in the borderlands of my mind

One Night

at

The Stone Fox

by

Rawclyde

!

~

~

~ I ~

The Boys

And Mission Gorge

     Tonight was going to be a big night for Pee Wee Johnson.  He sat at the stage, near the side door, and watched the young woman dance.  Tonight was going to be his molotoff cocktail ~ no matter what.

     His finger slipped a tremble around the rim of his half-full beer glass.  The go-go music to which the half-naked dancer was blooming like a fast motion rose, was nothing compared to the drums pounding in Pee Wee’s head.

     A thousand drums.

     There were two other young men sitting at the stage.  They were alone too ~ just like Pee Wee.  One of the two was Nick Bogie.  The other was Slim Chance.  These three boys visited the place regularly.  The place was The Stone Fox.

     “When you go to the bathroom, woman, let me know, ’cause I wanna eat the peanuts out of your shit!” yelled Nick Bogie at the strutting dancer.  He laughed like a loud joke in the middle of a vegetable garden.

     The dancer stuck her tongue out at him and made a prancing detour on the stage.

     Slim Chance watched and that was all.  His glass was empty.  A sensuously dressed working girl walked up behind him ~ perfectly.  “Want another beer?”

     Slim nodded.

     The topless go-go girl on the stage did her thing, her routine and her bread.  She was dynamite.  She was also exhausted.  It was almost midnight on a slow Monday.

     The music boomed.

     The drums in Pee Wee Johnson’s head banged along.  The dancer tossed a quick glance at Pee Wee.  He was a very short guy, maybe four feet high when he stood tall as he could and in elevator shoes.  The dancer rolled her eyeballs.  She couldn’t believe what she saw in Pee Wee’s eyes.  She did a special wiggle, shot another glance at him.  God, the little squirt looked unusually mean tonight (because, you see, tonight was his night for real action).

     “You’re giving me a heart attack, woman!”  yelled Nick Bogie at the dancer.  She smiled.  “In my pants!” snidely added Bogie.

     Crude bastard.

     He was a big guy.  A handsome guy.  And pretty drunk.  You see, he was having trouble at home.  His wife didn’t like him anymore.  Like mad he wanted to ask the dancer out to dinner.  But he just couldn’t get serious enough in this place.

     But Pee Wee Johnson was very serious, sitting over by the side door.

     Mission Gorge, by the way, was the name of the dancer.

~

~ II ~

Pee Wee Makes His Move

     The place rocked on.  The bartender let the beer flow.  The bouncer sat slumped over in the corner, bored, wishing he didn’t have to constantly put up with “flakey chicks.”  While Mission Gorge stomped her third song away on the stage, the other girls, “flakey chicks,” kept the glasses full and the pitchers too.

     Slim Chance also wanted to ask Mission Gorge out for dinner but figured it was hopeless.  A year ago he had caught a venereal desease that would stay with him until the day he died.  What was the point in asking a woman out to dinner, he figured, if there was no possibility of a screwing ~ some day?  So his entire life was hopeless.  Forever he would just sit and watch.

     Mission Gorge buttoned up and darted off the stage.  Quiet moments passed.  “You’re up, Sheila!”  moaned the bouncer.

     Sheila ascended the stage, pushed the buttons to her selected hit tunes and commenced in doing her thing just as Mission Gorge had done hers ~ about 100 times a night it seemed to these young women.

     Mission Gorge shyly dashed across the saloon, flashed by Slim Chance and Nick Bogie, her skin a glow, crispy light hair a flowin’ down her back, a ghost like look of prettiness on her face.  Her eyes swung around like machine guns aiming at empty beer glasses in the dim light ~ and full ash trays.  She was a gorgeous portrait etched in lightning.  She was always too quick.

     But not tonight.

     “Mission!” called Pee Wee, as she was about to flash by him too.  She detoured on over, cautiously, as if Pee Wee was a dangerous dreamer who thought he loved her.  And that’s exactly what he was!

     Gently he took her arm in his hand.  Nice.  Then his fingers went tight like a vice.  Mission Gorge locked her eyes onto his ~ saw his bright red desperation.  Her eyes grew wide with fear.  The gleam in his eye was too damn serious!  The world stood stark raving still for half a second.

     “What?” Mission Gorge managed to ask.

