2017/12/02 S – Dangerless Heights

Wow, I wonder if I can still write…  Let’s give it a try.

So, about a year ago, I had finally prevailed upon my dear wife to submit to more child-carrying.  We returned to the same clinic, in Dae-jeon, that had successfully merged our two sons.  I hoped for the best, but had some pessimistic statistics floating around my head…

I believe three of her eggs were harvested, a decrease from last time.  Two fertilized sufficiently normally to implant.  We were anxious for our first scan; I hoped for a repeat of last time’s double pregnancy.  It was not to be; one had died.  One, thank heaven, lived, and grew and grew.

We two now existed in female form.

It was easier for M.S. this time, despite her still fairly remarkable abdominal size.  We had some difficult moments of conflict, particularly toward the end, but our separation aversion persisted, and we were not overcome by it.  We had started at a maternity clinic called ‘Han-byeol’, but before long, had transferred to a smaller place, ‘Pu-reun’.  The head doctor there, a kindly, religious man with long hair, managed the pregnancy and ultimately, on October Fourth (a holiday), removed our child by surgery.  I was extremely grateful for our doctor’s tolerance of my presence during the surgery, during which I video-recorded nearly the whole procedure (becoming quite nauseous afterward).

For a while, I had wanted an Old English name.  The best I was able to come up with was ‘Eadiva’ or ‘Ediva’, a modern-form of ‘Ead-gifu’, meaning, wealthy/fortunate gift.  Instead of this, a somewhat difficult name had already gotten into my head, and never left.  I named the babe ‘Dimer’ (I say this something like “Dee-mare”), an old Sumerian word for ‘God’, possibly in a feminine dialect.  I wanted to render this as “Jin-mi” in Korean, but the wife refused it, as well as the un-namelike “Dae-mal”.  At last, we settled on ‘Je-min’ (“Jeh-meen”), with the Chinese meaning, ‘Emperor of Heaven’, probably the best translation we could have wrung out of the foreign name, though not the most girlish of names.

She is a mild baby, so far.  She caught a cold from her uncontrollable brothers, and went to the hospital (the boys’ birthplace) with mother.  The boys were deposited with their grandparents in Jeong-eup (where I now am), and have been here for two weeks.  The baby and mother went home several days ago, while I have been going back and forth between here and Jeonju.  My nights and weekends have been absolutely joyous in the company of my beautiful sons.  Everybody is mostly healed now; we may leave at the start of the week.

These children have made everything worth it.

I think our marriage is a little stabler than before — though even last week, I became so provoked as to shout horribly at her, outside in the parking lot, embarrassing all hearers.  I drove off, but, not completely confident in her rational or safe behaviour under stress, I soon returned, and we talked it out.

Our love has grown painfully and slowly.  But enduringly, I hope.

My dreams for months (years?) had been plagued by a beautiful woman (sometimes one face, sometimes another) whom I seemed to greatly, warmly love — dreams I longed to remain in.  Lately, those dreams are infrequent.

Since my last entry about Donald Trump, I at some point realized my delusion of cruel prejudice against the man, realized his great worth and leadership ability, and, by election time, had completely turned in favour of his candidacy.  My parents visited and kindly brought my ballot from home, carrying it back when they left.  Yet it was a hopeless support, covered by so many dark clouds, so much rumbling, and so much hatred from his wrathful detractors.  To tell the truth, on the day after election, we two had failed to recover from a dismal, draining fight, and were for the third time plotting our divorce.  We simply could not continue, babies or none.

Trump’s victory struck me like lightning, turning the entire world electric blue.  I could not believe it, at first.  But as it sunk in, I felt alive, and irrepressibly hopeful…  If Trump could win, then there was possibility in this world, and even my sickening problems could be overcome.  Once renewed, our marital conversation immediately changed.

I later read some woman complaining that she was single because of Trump’s win.

…And I laughed a sad laugh.  It saved me, at least on that day.

Poor, poor, miserable human beings, who cannot even think except in lies, who cannot live except by foisting their lies on others, depressing everybody together with themselves.  The take-away from “Progressive” America is, you are either permanently evil, or a permanent victim of evil, and your only respite from torment is to live as an animal.

I wish they could have peace and reclaim their human dignity, but none can enjoy peace while stuck inside of fanaticism and delusion, with reality hammering from every angle, at every level of conscious thought.  Probably any anti-Trump news you have ever read, or will ever read, will have been built on some kind of unrecognized absurdity.

But Trump, God bless and preserve him, was always just an underwater gasp of oxygen, four years in the waiting, that won’t last forever.  My only hope for America’s continuance is, strangely enough, through America’s death.  Only secession will save this doomed Union from the civilizational conflicts shaking the ground beneath it.  …Well, there are some more brutal solutions, including seeing the cultural rot through to the end, but separation is the least bloody of them.

One would rather hope, with so much opportunity for communication, that the world would enter an era of peace.  On the other hand, our growing conformity has made our inevitably arising differences all the more threatening to us.

As I once derided Trump, ignorantly, so I hated our neighbour, North Korea, blaming them for many past woes, and attributing all fault in our present national disagreement.

But being so close to the problem (and shocked at first that the now stronger South was unready to rise up and destroy their rival), very gradually, piece by piece, I discovered hitherto unasked questions about my absolutism.  With the first, I thought (to simplify with numbers), ‘Maybe they are not 100% evil, maybe just 99%; still, quite bad.’  Then, the 99% was reduced to 98%.  And if they could be 2% good, I thought, maybe they could also be more than 2%.  I knew I had to get more knowledge about it.  Before long, as I read and thought, discussing with my older adult students who represented the wisdom of this city (which happens to be one of the least anti-North-Korea regions in the land), I started to find North Korea only 90% evil, and then only 80%.

