Trump’s unvarnished tweets make everyone uncomfortable — especially when they’re true.

“Sadly, because president Obama has done such a poor job as president, you won’t see another black president for generations!” -@realDonaldTrump, 11/25/14

I understand the frustration with Trump’s tweets.. ‘unvarnished’ would be too kind. But what he says is the truth… the same would be true if Hillary had been elected… after generations of identity politics (vote for her ovaries), many voters would point back, a decade later, and say ‘No way — look what happened the last time we picked a woman!’

The Left has succeeded in making this an identity game, so those with good character no longer make it through the election process.

I would love to see Allen West in the Oval Office… but he’s chosen to be a strong voice rather than compete directly with the hegemony of Leftist politicians, who made Obama’s ascension ONLY about who they said he was (rather than who he actually was), and that was both a boon to his rise to power and a tarnish for all those voters who saw his priorities more clearly as selfish than patriotic as the years went on.

Those low-information voters who chose Obama twice, and now Trump, are upset.

And because the Left ‘instructed’ us that it was Obama’s color that made him exceptional, it’s the Left’s own destruction of the idea of a black President to thank them for.

If we had done the elections as an episode of The Voice (policies and debates with no awareness of who the candidates are), the other GOP hopefuls would not have been so easily unseated (meaning Trump would not have won the nomination); but we also would not have had Obama in the first place, to sully the nation’s memory of what a black President would do to us.

It’s definitely not fair… but it’s the personality of a nation who believes in feelings over facts.

If Martin Luther King were alive today (Republican with a gun, espousing character, sanctity of the family, morals, individual responsibility, equal protection under the law), the same people who taught us what a black President should look like would string him up, as they have for every other man who threatens their narrative.

Saul Alinsky was…

RulesForRadicalsCOVER[I’m posting this here so I can find it later… was just very impressed with myself that I answered someone’s comment on Facebook in such a succinct manner (on my phone, even); those of you who have labored through my writings over the years know that ‘succinct’ is a struggle for me.]

Saul Alinsky was a smart guy who in the ’60s published a book outlining his method for activists to affect change through disruption. Their method usually centers on personality attacks and turning your opponents’ morals into their own liabilities. Mocking isn’t impolite or a character flaw; it’s a skill that should be perfected (according to Alinsky). Hillary wrote her major thesis on how much she admired him, and Obama’s ‘fame’ as a ‘Community Organizer’ came from his mastery of those techniques — his mentor, ‘Frank‘, who he writes about in his book, was an Alinsky prodigy himself, so our President wasn’t just a good reader.

LINK: Frank Marshall Davis Bio (
LINK: What Did Obama Do As A Community Organizer? (
LINK: “There is Only The Fight” – An Analysis of the Alinsky Model, by Hillary D. Rodham 1969 (PDF 8Mb)
LINK: The Hillary Letters: Hillary Clinton, Saul Alinsky correspondence revealed (
LINK: Hillary Rodham Clinton senior thesis (

A Little Humidity

When it rains, I can hear the shape of things around me.
When it rains, I know where I am, and the division between the inside and the outside.
When it rains, I know it’s less likely that someone is breaking into my car again.
When it rains, the world is on ‘pause’ and it’s OK that we have to wait a moment before heading back out.

When it rains, I feel the breath of scrubbed pavement and flowing scraps of grass and gravel.
When it rains, I know the morning will be moist and clean; muddy and growing.
When it rains, I know that there is a calm order to the world, and us.
When it rains, I remember that we’re just living here on this rock, not running it.

When it rains, I feel God shining down on us from just above the clouds.
When it rains, I remember His promise to wash, not drown, all of Creation.
When it rains, I breathe in the scents of all that was buried by the to-and-fro of shoes and feet
When it rains, a blanket covers me and wraps my pain tightly like a hug I know but can’t remember.

I love the rain.