     “Oh nothin’,” said Pee Wee.  He picked her up in his arms and smashed out the side door into the night.

~

~ III ~

Prelude To The Kidnapping

Of Mission Gorge

     A few months earlier ~

     Pee Wee Johnson was sitting before the lone window in his hole-in-the-wall, watching the sun go down, when he decided he was so lonely and horny that he wanted to die.

     He had worked hard all day long on his job.  He lit a small cigar.  He watched the sun sink.  He partook of a gulp of cold beer from the can in his hand.  He listened to the cowboy music on his cheap little stereo.  A puff of tobacco smoke from his cigar somersaulted against the window and bloomed into nothing.

     “Shit, I wanna die,” he muttered.  But he got up and pedaled his bicycle to a local go-go bar instead ~ The Stone Fox.

     He ordered a pitcher of beer and watched the girls dance topless.  Then Mission Gorge stepped on stage.  He was in love.

     She wasn’t the prettiest.  She wasn’t the best dancer.  But Pee Wee liked the way she moved ~ quick, haughty, and she did funny things ~ funny things like wearing Slim Chance’s hat on her breasts as she danced, and balancing Nick Bogie’s tossed quarters on her nipples after the hat fell off.  There were two real sad looking dudes sitting at the stage and she had them laughing in no time.

     And Pee Wee too.

     He became a regular.  He wanted to ask Mission Gorge out to dinner just like Nick Bogie and Slim Chance ~ and two dozen other guys.  But this go-go bar just wasn’t Pee Wee’s territory.  And Mission Gorge was always too quick to ask out ~ always passed by in a flash ~

     A portrait etched in lightning.

     And anyway, Pee Wee was a Negro ~ a Negro who liked cowboy music.  What a drag!

     One night he looked at himself in the long mirror on the closet door in his hole-in-the-wall.  He was just four feet tall ~ in elevator shoes.  Women just didn’t see anything in this city except how tall you were.  Yet Pee Wee was determined to not go to bed with Jose, the Mexican homo.

     “Shit,” moaned Pee Wee.  A tear rolled down his cheek.  He put on some of that fine shit-kicking music ~ got out a book.

     He read the book for a while.  And had an idea.  He slammed the book down on the table and gritted at the walls, “Guts!”

~

~ IV ~

The Quiet Ride

     The big ol’ bouncer bolted to his feet and hollered, “Mission Gorge!  She’s been carried away!  By that little, little ~ ” He couldn’t finish what he was saying ~ sprinted for the side door.

     “Bastard!” growled the bartender.  He knocked over a pitcher of beer, screeched around the corner of the bar like a dragster (with smoking heels instead of tires) and followed the bouncer out the side door.

     Nick Bogie jumped across the stage and dove out the side door after them.

     Even passive Slim Chance ~ out the side door.

     With his 100-pound load and an “umph!” Pee Wee waddled across the street to a parked rented car.

     “What are you doing?” screamed Mission Gorge in his arms, wondering whether or not she should laugh.  Pee Wee was pretty strong for such a little guy.

     “Nothin’,” gritted Pee Wee and threw her in the driver’s side of the car.  She bumped her head.  He hopped in after her and slammed the door shut, locked it as the bouncer grabbed the exterior handle.  Mission Gorge decided not to laugh after her bump on the head and threw herself against the other door.  The inside handle had been removed.

     “Damn,” she moaned and turned to Pee Wee.  “You better let me out of here or I’ll bust your balls!”

     Pee Wee started the engine and his rented car ~ a ’79 Buick with a tired automatic transmission ~ screeched away amidst burning rubber and exhaust and night time neon ~ through a red light.  The bouncer bounced off the bumper and fell in the gutter next to an empty half-pint whiskey bottle.

     The bartender, meanwhile, hustled back inside to the telephone, of course, to call the cops.

     Nick Bogie and Slim Chance stood side by side on the sidewalk and scratched their heads in the night.

     “Damn nigger,” muttered Nick Bogie with his chest out.

     “Takes courage to do that,” said Slim Chance.  He pulled his hat down in a philosophical way.

     The bouncer was on his feet, in about half a second was seated in the driver’s seat of his own slick sports car ~ a late-model deep-sea blue jaguar ~ and in hot pursuit.

     But Pee Wee lost him.

     And the cops never got there.