And suddenly, the whole dam cracked, and burst.

Following the logic, I become more in favour of the Northern regime’s goals than even the most sympathetic of my students.  Everything, every North Korean sin, had a question, a challenge, and every question had more than one possible way to interpret an answer.  I found myself thinking, ‘If I were in THEIR shoes… OF COURSE I would do what they do.’

Thus mentally freed, I have stricken their country’s name from my own private blacklist, until, as any other government, they do something worthy of revulsion — certainly not the constant assurances of peace coming from their news organs, that almost no American bothers reading, content instead to convict and execute millions over a few miserably miscontexted “threats”.

Here and there, I still stridently disagree with North Korean policy, and do not yet wish to go there — I have babies here.  I like it here.  But God willing, someday, I will go, without fear.  And if so, I will go to serve.

People go there without understanding.  They go to privately scoff at the place; the more righteous ones go to subvert the country, to fix it, to remake it in their own image, to dominate it.  But even they tend to come back uncertain of their domination.  Dennis Rodman and Jimmy Carter, these caricatures of public figures, have risen now, in my sight, to heroic stature, at least on the North Korea question.  Only they and a few like them have any flicker of humanity toward their fellow human beings in that hated land, and any desire to comprehend the motives of their unlucky leaders.  The rest are satisfied to hate, fear, and bully, exacerbating whatever badness exists.

Against this backdrop of isolation, three days ago, on the anniversary of a much uglier incident, North Korea achieved an unthinkable success with their highest yet launch, a missile that could theoretically reach their enemy’s far-off shores — in other words, a TRUMP-like victory, against the whole world.  I applaud them for it.

Trump himself, I must strongly differ with on this issue.  Despite being first criticized for being overly friendly with North Korea (and earning North Korean praise for it), early in his presidency he adopted the hawkish biases of the U.S. military, Japan, and South Korea, and has not yet moved past them.  The man unfairly judged and hated, the pariah president, has not yet fairly judged Gim Jeong-eun (the proper spelling of Kim Jong-un), though he has shown some inklings of empathy.  The new president trying to break from the mistakes of past rule has not recognized that North Korea’s still impressionable young leader is also a new man, with no hand in any expired wrongdoing.

Well, if any of my zero readers want to be walked through North Korea’s blatant justifiability, let me know.  To summarize it, the “technical state of war” has been almost bloodless for five decades; U.N.’s American-led ‘illegalization’ of nuclear defense is arbitrary, ad-hoc, self-serving, and unenforceable; America nuclearized Korea long before the Gim dynasty ever did; North Korea is literally surrounded by friendly and less-friendly nuclear neighbours; North Korean test launches, in mimicry of those of its neighbours and foes, have been deliberately safe; North Korea not only repeatedly confesses peaceful intentions, but has almost no possibility of successfully prosecuting a campaign of aggression; and sanctions only hurt North Korean poor and stunt the country’s modernization.

Anyway, now, with the latest launch, I start to find people arguing more determinedly against a first strike.  Maybe peace is now closer ahead.  Korea deserves it.


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2016/04/24 Su – Twice in a Life

I should like to write about topics of interest, and imagine up some greatness for myself with whatever small audience I could attract.  Like others, I sometimes have ideas I want to share.  But this page started, and must remain, as a personal journal; all else will drift into obsolescence.  (Besides, I have fewer than ever real people to talk to any more.)

I have often wanted to write more, but I am hounded night and day by the “responsibility” that my wife is sure that I carry, and that she is sure conflicts with spending much time on-line, as I used to do when I wrote here.  A few words on our situation…

This has been the most impactful year of our lives.  Several months after our union, we found our (my) fecundity diminished (again, my wife would say, from my computer use), so we cut short our attempts at pregnancy that were taking too long at our age, and went in to a place.  She was injected with hormonal agents over some weeks; her spawn and my fertilizer were harvested (on the morning of Dec. 15) and combined (the same day, I think); and three days after, three new beings were implanted into her, those considered viable.  One embryo had the best formation, while two others were fair; others, I forget how many (if any), were ill-formed.  I think we had an initial supply of five or six eggs.


(Above: Probably, but not necessarily, the same three-day-old human beings)

Within a few more weeks, one of the three children stopped growing, died, and disintegrated, our sorrow opposed by our relief at the passed-over remnant (and, probably, her relief at not needing to balloon up any further beyond what her already small frame would easily tolerate).


The two survivors thrived, to our great consolation, lasting 34 weeks and 3 days from conception (two weeks longer by regular pregnancy count), till the day that we (she) had scheduled their ventral removal — too early, I still thought, even though delayed a little on my urging.  I was wonderfully grateful that a male nurse had taken my hand-held recorder to film their mother’s deliverance.  The children, boys, as we had already been informed, saw or felt sunlight again on a Thursday — the same day they had last seen it, if there had been any in the room where they were implanted.  Both were eyes-open when I first saw them, but one soon shut his eyes.



Eight months have gone by, in much the same emotional extremes that characterized us previously — joys and agonies — but the joy is much expanded, now, encircling all the delights and cuteness of such young innocents.  The periodic agony was always somewhat severe and is still severe.  The conflict remains.  Our hope and trust are still badly damaged, unhealed, by our repeated refusal to accept one another.  I feel that my expectations of her conformity are far less intrusive than hers of mine, but she obviously does not.

I have often felt pulled by memories — not so much tortured by past ignorance, as before, but reminded of my various lost chances: a hallway of many locked, and many unlocked and even opened doors that I did not bother pressing upon, having found the first few, by chance, locked.

