them is they like to keep it clean.
-
While there they opened a time
capsule from 1949, took me by 
the arms, and told me to step
inside before they'd seal it up
again. I was going to be part
of the ages.

Tuesday, February 8, 2022

14,134. NEVERLAND

NEVERLAND
It could be said your neverland
sucks  -  the planet is an endless
drain, with everything running 
down. The mist is like the fever,
things get burred.

14,133. OH, RATS

OH, RATS
And wasn't that always the way?
Raining cats and dogs, with rats
in the alleyway.  Back doors to
pizza joints and two-bit bars and
eateries. All those woes of the
Financial District and guys with
their fancy heels : Their two hour
lunches, just to talk deals.

14,132. WASN'T THAT ALWAYS LIKE ME?

WASN'T THAT ALWAYS LIKE ME?
I'm not good at anything and
failure's always been my middle
name. I really ought to just jump.
Why defame the rest of the miserable
world with my upkeep and maintenance?
If there's an SST out there, still waiting
to fly, I'll get on it and ride the wing.
-
I think I was born in a hospital, though
they should have snuffed me at birth.
Bayonne itself was too good for me,
unless maybe Uncle Milty's had a
freak-show booth. I walked the
water with my hands in blood.
-
My grandmother worked somewhere
there  -  a girdle factory, then a hospital,
seamstress to the stars. Darning sheets
and pillowcases that the mental patients
had torn and marred. I think that was
all meant for me.
-
Out in the yard, those prisoners from
World War II were kept in penned-in
cages, like some inhuman zoo, some
other nightmare Guantanamo of the
deadly-fractured mind. That was me,
the baby you heard, crying.
-
Later, they made bras and girdles in
that same old factory. Once a prison,
then a support-shelf for sagging ladies.
Wasn't that always like me?

14,131. ARCH-COAT

ARCH-COAT
This Winter lock keeps pushing me
forward, to something I do not know.
Like a man bound and gagged, I am
relocated yet don't know the journey.
-
Were this a scavenger hunt, I'd then
at least have something to look forward
to at the end of the journey, but I've
been told so many different things
I give faith to nothing at all.
-
This travel has me un-nerved;
I bundle up against this cold.

Monday, February 7, 2022

14,130. MENDACITY

MENDACITY
'No, man, it ain't a place;
your head's on wrong!'
Mendacity means lying.
-
Mark parked the car in
the alley, and we proceeded
with the con.
-
Easton, PA. That stupid
crayon museum or whatever
it is. A hundred kids at a time.
-
The lady in the antique-store,
across the town square, when
I asked, told me this:
-
I'd asked about the building,
with a balcony and a logue,
and all. She said: 'This used 
to be a theater, long ago. I'll
-
I'll have you know, the Marx
Brothers' first performance was
right here; they were billed as
'The Four Nightengales.'

Sunday, February 6, 2022

14,129. SPECTACULAR AVERSION

SPECTACULAR AVERSION
There, the moon is is out again
slogging its materiel over a paltry 
world: There's that edge of land
and there's the rocks I remember.
-
Caribbean wind certainly isn't
passing here. Ice and cold together.
The way it has to be, I suppose. Yes.
Yet, everything before has happened
once already, so why wait around
for more?


14,128. TOMLINSON FACTORY

TOMLINSON FACTORY
Jennie Hayes was the only person
I knew there. She was the girl behind
the counter when you first walked in.
Thomas Karr was her immediate boss,
but he was something of an idiot. Harry
Keuhn, from the boat factory, was her
boyfriend. They were often seen outside
of the factory. She was quite the catch.
-
The boat factory I mentioned, it wasn't
really that at all. We just called it by
that name  -  it sold parts and repairs
for boats and other marine equipment.
Harry was one of the mechanics there,
quite adept at all that stuff. Where
Jennie worked  -  by the way  -  they
processed commercial insurance and
claims. So, you can see, neither was
that a factory. We just called it that.
-
Funny, as it goes  -  people making up
stuff and tossing ideas around that
bear little resemblance to what really
is. Down the road from the Peanut
Bar. Now THAT was the actual name:
It was a nasty dump of a tavern where
many had gotten their head cracked.
Fights and drunken brawls. Motorcycle
assholes and their girls. E&B Marine
was somewhere down that road, off
behind the tavern, where the road
dipped down.
-
You'd not find much there. No town.
In fact, if this place was anywhere, it
a riverside crud  -  some nasty face of
the Raritan flowed by there. Harry never
cared, and I never saw him do much
anyway. Certainly not boating. Jennie,
on the other hand, I could imagine  -  
her sunning on the deck of a sunlight
watercraft would be a juicy sight.
-
Life has passed us all by. I think. The
Peanut Bar is long, long gone. It's 
something else now; some other
memory just waiting to happen for
someone else, I suppose. Harry's
long moved on, and Jennie, his
supposed love for life, is gone
as well.