     The passing neon lights of the city caressed the flushed cheek of the Stone Fox starlet.  The handle to the window on that side of the car had been removed also.  Pee Wee rolled down his own window and smiled.

     “Hi, Mission,” he said.

     She glared at him in disbelief.  But the sudden quiet in the car, like nicely chilled milk, poured into her ears, filled up an empty soul, after having spent so many hours in that damn bar.  She decided to kick back and enjoy the subdued poetry of the situation.

     After a long moment she smiled nervously.  “Hello, Pee Wee.”

     He glanced at her, stretched his arm across the top of the steering wheel ~ relaxed.  “I’ve never seen you smile like that before.”

     “We’ve never been this close to each other with nobody else around.”

     Pee Wee nodded.

     They rolled along ~ hit a freeway ramp ~ speeded up.  Pee Wee rolled the window up ~ opened the wing-a-ding.

     “How come you did that?” asked Mission Gorge.

     “Did what?”

     “Kidnapped me!”  She laughed.

     “Well.”  Pee Wee pondered.  “Well.  I wanna ask you out to dinner.  But I can never get myself to do it at the Stone Fox ~ which happens to be the only place I ever see you at.  So I had to get you outta that place some how.  And so ~ ”  He reached over to the glove compartment, opened it.  And stuck a cigarette into Mission Gorge’s mouth ~ her favorite brand.  He lit it for her with the car’s cigarette lighter.

     “Thank you,” said the young lady.  She opened the wing-a-ding on her side of the car.  She blew a slow stream of smoke out in front of her face.  “It feels good to sit down,” she said.

     Pee Wee smiled.  “Will you go out to dinner with me?”

     “No.”

     Pee Wee’s smile disappeared.  “Why not?”

     “I’ve got two kids and an old man,” said Mission Gorge.

     “Oh.”  Pee Wee slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand.  “I should have known!”

     “Good try, Pee Wee.  Real Good.”

     “Is he a good old man?”

     “He’s okay.”  Her eyes went neon.

     They zoomed along the freeway into the night, surrounded by emptiness, plenty of room for talk.

     “You see, Pee Wee, all you guys back at the club, you all are patrons.  I’ve gotta keep my distance.  Mission Gorge isn’t even my real name!  I dance for you and serve you.  You pay for my bread and my shed ~ and the shed I have is some pretty nice shelter.  Understand?”

     “Yeah.”

     “Now I gotta get back to work.”

     “What for?  Why don’t you take the rest of the night off?”

     “‘Cause I’m getting nervous.”

     Pee Wee Johnson re-navigated the vessel toward Mission Gorge’s harbor of labor.  They sailed in silence.  A few blocks away from their destination Mission suddenly said, “Stop the car.”

     He did.

     She slid over, put her arms around his neck and gave him a long slow kiss.  Pee Wee Johnson, to say the least, was surprised.  It was a kiss to be reckoned with.  It was a kiss that could re-write encyclopedias ~ and inspire clouds in the sky to “moo” like cows.

     Later that night ~

     When Pee Wee was walking the path to his hole-in-the-wall, he was greeted in the shadows by Jose, the Mexican homo.

     “Hello, handsome,” coo-ed Jose.

     “What’s happening?” muttered Pee Wee.

     “Ohhhhhhh, not much,” coo-ed Jose.  He rested his hand on the little negro’s shoulder.

     Ordinarily Pee Wee would have stiffened.  But tonight he settled back on his heels, gazed up into the dark taunting eyes of Jose.  Upon the smaller fellow’s lips a little smile began to play.  Pee Wee’s hand near his hip rolled itself into a tight fist.  He brought it way way way back ~

     And decked the batata.

~

(text copyright clyde collins 1989, 2010, 2019)

~
~
from
~
short stories & songs
~
~
by rawclyde
~
!
~

stalker!

~

This One

is

On The House

~

    The music pounded like a locomotive.  The go-go girl followed it like a train.  And every patron in the bar was her caboose.

     Her nucleus of sexuality, hardly covered by a little white bikini bottom oh so snug, exploded, poetically speaking, all over the stage.

     She aimed it at a poor hobo and pumped him a few.  She would never know how much he appreciated that.  She did the bump ‘de bump with a lonely soldier boy’s ambition and ground to pieces an old cowboy’s sadness.  Boldly she stepped up close to a wicked man’s leer, crouched low and with her hands ludicrously rammed it in and out.