But the two of us were deep into it before, and are doubly deep in now, with no real thoughts of getting out, except to soothe our desperation in our worst moments.


Our parents visited once, then twice (Mother only), and thrice will be a week later — welcome bright lights on our foggy highway.

Can you imagine, Donald Trump as president?  It’s comic-book stuff; it’s unreal (if our artificial reality can be called real), that people would care so little as to elect some yahoo from their entertainment channel on t.v. (because he’s rich! he talks big! he’ll make the country ‘so great, very soon’, because that’s the only thing he can ever think to say on camera!).  It’s as unreal as Obama and his mad science experiment in the White House, a man elected for the colour of his skin (and because he’s cool! he talks big! he makes fun of his enemies, takes credit and distributes blame for everything, and makes bizarre promises that are somehow believable if you’re under 30!).  The Trump movement (as well as the Sanders movement) is only a sequel to the irrational extravagance and wild gullibility of the Obama movement.  Yet I find myself defending him again and again on Facebook, as his critics almost unfailingly fight him at his own vacuous level, condemning this and that, the colour of his handkerchief, or the smell of his flatulence, or the way he was taught to speak English, or the cut of his toupee, proving themselves nothing more or less than he is, as they clamour for the equal — no, the greater fraudulence of his more calculating but transparently self-serving rivals.  Yet they are all, to a man, perfectly average Americans subjected to different upbringings.  They are all, alike, qualified or unqualified.

Should a man have political credentials to govern?  Yes, in the old world of kings, where some men are better than others, he should.  In America, he should not; his animus should only be a demonstrated desire to serve to his country, and the most basic ability to thoughtfully discharge his duty, nor should he make a dime off of that service, nor should he be given sole command of the military or the final assent and whole execution of all laws, much less free rein to direct the economy or to shape and educate the demograph by appointing ‘czars’.  Indeed, he should not seek the job at all; it should be foisted upon him at random, and should reward him nothing, neither renown nor title nor Nobel Prize nor a fortune in book sales and speaking fees nor free retirement, but honest toil and the common respect afforded all others who do their duty.  We have corrupted our lofty system from the beginning, enticing our servants to exercise authority over us, allowing them to do so because in our petty resentment, we hope that the same ill that we pull on our own heads will also crush our foes.

The system cannot have succeeded.  Imagine, a single tyrant being bad, but a committee of like-minded tyrants not being bad!  All with the same sense of self-importance and hunger to control their fellow beings.  Or a chief executive not being bad… because… what?  Because the brilliant electorate will not vote him in nor retain him for a second term!  …And judges will oppose him!  Congress will oppose him!  And yet he appoints the judges, and the congressmen, too, are partisans, selected by the same public frenzy that selected himself, with the same religion and loyalties and invented grievances to correct by their gracious condescencion.  Or, an opposition party arises to contest governance, and, gaining any power at all, immediately oppresses its old enemies.  And all answer together to Babylon, the government of manufactured popularity, with its police apparatus of social fear and economic pressure, and its religion of greed and license and wrath.  It’s back to the jungle law of pre-modern times; King Government can do whatever he pleases.

What is missing, forgotten soon after the founding, is a sense of the purpose of government, the distinction between what the individual must do and what the collective must not do.  It has been well asked, could a Bill of Rights happen today, in the ways that we think separate us from scarier nations?  Almost as soon as Americans realized, ‘Hey, no more kings!’ their next thought was, ‘……Now -I- can be king!’  And kings they became, warring with other imperialists to swipe land, depriving natives of their heritages, enslaving foreigners, marching on each other to exterminate dissenters, ending slavery without repatriating its victims to antagonize the future, waging conquest abroad, gradually draping grosser and grosser obscenity across the land, establishing by law a new religion of their own make, propagandizing that religion by mandate, and fragmenting society from within and without to assert their dominance.  Our only idea now is to win elections and impose our will, or suffer beneath the will of others — America’s never-abolished slavery of the mind.

Perhaps a computerized technocracy could reverse it, programmed to only its essential functions.  Alas, it will just be a new vector of control.  At least human kings die out.

But back in 2016, no, I care nothing for this sideshow election, or whether Mexicans with their retinue of criminals keep moving in and screwing up the country whilst screaming at Americans for it, or whether terrorists come enforce sharia on all these devilish Christians, or still other foreigners come factionalise and socialise the place, or whether the wealthy make a killing while the poor crave ignorance and perpetuate their own poverty, or careless and stupid children addict themselves to chemical products and send their communities back to the dark ages, or the middle class see their earnings inflated and taxed away by clownish monetary policy, or whether the perverted school board prostitutes the nation’s children on the grounds that ignorance of prostitution is a sin, or a generation of voluntary prostitutes murders its own children in service of their idol of lust, or whether Christianity is outlawed and some new secular cult of ideological ‘science’ enforced, or the people are caused to worship animals to appease the offended climate gods, or the whole place is burned and starved out by drought or whatever, or any move right or left by the obese yet starving military causes foreign lands to burn and explode with war.

Some of it is real, some is fantasy; but it’s all delusion considering that these externalities do not account for human happiness, except in the vague sense that, if human life exists at all (sorry, aborted babies and other murdered people) in the modern world, it already grants every chance for contentment that the ancient members of our race could have wanted.  Bad policy does take a toll; some must be unwillingly sacrificed for it.  But granted life and basic liberty, happiness can only ever come from within, from living in accordance with our natures.  You would be hard pressed to find a political entity anywhere today (or, in fact, in the past), living within which you could neither live happily, if so intentioned to, if you were willing to follow the rules, nor escape to where you could live happily.  Some minorities in transition lack this privilege, but very few in our day — victims, for example, of human trafficking.  But many others believe themselves to be in this condition of forced sorrow, and their belief makes it true where it otherwise is not true.