Saturday, February 5, 2022

14,127. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,245

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,245
(happy birthday lorna doom)
I'm of the age that can still
remember, and distinctly, the
two different days for Lincoln's
and Washington's birthday.
There was a time when each
was marked, if not 'celebrated'
with their own day. Today, of
course, the average, modern
idiot wouldn't know the difference,
and who celebrates that crap
anyway? 'President's Day' is
now just another union-induced
day off; a three-day weekend 
for the usual schlubs  -  teachers,
civil-service scalawags, and the
rest. Celebrating an 'American'
holiday while 'working' for the
Government which strips both
tax-money and, of late, rights,
from others, in order to supposedly
be advancing the 'broken system'
of American 'Democracy' is a
big non-starter for me. We were
never supposed to be working
for the Government, in this 
country, especially the one we 
have now  -  a bloated, rude,
erroneous and proud monstrosity
that, like a mad Chia-pet just
keeps on growing and then
demanding more pots to grow
in. That was East Germany, I
thought.
-
Feb 12 was Lincoln's birthday, and
Feb. 22 was Washington's. Everyone
was happy with that once, in the
sort of understated elegance of a
very soft and understated American
observance, with somehow some
idiot-fest called Valentine's Day
thrown in in between, for the real
honey-drippers among us. Cherry
tree to cheery tree, the tales of
heroics and romance always worked
together. But, alas, all false. All.
-
What happens now is diatribe, and
I'm going to induce it. Apparently
now, any accounts of any triumphal
beginnings for the USA are gone.
Once slavery put its stranglehold
on the nascent American system,
the days of pretending at justice
and even-handed equality for all
were thrown out. The basis for the
capitalist system was, instead, the
invisible presence of exploitation
and economic piggy-backing which
was advanced constantly by the
nasty debauchery of slavery. If the
foundational institution of American
capitalism was slavery, what other
invalidation do we need? Washington
and his ilk, Founding Fathers and the
rest, were slaveowners. Lincoln was
a 'settler-militiaman,' at first, and for
the remainder of his life remained
committed to ethnic cleansing. He
developed a winning strategy for the
Republican Party in which slavery
was opposed mainly because it
competed with the economic
interests of white farmers and 
laborers. His first priority was to 
deliver a whites-only frontier to
the 'white supremacist, imperialist,
and removalist Republican base. 
Anyway, that's pretty much the
controlling social ethos  of society
today, for better nor worse, and it
can probably be debated all day long,
if you were to find two people with
brains enough to elucidate their
stances in sensbile manner and not
in the dumb-ass, catch-phrase form
of nitwit-speak that passes for
discourse now.
-
When I lived in Columbia Crossroads,
I had a job  -  one of a few at one
time to make ends meet  -  taking
car of the local schoolhouse. The
office lady there, a Mrs. DuBois,
who acted as a combination of 
office staff, registrar, nurse, and
general mother-hen, was married
to the presiding Minister of a church,
Baptist as I recall, in nearby Troy,
PA, where they lived  -  a church
house or their own, I never knew,
but it was a grand old structure and
near to the church building. There
were few if any blacks up that way,
in the 1970's anyway, and the local
Baptist churches were of the Southern,
'white' Baptist variety. Mrs. DuBois,
to be sure, had a sense of old-line
'White privilege about her, yes. I
recall well one year for their vacation
they went to St. Louis, to see the new
St. Louis Arch, which back then had
just been completed.
-
White basis to society? In 1803, St.
Louis, MO, had been a small French
outpost at the confluence of the
Missouri and Mississippi Rivers. It
became part of the U.S. in that year, 
because of the Louisiana Purchase.
Jefferson then put into motion the
Lewis and Clark expedition, which
set of from there in 1804. To explore
and map the new lands of the Purchase.
Today's reading, however, of any of
that has it as more of a 'staging area'
for the brutal taking of the American
West, and subordinating it to a racially
fundamentalist understanding of the 
world  -  'red, white, and black), and
the politics of white settler imperialism
and ethnic cleansing.' In 1820, the
Missouri Compromise admitted
Missouri to the Union as a slave 
state, and Missouri's new constitution 
both restricted the rights of black people,
and prevented free blacks from settling
in the state. A nice place to visit, Mrs.
D., but I wouldn't want to live there?
-
All that's like black water under the
bridge, and who cares? What I want 
to know is: How in the world have
we gotten from that to what we have 
today? Much of today's most broad
and misbegotten premises of race
and society and rights and equality
have been sold and turned over to
the corporate goons and tribal
henchmen who are running  -  nay
forcing down our throats  -  the
stupid society that's around us.
The 'illustration' accompanying 
this chapter ought to tell you
something. And it ought to shame 
you, disgust you, and get you
angry, all at the same time  -  and
angry enough, goddamn it, to
see that something is done about 
it. You think these corporate goons
know or care about any of you
outside of YOU as consumer of
their pathetic products, portraying
you as dancing fools to turn coin
from? You think when they raise
the 'inclusivity' banner and the
equality and fairness subject, that
they really give a shit? You're crazy,
and this country is rancid  -  because
this is the sort of thing - for profit -
that has been allowed to take over,
to run riot with the Senators and 
Representatives, put them in their
pocket and teach them to mouth 
the same for-pay bullshit they do.
-
I'm not going to belabor this; it
makes me ill. These are bottom line
people; crooks parading as bleeding
hearts. They need profit and growth,
and they will take over everything 
they can to achieve that. What their
process is is to ridicule, prod, or
abuse their 'customers' and those
very people who they expect to 
'buy' their product  -  to advance
their profit, to bolster a bottom-line.
Abraham Lincoln was born on
February 12. George Washington
on Feb 22. When were you born,
or have you not yet been?