     Her fat, shapely, little belly, a masterpiece so tan, so smooth, so hot, was just about smoking like a home on fire.  Her belly button was the sun.  Her stage, more than just creaking wood, was the face of every feller’s drifting dream.

     She really knew how to dance.

     Like a snake, like a swan, like a cloud, like a shooting star, like the terrible truth and a thousand lies.  Nobody, absolutely nobody played pool when Philana danced.

     A tall stranger sauntered into the place.  Infront of the go-go bar’s stage, or ramp, he stoically stood ~ watched the go-go girl go-go.  His presence loomed so profoundly that the hooting, guffawing, and even the silent dreaming of all the Saturday night patrons ~ died.  He was that rare kind of guy.  Besides, except for a preposterous, black, cowboy hat on his head, he was naked.

     The go-go tune ended.

     Nobody clapped.  Usually everybody clapped, and a few would holler, when Philana finished a number.  But due to this stranger’s strange naked presence ~ not this time.

     An old drunk accidently knocked over a glass of beer.  He ducked his head sheepishly.  Not a soul moved.  Deep silence reigned.

     The stranger, lewdly handsome, smiled just a little bit at the intrigued saloon girl who was now standing still in the quiet limelight.  She rested her hand on her smooth hip, eyeballed the stranger up and down ~ especially down.  She was out of breath.  Her round, bare, little breasts gently rose and fell.

     “What?  What?  Are you trying to corrupt this town?”  she finally asked of him ~ her smile twitching.

     “No,” replied the stranger with an unobtrusive chuckle.  “Just escaped from jail.  All I could grab on my way out was ~ my hat.”

     Another working girl, scantily clad, quietly served him a beer.  “The bartender says this one is on the house,” she whispered.

     The stranger nodded gratefully, toasted the bartender, lifted the frosty mug to his thirsty lips.

     Philana rested a high-heeled foot on the bar that encircled the ramp.  She was staring at the stranger with not just her eyes, it seemed, but also with the provocative bulge of her snuggly, barely veiled, dynamite-packed muff, which was at the same level as the stranger’s face and just a few inches away.  “What’s your name?” she asked.

     “Bogie,” drawled the stranger.  He ignored the saloon girl’s poignantly flaunted mound, squinted up into the soul in her brown bottomless eyes.  “Nick Bogie.”

     “I’m Philana,” said Philana.  Music began to play again.  Some fool howled.  There was laughter.  And cigarette smoke.  The woman and the man stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment.

     Then ~

     “Let’s ball, Bogie!” cried Philana like a whip.  Her eyes squinted full of tears.  Her thigh quivered.  The man to whom she had spoken held open his arms.

     She jumped.

     He carried her out the door like a bride.

~

(text copyright clyde collins 1989, 2010, 2019)

~

~

editor

elvis bojangles

~

from

a collection of short stories

& songs

by rawclyde

!

wild women in the borderlands of my mind

~

divine love

by sister juana ines de la cruz …………………………………………………………………………………

~

There’s something disturbing me

so subtle, to be sure,

that though I feel it keenly,

it’s not hard to endure.

~

It’s love, but love, for once,

without a blindfold ~ whence

whoever sees his eyes,

feels torture the more intense.

~

It’s not from their terminus a quo

that my sufferings arise,

for their terminus is the Good;

it’s in distance that suffering lies.

~

If this emotion of mine

is proper ~ indeed, is love’s due ~

why must I be chastised

for paying what I owe?

~

Oh, all the consideration,

the tenderness I have seen:

when love is placed in God,

nothing else can intervene.

~

From what is legitimate

it cannot deviate;

no risk of being forgotten

need it ever contemplate.

~

I recall ~ were it not so ~

a time when the love I knew

went far beyond madness even,

reached excesses known to few,

~

but being a bastard love,

built on warring tensions,

it simply fell apart

from its own dissensions.

~

But oh, being now directed

to the goal true lovers know,

through virtue and reason alone

it must stronger and stronger grow.

~

Therefore one might inquire

why it is I still languish.

My troubled heart would reply:

what makes my joy makes my anguish.

~

~

Yes, from human weakness,

in the midst of purest affection,

we still remain a prey

to natural dejection.

~

To see our love returned

is so insistent a craving

that even when out of place,

we still find it enslaving.