But spare me the campaign nonsense about how your party has discovered a superhero, and that everybody else is a supervillain.  There are better candidates, though we cannot predict them, only make our best guesses.  Impossible paradoxes come to good leaders as easily as simplicity and ease come to weak leaders.  And it doesn’t matter how well you dance if your partner refuses to quit tripping you, nor how poorly if your mother is the judge.  There are also better social movements and policies, but not the ones you’ll find inside your group-think or political orthodoxy of choice, or ever the ones you’ll see praised on t.v. or advertised by the corporate Internet — probably not even the policies you will ever seriously consider while still wanting to be respected in public, since the public is not motivated by truth, but by fear of ostracism.

Presidents, though, will not make you happy, nor save your country, nor ruin it.  You will, and your fellow men will.

David French, a great help to Mitt Romney back in the day, types a lot of very good stuff.  I sometimes, though, take issue with some of it on Facebook, and may have hit a nerve with my last comment, which I later found inaccessible and, by the looks of it, deleted, along with his whole post (linking his off-site article) — not a common phenomenon with him.  It was not my intent to annoy, but I certainly feel annoyed myself by the removal, and now must post it here, with slight [adjustment]:

Oh, what primary-election horror… Trump is a centrist.  Once again, please excuse my sighing dissent.

Is it really threatening, to think to reserve images on currency only for chief executives?  In our lifetimes, the only non-president on U.S. paper money was Founding Father Ben Franklin (though there were other exceptions in the early days, since the time that monetary ‘bills’ were actually pieces of writing – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_Note ).  Except for the Union’s feminine persona, ‘Lady Liberty’, non-presidents on coins were also quite rare, including the Native American nickel figure of a century ago, and then the Susan B. Anthony dollar in 1979 — both resulting from “ideological whims”.  This traditional near exclusivity of presidents on money has begun to break down in our time (though not out-of-step with historical precedents, far less with international trends), and Trump’s point of view may be wrong, but why agree with him in principle, then fault him for disliking the conclusion?  French: “Conservatives can call out the motives while applauding the outcome.”  (…What?  Why?)  Trump: “I question both the motives and the outcome.”  Yikes!  And this ‘yuge’ difference somehow means that Conservatives cannot trust him… because, what, his resignation toward cultural disenfranchisement is wanting.  This particular criticism somehow manages to make French look more scatter-brained than his target.

But perhaps Trump is truly vile, for his Romney-esque prioritization of economic stability over correct stands on gender policy — that is, for his opinion that he retained as personal, (correctly) leaving the choice to NC.  He can surely be re-educated on the perceived risks of victimization from bathroom-sharing, and his logical breach about the status quo.  This is the fairest point against him in this article, though, as usual, it unfairly aims at an off-the-cuff response to the (veiled) antagonism of interrogators.  We already knew that Trump lacks Obama’s silvery tongue, though not without his own rhetorical skill.

Also recalling Romney is Trump’s outlandish idea that innocent women — imagine, if only momentarily, the French daughters, or any of our daughters or kin — MUST become the mothers of their rapists’ children, must perpetuate the genes of their defilers whom scripture, on its part, nominally condemned to death, because rapists have more right to reproduce than the women have not to reproduce.  Or, that women, who can potentially create many children, MUST be compelled to heroically give their lives for a single one in utero, if sinister physiological circumstance befalls.  Pay no mind that these exceptions of enormous political value amount to the most insignificant fraction of the child-sacrifice trade as a whole.

Do the Christians under the Trump/Romney bus still care for scripture?  The Bible says, “The seed of the wicked shall be cut off” (Ps. 37:28).  But it also says, “The children [shall not] be put to death for the fathers: every man shall be put to death for his own sin” (Deut. 24:16; also, Ezek. 18), and a king spared the (presumably legitimate) children of murderers on this account (2 Kgs. 14:6).  Yet certain incestuous were cursed to both “be” and “die childless” (Lev. 20:20-21).  God himself dealt such a steep judgment to King David (whom Mrs. French lately argued was a rapist): upon his murder and wife-theft, God took the resultant child (2 Sam. 12:13-15).  God through Isaiah promised, at his day of judgment, to send sinners foes who “shall have no pity on the fruit of the womb; their eye shall not spare children”, and that “their children also shall be dashed to pieces before their eyes” (Isaiah 13:16-18).

If anybody deserves this ultimate penalty of genetic eradication, is it not those whose very crime is to create life parasitically, without consent — to erase their crime with an equal, opposite measure, a tooth for a tooth?  Yet no mother is compelled to destroy her own flesh, if that is what her abuser’s child is to her; but why deprive her the choice of destroying the flesh of him who did sacrilege to her sacred motherhood, who, without rape abortion, is forced to merge or pollute her endless maternal love with her equally eternal revulsion at her own degradation?  Had there been reliable procedures for abortion in Moses’ day, would he not have given God’s word along these lines: no abortion for any reasons whatsoever, EXCEPT at the choice of the proven victims of rape, or where medical emergency in pregnancy will likely rob a family of its nurturer, threatening all for the sake of one?

[Mothers are creators.  Does the choice of creation belong to the creator, or to the creature?  We may condemn Muslims for exercising (Biblical) parental rights that we have outlawed, but the fact remains that parents stand in the place of God to their helpless young children, and have power to discharge their duty.  But, one may argue, mothers seeking to end pregnancies for convenience already had their choice, and, once choosing to create life, may not ethically terminate it… EXCEPT those who were forced into motherhood by assault.  They, alone, should have full liberty, as all other parents, to make the once-in-a-lifetime choice of creation.]