~

It means nothing in this instance

that my love be reciprocated;

yet no matter how hard I try,

the need persists unabated.

~

If this is a sin, I confess it,

if a crime, I must avow it;

the one thing I cannot do

is repent and disallow it.

~

The one who has power to probe

the secrets of my breast,

has seen that I am the cause

of my suffering and distress.

~

Well he knows that I myself

have put my desires to death ~

my worries smother them,

their tomb is my own breast.

~

I die (who would believe it?)

at the hands of what I love best.

What is it puts me to death?

The very love I profess.

~

Thus, with deadly poison

I keep my life alive:

the very death I live

is the life of which I die.

~

Still, take courage, heart:

when torture becomes so sweet,

whatever may be my lot,

from love I’ll not retreat.

~

~

translation by alan s. trueblood

 a sor juana anthology

~

editor

rawclyde

!

.

consecration

https://www.brandonmaldonado.com

~

    O Eternal and Incarnate Wisdom! O most amiable and adorable Jesus, true God and true Man, only Son of the Eternal Father, and of Mary, ever Virgin!  I adore You profoundly in Your eternal dwelling in the bosom and magnificence of Your Father; and in Your dwelling, at the time of Your Incarnation, in the virginal bosom of Mary.

     I thank You for having emptied Yourself, taking the form of a slave, in order to rescue me from cruel slavery to Satan.  I praise and glorify You for having deigned to submit Yourself in all things to Mary, Your Holy Mother, in order to make me, through Her, Your faithful slave.  But, alas!  in my ungratefulness and infidelity, I have not kept the promises which I made so solemnly at my Baptism.  I have not fulfilled my obligations;  I do not deserve to be called Your child or Your slave;  and since there is nothing in me which does not merit Your repulse and Your anger, I no longer dare to come by myself into the presence of Your Most Holy and August Majesty.  Hence it is that I have recourse to the intercession of Your Blessed Mother, whom You have given to me as my Mediatrix with Your Divine Majesty;  and it is through her that I hope to obtain from You contrition and the pardon of my sins, together with the gift of Wisdom and the grace to preserve it.

     Hail, therefore, O Immaculate Mary, living Tabernacle of the Divinity, wherein the hidden Wisdom of the Eternal God deigns to accept the adoration of Angels and of men!  Hail, Queen of Heaven and of earth, whose empire all is subject which is less than God Himself!  Hail, sure Refuge of sinners, whose mercy is refused to no man!  Grant that I may obtain my wish of possessing the Divine Wisdom; and in return, deign to accept the promises and the offerings which, out of the depths of my lowliness, I make to you.

~

translation

“I am someone that you never met, I did not live but rather I survived. I crossed the river in hopes of finding work and respect. They found my bones 17 miles from the U.S./Mexican border. I still have not been identified.”  

~

     I, _______, an unfaithful sinner, today renew and ratify the promises of my Baptism, and I place this renewal in your hands.  I renounce forever Satan, with his works and pomps; and I give myself entirely to Jesus Christ, the Incarnate Wisdom, that I may walk in His footsteps all my life, carrying my cross.  And in order that I may be more faithful to Him than I have hitherto been, I choose you today, O Mary, in the presence of the whole Court of Heaven, to be my Mother and my Mistress.  I give and consecrate to you, as your slave, my body and my soul; my interior and exterior possessions; and even the value of my good actions ~ past, present and to come.  I give you the full and entire right to dispose of me and all that I have, without the least reservation, in accordance with your good pleasure, and to the greatest glory of God, both in time and in eternity.

     Receive, O gracious Virgin, this little offering of my slavery, in honour of the manner in which the Eternal Wisdom deigned to subject Himself to you as your Child, and in union with this subjection.  Receive it also as a tribute of homage to the power which both your Divine Son and you possess over this little worm and miserable sinner; and as an act of thanksgiving for the privileges which the Blessed Trinity has bestowed upon you.  I protest that I desire henceforth to be really and sincerely your slave, seeking your honour and obedient to you in all things.

     O Mother most admirable, please present me to your dear Son as His eternal slave, so that, having redeemed me through you, He may also receive me through you!  O Mother of Mercy, please obtain for me the grace to receive the true Wisdom of God, and to that end deign to number me among those whom you love, whom you teach, whom you lead, whom you nourish and protect as your children and your slaves.  O Virgin most faithful, please make me in all things so perfect a disciple, imitator and slave of the Incarnate Wisdom, Jesus Christ, your Son, that, by your intercession and example, I may attain to the fullness of His age on earth and of His glory in Heaven.  Amen.

!!!

St. Louis de Montfort

~

~

editor

rawclyde

!

~

deep desert blues

~

dominus vobiscum

~

     Located at various positions around Road’s cannon were 5 wetbacks from Meh-hee-ko.

     This was Poncho and his pals.

     Poncho was the sharp hombre who’d slow danced so close with Mary the night before.  He had also slept that one cold night in the back room of the gas station in the hills.  With him that night had been Memo, who was taller, and lean and strong.

     Memo, at the moment, stepped back from the cannon’s snout, with the ramming stick at rest in his hands.

     A 13 year old boy, Cid, stood at the rear of the cannon, waiting patiently like the man he consistently strained to be, had to be, if he was to survive the hard life cut out for him on the Ramona valley egg ranch above the border where he worked long hours.  Once he had the money Road was going to pay him, he no longer would have to work these long hours ~ not for a few years anyway.  He lived below the border.

     At the moment he had an unlit stick match in his hand that shook slightly and was poised next to the cannon’s fuse.  Thus the need for patience.

     This 13 year old wetback was also lean ~ due to hard work and the absence of luxuries like over eating.

     Juan, 23 years old, the oldest of Poncho’s pals, stood on the other side of the cannon from Memo.  The cannon was, of course, aimed bold and awesome at the church’s front door.

     Juan also worked at the egg ranch ~ and lived in Mexico.  He drove himself and little Cid to Ramona and back 6 days a week, in an old ’38 Dodge pick-up truck ~ painted black.  Juan also could take a long boner of a vacation when paid by Road.

     Scattered on the street below the cannon’s muzzle were numerous empty rice boxes.  One empty rice box was still in Juan’s hand.  This box had been the last one to have its contents spilled down the cannon’s barrel.

     On their way to the wedding, Road had stopped at a big grocery store in San Diego on the corner of College Avenue and El Gringo Boulevard, had bought all the boxes of rice on the shelf.  There was a lot of rice in Road’s cannon ~ for Tulip’s wedding.

     Road had also bought a quart bottle of whiskey and a box of cigars at the liquor store across the boulevard from the grocery store.

     As for the illegal aliens (or wetbacks), Road had picked them up at the end of the dirt road he turned down while traveling Highway 94 ~ a preconceived plan.  Poncho and his pals had hiked a short trail from Mexico to the rendezvous spot.

~

~

    Poncho, by the way, had learned some English in Tijuana since he’d last seen Road a few weeks earlier at the Mobil gas station ~ thus piece by piece with a lot missing out he was able to tell Road about the 12 cannons in Pedro Mendez’s abandoned garlic mine.

     Pedro Mendez was Poncho’s uncle.

     And Poncho, at the moment, was sitting in the driver’s seat of Road’s truck, which was idling.

     So ~

     Road’s cannon had a cannon crew.  And Road’s cannon was aimed at the big brick church’s opened double front door out of which Tulip and he had exited.  When all the other people came running out after Road and Tulip, Road yelled, “Ole!”

     That was the signal for little half smiling, half sneering Cid to strike his match.  So he struck it across the round top of the cannon and set what flame he had to the cannon’s fuse ~ and stepped back with his ears plugged.

     Poncho gunned the truck’s engine.

     Road hopped into the cab, dragged Tulip with him.

     The people charged.

     Rice explosively bloomed out of the cannon’s mouth ~ a forceful dry splash of wedding cheer!

     The boom was so loud that the windshield in Road’s truck cracked.

     Some of the charging wedding goers (or leavers) ducked.  Others fell over.  The rest bravely accepted the stingy wedding cheer in their faces.  One young man fainted.  Many lay on the ground afraid to open their eyes, thinking they might be dead.  Only one person was shot incurably blind by the rice: the mother of the bride, who could now add blindness to her woes and her crippled back.

     Some people have no luck.

     Memo, Juan, and Little Cid jumped into the rear of the truck, thru the rear doors ~ and the 5th crew man, a Mexican whose name was, yes, San Diego, bolted the doors shut from the inside as driver Poncho punched the truck smokey down the street.