Christians, please reconsider these exemptions.  NR/French, please try again to rebuke Trump above, not below, his own meager level of substance.

Maybe it was the part about his family.  Oh, well; it was a fair approach, to apply his preferred policy personally to him, if he wants to apply it personally to others.  I respect him greatly.


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2015/12/21 M – Stetson Hallam 2

I am sorry that I have nothing new on this topic.  I ranted much in the last post, perhaps without sufficient appreciation of the strains placed on the legal system.  The lady judge, wildly and fanatically feministic though she may be, probably tried her best given the conditions.

I do still wonder whether she knew that Stetson did not destroy his evidence at all.  I told him to get rid of his implements of threat, as he confessed to and counselled with me in his car on the night of that mistake.  Looking back, this may have been very poor advice, as it may have strengthened his charges; and those familiar with law will spot the opportunity to claim obstruction of justice, or tampering with evidence, even on my part.  This, indeed, is one reason why I gave only what co-operation seemed mandatory to the investigators of that incident — I started to worry about the collateral damage of an enraged justice system, how that it may just as shamelessly accuse me of crime just for having been there.

I was one of three of his roommates (I in the other of our two rooms), all of us surprised by the first social reports of the incident, but I think I was the only one to have had the luxury of talking it out with him afterward, in his vehicle.  And if I did wrong in it, I will have to carry the regret.

Frankly disturbed by the sight of his tools, my only thought at the time was to put some distance between him and them, to start him back down the path of psychological normalisation.  Throw them out, I urged.  He agreed, and did so.  We found some dumpster in a church parking lot (not our apartment dumpster later ransacked by somewhat rough-talking police officers a couple days later in their search of our apartment, whose immodest manners were sufficient to discourage me from a more scrupulous disclosure of those facts).

He wanted, the next day, to go to the authorities, but, while glad for his humility, I made the second error of questioning his intuition.  Not fully cognizant of the potential penalty lying ahead, I suggested instead just going to the school authorities to report it there; surely this would also be done by the other parties involved, and he may as well give his voice, too.  I did not know that it would go any further than that, so why go instigate what could be a difficult legal process?  To this, too, he seemed to agree, and I accompanied him to the school office…

Bad advice, all of it.  Good given my limited experience, maybe, but bad in the end.  The judge may have viewed him more humanely, less ferally, had he been left to his own inclinations.

That’s about as far as I got with it; he was arrested some days later, as I recall.  People asked our apartment residents for verbal evidence, and I gave mine sparingly, not wanting my words twisted or weighted, hoping instead to make myself available to his sympathizers, in case I could shine any favourable light on what was destined to be an unfavourable process.  As I remember, my attempt at contact was rebuffed — though, again, maybe it would just have invited culpability, to interact with the defense.  Before I knew it, the trial had come and gone.

But, no, Lady Judge, he did not destroy that evidence, not of his own intent, nor was there any bad intention in it.

From half a world away, it is difficult to give any news.  Contributory comments are welcome.  If Stetson ever reads this, Stetson, know that many people are interested in your future.  My post on you was far more visited than any of my others, even discounting repeat visitors.  People care, even those who seem not to care.  Even the critics were, in their frequently immature way, expressing the dissonance between their own good expectations of your well-living and the negative observations that had reached them, filtered through their biases, and resulted in their scorn or bullying or pessimism.  Very many are concerned about you, and your life ahead can be as bright as the next man’s, as bright as you choose.  All who care for you are expecting and awaiting such a result, inevitable mistakes notwithstanding.


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2015/07/26 Su – Flesh Hooks

It has been two years of marriage.

Korea itself still feels magical to me; I’m not tired of it, except only some of the traffic habits, and the same obnoxious loudness of the people I have always been averse to, and the horrible lack of discipline of the children which I fear must ultimately strain and break their vaunted educational framework; and their sickening cultural and racial guilt and greedy craving for the prestige language and the foreign (that is, white) lifestyle; and, of course, the troubling social blindness, the creeping rejection of their own morals and quiet accommodation of the obscene, which will also not end well.  There is sometimes the strange feeling of living inside a sunset here, perhaps the prettiest or gaudiest time of day, that you feel you must photograph or remember well, because before long, it will fade to black.

Did America have this nice interlude, in the nineties or something, or did it just all gradually turn suffocatingly smoky, gray, and dark?

By chance, we were invited to local television.  We were meant as poster-children for Korea’s present national idol, “multiculturalism”, which I already see as one tool for the super-conscious eradication of what has hitherto been known as Korea.  Asked whether I would return to my so-called homeland, I wanted to decry drugs and corruption, and warn the people of the radicalism and tyranny over the marriage question that is surely on its noxious way to poisoning this peaceful land.  More relevantly, I wanted to denunciate the grave difficulty and potential folly of intercultural marriage.  Instead, I only managed to stammer about crime and safety, and then fumble through a melody on the gaya-geum (translated “zither” or “harp”, a lovely sounding string-board I have been trying to learn).

About the marriage question, I have a fair bit to say.  I was deeply disturbed by this, my hometown paper’s confused article which tried stupidly and unconvincingly to pivot concern away from the same-gender perversion and toward non-committal cohabitation (why?  if marriage in the public mind has been reduced to a contract of whimsy between perverted friends, what possible argument remains to such people that heterosexuals should not enter and exit the absurd collection of irrational legal benefits at will?).  Of course, it was drowned out well enough by its own brutish commenters, the violent virtual protests of the organized thugs who swarmed the page, grunting that both homosexuality AND cohabitation were their ideals — indeed, every imaginable form of moral incontinency was, to them, the end purpose of beastly mankind.