     Tulip raised a quizzical glance at Road as he peered at the rear view mirror on the passenger’s side of the fleeing truck.  Tulip had just heard him say softly, maybe even reverently, to the tumultuous crowd behind them, “Dominus Vobiscum.”

     That’s Catholic latin for, “The Lord be with you.”

~

~

text from

the short novel

~

~

~

~

editor

elvis bojangles

~

religious bigotry

~

Elected Leaders

Who Weaponize Religion

Are Playing

A Dangerous Game

~
.

For too long in our country, politicians have weaponized religion for their own selfish gain, fomenting bigotry, fears and suspicions based on the faith, religion or spiritual practices of their political opponents.

Whether we think of ourselves as Christians, Hindus, Muslims, Sikh, Buddhists, Jews, atheists, agnostics, or anything else, it is imperative that we stand united in our commitment to protect religious freedom and the right to worship or not worship, safely and without the fear of retribution.

We must stand together, and with one voice condemn those who seek to incite bigotry based on religion. We cannot allow those who are anxious to exploit our differences to drive a wedge between us. We cannot and will not tolerate prejudicial treatment of those with whom we disagree, any more than we would tolerate such treatment of those with whom we agree.

Standing up for freedom of religion for all people is as critical now as it’s ever been–hatred and bigotry are casting a dark shadow over our political system and threatening the very fabric of our country. The heartbreaking atrocity in Pittsburgh, where 11 people were murdered while worshiping at their synagogue, is but the latest reminder of the horrible potential consequence of prejudice and bigotry. The shooting at the synagogue in Pittsburgh, the shooting at the Sikh temple in Oak Creek, Wis., the shooting at the mosque in New York and too many others to list serve as devastating and atrocious reminders of what this kind of hatred and this kind of bigotry can lead to.

While I oppose the nomination of Brian Buescher to the U.S. District Court in Nebraska, I stand strongly against those who are fomenting religious bigotry, citing as disqualifiers Buescher’s Catholicism and his affiliation with the Knights of Columbus. If Buescher is “unqualified” because of his Catholicism and affiliation with the Knights of Columbus, then President John F. Kennedy, and the ‘liberal lion of the Senate’ Ted Kennedy would have been “unqualified” for the same reasons.

Article 6 of the U.S. Constitution clearly states that there “shall be no religious test” for any seeking to serve in public office.

No American should be told that his or her public service is unwelcome because “the dogma lives loudly within you” as Sen. Dianne Feinstein (D-Calif.) said to Amy Coney Barrett during her confirmation hearings in 2017 to serve as U.S. Circuit Court judge in the 7th Circuit.

While I absolutely believe in the separation of church and state as a necessity to the health of our nation, no American should be asked to renounce his or her faith or membership in a faith-based, service organization in order to hold public office.

The party that worked so hard to convince people that Catholics and Knights of Columbus like Al Smith and John F. Kennedy could be both good Catholics and good public servants shows an alarming disregard of its own history in making such attacks today.

We must call this out for what it is – religious bigotry.  This is true not just when such prejudice is anti-Catholic, but also when it is anti-Semitic, anti-Muslim, anti-Hindu, or anti-Protestant, or any other religion.

In politics or at home, we Americans can disagree with and oppose people if we are concerned about their views, opinions, or their commitment to uphold their constitutional duties. However, we must not claim or imply that an individual is not qualified because of their religion or their membership in a particular religious organization, or their belief in the tenets of their faith.

While deployed in the Middle East, I saw first-hand the suffering and violence that is inherent to religious bigotry. In Iraq in 2005, I saw candidates for political office labelled according to their sectarian religion, with supporters of “Shia candidates” threatening attacks to the polling centers where supporters of “Sunni candidates” were casting their votes, and vice versa. These insane sectarian divides and prejudices gave rise to ISIS and other terrorist organizations and are the cause of immense human suffering and wars in the Middle East.

If we can all agree that we do not want prejudice and bigotry to rule our nation, then we must stand united to denounce it whenever it raises its ugly head.

Elected leaders engaging in religion-baiting are playing with fire. They are sacrificing the well-being, peace and harmony of our country to satisfy their own political ambitions for partisan political interests.

We must stand together, call out and reject religious bigotry no matter where it comes from, and fight to protect the freedoms and principles that bind us together as Americans.