Without a much greater gift of Godly vision, I cannot mourn these “people” so unyieldingly resistant to their own personhood, no matter what happens to them.  About the impenetrable toxic cloud of lies resting carcinogenically upon my own kind, like the radioactive fallout of a massive overhead explosion of pure, Satanic evil, I know what I would say: something like, “Devils, enjoy your hell; zombies, enjoy your slow rot.  The rest of you, don your masks and hike back out into the living world.”

But about my own marriage, what can be said, that I will not feel like scribbling out later?  It depends on the day, as to whether I could recommend this stage of life.

I have tried to keep a written record of the source and unfolding of the numberless conflicts underlying our frequent joys, but they reached the point of just being mindless, nearly daily repetitions of each other, seemingly unstoppable, notwithstanding our great, mutual effort…

While I am well over thirty now, and do not wish to gratify my whininess here as I have in past entries, she has pushed me very far beyond my original endurance; and she often assures me that everything is exactly mutual.  Both of us have both seen and battled each other’s inner demons.  Our private strife has even briefly stumbled across the public border, depleting community resources in a very small way.

I have had many sweet and happy dreams, to interrupt what would typically be happy days, but that are confounded by contention.

It may appear some breach of trust to say so, but mostly, it is not her face in my dreams.

I have dreamed of several old faces, maybe even some new ones, but nowadays, I rarely recognize the face nor can name the innate identity.  Two or three nights ago, the person had short, dark, greyish-brownish hair (often, it is longer and brownish-blonde) and an excellent demeanor.  She spoke my language natively and shared my racial design, at least to some extent.  Having become well acquainted somehow, as we talked, we coyly found opportunity to confess, in that childish, false way of infatuated interest, our feelings, and my heart was free, and soared… for the few seconds before honesty speared me in the back and I told her that I was already married.  The news hurt her, and her angry response hurt me.  Then why the interest, she seemed to demand.  I offered some halting justification, but had little other choice but to withdraw, head dangling in guilt and eyes watering at the abandonment.

In the next moment, I was awake again, face to face with the truth — a face breathing softly and at perfect repose only whilst sleeping, but stretched or crunched with so much unnecessary stress otherwise.  Within a minute or two, the lingering thrill and fresh pain of the dream evaporated, and my pondering fell to the mundane.  I did not tell her about this one.  Usually, I do, and she smirks or snorts, or tells me a reciprocal dream later; but I have little wish now to needlessly annoy her.

Was it worth it?

The other day after a fight, I pictured losing her — no, discarding her; disposing of her — and it stung me into an apology.  In more than one way, I would be lost if alone.  I do not trust those unruly dreams.  There is no real unknown face waiting, except across a wide, long, forlorn desert thirsty for emotional security.  And the die is long cast.

We failed to find any better; we found at last whom we deserved.  I believe her abusive reminders that no other woman would have me… because I experienced that life myself.

We married in the real way, to fulfill our purpose of inseparably joining flesh in creation.  We were and are still fully intentioned against divorce.  I would not change that decision, despite how often I have angrily, flippantly wished to be unmarried.  Given her background, nothing could be less natural than divorce; and for me, there has been a formative example that needs to not be repeated.  Yet the vile weapon is threateningly hefted from time to time, firstly by me, lastly by her.

It may very well lay us in early graves, having leeched away our life force… but I cannot think of an alternative to this life.

We have grown closer.  We each know what the other likes (we share ever more of these likes), and what they hate; we can regularly guess what each other will do.

Our story sounds nicer than it was.  Even to us, it gets better with the retelling.  Looking at our pictures from those innocent times is like watching some movie that we starred in, surreal from the right angle, cumbersome props tucked away — a fantasy that we cannot touch, although we ourselves created it.

We are still creating it.

Sometimes, maybe, on our good days, we like to think that we are touching that happy fantasy.

We have been somehow right for each other.  Somehow, we fill each other’s lack, cross each other’s gaps — not all, but the needful ones.

Our love, yes, love, almost entirely bypassed that delusive visual stage, that harpy song of fleshly attraction, and is now deeply burrowed in familiarity, is meshed partially and deformedly in conjoined identity… and, at last, is forever anchored genetically (forever, if the spiritual promises and theories of physics are right, and the past can really be seen at great lengths).

We had tried for a while.  It seems I was deficient.  At some point, we undertook to pay a man to play God for us.  God fortunately accepted and blessed this well-intentioned mimickry, and three new lives sprang off from us.  We could closely estimate the day of their conception.

One offspring soon failed to grow, or was crowded out (two, if my pictures are correct, were a little bit irregularly shaped at the beginning, and we were subdued but not surprised by the loss — in fact, we were relieved that it was only the single life, when it could have been all of them).  At our first discovery, we found two tiny, only vaguely recognizable humans still pressing forward some inches past life’s starting line, and kept checking in on them with increasing anxiety till about the twenty-first week, after which our minds grew easier.

Their position and number are not favourable for natural or timely birth.  They ideally would wait out the entire next month, but taking them three weeks early will endue them with technical legality just past the middle of August (whereas some Americans, pretending to idolize love while sacrificing its fruit to their true god of lust, still crusade for our unwanted right to scissor up these innocents — if I may channel Obama’s pastor, God curse such a nation to suffer its choices in reverse, upon its own head).