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Gabbard, a democrat, represents Hawaii’s 2nd District

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https://thehill.com/blogs/congress-blog/religious-rights/424362-elected-leaders-who-weaponize-religion-are-playing-a

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editor

Rawclyde

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litany of the holy trinity

elvis bojangles 

having been lost in the imaginary for some time

returns

with a special serving

a prayer

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Blessed Trinity,
hear us.

Adorable Unity,
graciously hear us.

~

God the Father of heaven,
have mercy on us.

God the Son, Redeemer of the world,
have mercy on us.

God the Holy Spirit,
have mercy on us.

Holy Trinity, one God,
please have mercy on us.

~

Father, from whom are all things,
have mercy on us.

Son, through whom are all things,
have mercy on us.

Holy Spirit, in whom are all things.
have mercy on us.

Holy and undivided Trinity,
have mercy on us.

~

Father everlasting,
have mercy on us.

Only-begotten Son of the Father,
have mercy on us.

Spirit, Who proceed from the Father and the Son,
have mercy on us.

Coeternal Majesty of Three Divine Persons,
have mercy on us.

~

Father the Creator,
have mercy on us.

Son the Redeemer,
have mercy on us.

Holy Spirit the Comforter,
have mercy on us.

~

Holy, holy, holy Lord God of hosts,
have mercy on us.

Who are, who were, and who are to come,
have mercy on us.

God, Most High who inhabit eternity,
have mercy on us.

To whom alone are due all honour and glory,
have mercy on us.

Who alone do great wonders,
have mercy on us.

Power infinite,
have mercy on us.

Wisdom incomprehensible,
have mercy on us.

Love unspeakable,
! Please Be Merciful !

~

Spare us, O Holy Trinity.
Be merciful,

Graciously hear us,
O Holy Trinity.

From all evil,
deliver us, O Holy Trinity.

From all sin,
Deliver us, O Holy Trinity.

From all pride,
Deliver us, O Holy Trinity.

From all love of riches,
Deliver us, O Holy Trinity.

From all uncleanness,
Deliver us, O Holy Trinity.

From all sloth,
Deliver us, O Holy Trinity.

From all inordinate affection,
Deliver us, O Holy Trinity.

From all envy and malice,
Deliver us, O Holy Trinity.

From all anger and impatience,
Deliver us, O Holy Trinity.

~

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From every thought, word, and deed, contrary to your holy law,
Deliver us, O Holy Trinity.

From your everlasting malediction,
Deliver us, O Holy Trinity.

Through your almighty power,
Deliver us, O Holy Trinity.

Through your plenteous loving-kindness,
Deliver us, O Holy Trinity.

Through the exceeding treasures of your goodness and love,
Deliver us, O Holy Trinity.

Through the depths of your wisdom and knowledge,
Deliver us, O Holy Trinity.

Through all your ineffable perfections,
Deliver us, O Holy Trinity.

~

~

We sinners,
we beseech you, hear us.

That we may ever serve you alone,
We beseech you, hear us.

That we may worship you in spirit and in truth,
We beseech you, hear us.

That we may love you with all our heart,
with all our soul,
and with all our strength,
We beseech you, hear us.

~

That, for your sake,
we may love our neighbour as ourselves,
We beseech you, hear us.

That we may faithfully keep your holy commandments,
We beseech you, hear us.

That we may never defile our bodies
and our souls with sin,
We beseech you, hear us.

That we may go from grace to grace,
and from virtue to virtue,
We beseech you, hear us.

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That we may finally enjoy
the sight of you in glory,
We beseech you, hear us.

That you would hear us,
We beseech you, hear us.

O blessed Trinity,
we beseech you, deliver us.

O blessed Trinity,
have mercy on us.

Jehovah, have mercy.
Jesus, have mercy.
Sophia, have mercy.

Blessed are you, O God in the firmament of heaven.
And worthy to be praised, and glorious, and highly exalted forever.

~

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Let us pray.

Almighty and everlasting God,
you have given us your servants
grace by the profession of the true Faith
to acknowledge the glory of the eternal Trinity
and in the power of your Divine Majesty
to worship the Unity.
We beg you to grant that,
by our fidelity in this same Faith,
we may always be defended from all dangers.

Amen.

~

editor

Rawclyde

!

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