Among other health deficits of the early borne, today, I read glumly about the expected deprivation of their enteric microbiome — helpful digestive-tract bacteria, best established through certain kinds of maternal contact.  I still have not tried to learn how to pump breast milk, and am occasionally scolded for this.  We have bought a few things, and inherited a few.  She has scrambled for her maternal and spousal “benefits” (some even exist for mixed-race families, invented in an embarrassing fit of reverse-racism learned from the U.S.A.) that I would have made no such effort for, now considering marriage benefits only a spooky-eyed marionette occupying the seat of actual, creative marriage at the haunted dinner table of a grinning family of insane voters and their sadistic, black-robed patriarchs.

All in all (at least, whenever I can set aside my revulsion at the whorish pride smothering my homeland, which she usually thinks she has heard well enough of), we are expecting a good outcome, a wonderful new challenge of accommodation, and a chance to see what we are worth in the long chain, as the offspring of our own parents.

We are now in Jeong-eup, the only place where she is really at ease.  We accompanied family to the city of Dam-yang yesterday.  I happened to have caught two types of temporary disease, but am not suffering greatly.

My parents are expected later, though not in time for the event.  In two days, we will probably set the date with the doctor.  In two to three weeks, our lives will change forever.

We will continue to give our best effort for their sakes, but more still, for the union represented inside of them — our own.

When a young tree starts to grow, though the spot is hard, it does not ask to be replanted elsewhere.  It simply grows harder, live or die.  It clutches more deeply, comes in more densely.  And if it thrives, it lasts for generations.


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2013/08/11 Su – First Summer

We have had nearly three months of marriage now.  Regardless of having known each other for three years, we have a variety of communication problems — linguistic, cultural, intellectual, personal(ity), financial, emotional, vehicular — and I can almost feel our recurring conflict sapping our strength and shortening our lives; and more than ‘almost’, I can actually see the wrinkles and gray hair appearing, at least in the other party.  I guess patience is the only answer.  I’ve written what would be a nice stack of pages in a separate journal file, much of which enumerates our marital difficulties… but it’s enough to say that the difficulty is extreme and frequent, though punctuated by many short, and sometimes long, smooth spots where we can pretend away our trouble, and rebuild our smashed trust.  Speaking from now, with the memory of altercation still fresh, I would absolutely not have started along this path if I could have seen it all at the outset.  Still, I find eventual improvement likely (since we have already been very slowly improving), and someday, especially if we are given any offspring, I expect to say that the decision was worthy to be made.

I don’t blame her, or the institution of marriage; it’s human life that’s responsible for the trials of human life.  While we have some peculiar weaknesses, I don’t think it would be that much easier with anybody else; and we have some strengths.

I really just need some time alone now and then, to rest and recuperate.  Outside of work, we’re basically always together.  It’s too much of an adjustment, to have lost so much individuality so suddenly.  Spending all our time together isn’t any great problem, except when I occasionally want to do anything, and then I discover these tiny, invisible constraints around me, her expectations — like I’ve walked through some strands of spider webbing.  Anyway, after refusing, again, to accompany her on her weekly visit to her nearby hometown, I’m free again, and at peace, at least for today.

Meanwhile, I feel like I have lost all hope in my country of birth and its increasingly corrupt institutions.  It may have been overly wishful, to have believed in ‘Amercan exceptionalism’.  Only since the regeneration of conservatism in the U.S. over the past couple decades has a significant part of the people even been aware of how dismally and progressively sick their country has become… but outside of sporadic attempts, here a parent home-schooling their children, there a church boycotting movies or television, over there some decent people becoming civilly engaged, there is no course of treatment being followed to save the country.  The financial peril ahead of us is nothing; the vacuum into which will rush our doom is spiritual.  There is no novel danger, here; the commandments of our Creator are simply not being obeyed.  There is a sign posted, not to urinate on a power generator — but inebriated by their atheism, Americans can no longer appreciate the warning.

The cure?  Excision.  Amputation.  Quarantine.  Separation.  Division.

Well, no; the cure is repentance.  Separatism would only break the shackles of majority misrule, and allow the pursuit of freedom.

In a way, I’m glad I’m out of that country that my fathers bled for — that my father bled against — that my people first fled to for refuge and liberty, and then fled from when refuge and liberty were taken away.  But the country, or its principles, swallowed them up again; and now the country’s new principles vomit me out, and make me break the prejudices I once had against the earth’s great evildoers, whom I once saw as only enemies: now they are still enemies, but now they are also peers.  We have matched their evil.

We should not have worshipped gods of metal and flesh.  We should not have made idols.  We should not have blasphemed God, nor pretended his authority, nor pretended his silence.  We should have kept a seventh day, and remembered our creation.  We should not have betrayed the good hopes of our fathers and mothers, nor forgotten and broken our ties.  We should not have killed, nor have done anything like killing.  We should not have made pleasure our master.  We should not have stolen from our countrymen, nor slandered our countrymen, nor hungered for what was our countrymen’s.

Neither should we have craved dishonesty, nor loved money, nor forgotten the poor, to cast their sustenance upon others, or their care upon our rulers.  Nor should we have safeguarded addiction, nor rewarded the idler, nor lifted fashion and skin colour over substance, nor elevated raucous laughter above joy.  We should have loved God, thanking him for all things; and we should have pitied his unlovable children.  We should have forgiven the erstwhile wrongdoer, but not exonerated the repeated crime.

And we may still do all these things, even though our countries have already seemingly been sealed to their own pestilential harvest.  I rejoice in the part of town where I live now, because they’re lagging behind much of the world’s wickedness.  I sorrow because they’re still moving in the same direction, and just as blindly as those ahead of them.

But our stewardship is ourselves, and God will make a way for even the last man’s family.  Our great comfort is to know that there are myriads of other ‘last men’ around us.

It would be nice if I were worthy to say any of this, but it’s not me dealing out the judgment.

Anyway, I think I may have given up my hope prematurely.  Between nation and self, there are many strongholds left to defend, of increasing defensibility.

What a pity, that our days are days of conflict, or else slavish subjection.  That is the nature of this mortal game we are playing: we’re thrown onto the field suddenly, in a daze; we wait for our head to stop spinning, and try to straighten out our bearings; we run forward to help our team; and we are yanked off the field, again suddenly.  That our team is now losing does not mean we have not played well; and the trophy doesn’t go to the winning team anyway, but to the team and players that are not disqualified by the judges’ review.  Then, let’s keep playing hard.

…Honestly, I don’t have a lot of energy left for the world.  I’m no longer sure the right causes of man have any effect at all.

But the cause of God, and the vigor in its pursuit, are not measured as men measure things.  To play hard in this game can be as unimpressive as taking time to read a few lines of text; choosing a right deed or thought over a mean one; choosing a smile instead of a scowl; choosing a scowl instead of an angry outburst; taking a break and trying again after something goes wrong; or simply enduring the day.  This is how we hairy creatures grow into divine beings.

Well, I’ve been having some trouble at work, dealing with some unexpectedly stern complaints of my boss and the school manager (who are under their own pressures and searching for things to blame and fix), and figuring out how to best interact with my energetic but sometimes over-assuming co-teacher, but so far, I still have a job and seem to like almost all of the students.  I don’t make extremely much money, and would make less if I had to pivot to another job.

I’ve been wanting to make a language journal, or turn this into one.  I don’t really have time.


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2013/05/17 F – The Day

It’s 4/8 on the Korean lunar calendar, held as Buddha’s birthday.  Soon, I’ll be married by some local community authority; at some time we’ll also register as such with the government.

After the hauntings of last summer — a ghost whose face I saw, coming around a corner at church one Sunday, her brother’s home-coming talk; her abdomen extended with another pregnancy, she looked me in the eyes for a moment as I tried to smile, but there was no sign of recognition nor hoped-for friendship — I quit this place and flew to Korea at the end of January to get a teaching job for at least a year.  I went to Myeong-seon’s city, as our plans to work together and/or pursue a deepening relationship solidified.

Last fall, I started to meet Erin Baker, a friend of Ito Dan’s.  Our ages were too different, but I immediately liked her and her family, and thought she was my last chance for a life on that side of the world, with my own people.  My plan had already been set, and she would be serving a mission soon, but I tried, in our brief acquaintance, to see if there were any glimmer of mutuality worth waiting for…  Finding none, I left unburdened.

Kim Hyun-joo and I happened not to meet, as we’d considered, and as I’d hoped.  She got introduced to some Church brother anyway, and decided to marry him.  Her wedding was in April, I think.  I didn’t feel the pressing need to attend.  I was just happy that I’d had the chance to turn down her suggestion of a date last year over Skype, undoing the emotional knot that had been tied years ago, when she (probably inadvertently) stood me up that day in Utah.  Anyway, we hadn’t exactly hit it off well on Skype, though I’ve started to value her friendship in some small way.

I can’t remember the day; sometime in early March, it must’ve been, after one of our intense arguments, I thought regretfully about Myeong-seon, and realized, inexplicably, that we could be happy together.  I suggested marriage the next day.  We’d already talked about it last fall before backing out, and, like that time, she had no objections.

Our date got delayed a little.  I invited my parents, who arrived yesterday and reached our city, Jeonju, last night.  The wedding is in two hours, a traditional affair, as we foreigners are wont to have.  We intentionally underplanned, but it still cost more than I hoped.  We’ll be flying, the four of us, to Jeju tomorrow for a couple days.  I haven’t yet told my parents, but Myeong-seon has agreed to be (re-)baptized after having met with the missionaries for a couple months; it will happen next Saturday.

It’s been a twisting road, but I think it will turn out well.


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2012/11/09 F – Party of No

It’s 4:56 a.m.; I just saw a flash of lightning outside.  Before that, a burst of hail; now more rain.  Thursday had been gray and windy, and dismal in general.  Wednesday was nicer, the only shroud being over the hearts of our people.

The sky glowed, or glowered, red on Monday night, and I knew something powerful was on its way…

The next night, the unthinkable happened.  As miraculous as Romney’s rise had been to us, so miraculous was his defeat on Tuesday night.

The Democrat vote plummetted from its 2008 heights by over 8 million, ending up with about 61 million.  The Republican vote also shrunk, by under 2 million, resulting in 59 million.  Along with third-party votes, this put Romney at a deficit of 2.5%, with 48.0% to 50.5%.  So, in all, there were 10 million fewer voters this election.  [Update 2014/03/09: Wikipedia currently says that, after the final tally, the Republican vote grew from 2008 by 1 million (from 59.9m to 60.9m), while the Democrat vote shrunk by about 3.6 million (from 69.5 to 65.9m).  Romney’s deficit went up to 3.9%.]

The Libertarian vote doubled from last time, exceeding 1 million — but, given that 0.7 million had voted “Independent” last time, if we assume they mostly switched over to (L), the Libertarian vote may have actually receded slightly.  So their bark was worse than their bite; a lot of Paulites must’ve gone for Romney after all.  Still, the bark was loud enough, poisoning the Internet against Romney, directly adding to the Democrats’ character assassination that was the focus of their re-election effort.  (Notably, the tiny Constitution party shrunk by half, while the tiny Green Party tripled in size.)

As prognosticated by former East-Mill-Creeker Karl Rove, Romney kept every McCain state from 2008.  He needed six new Obama states (or their substitutes) to win the electoral college.

Indiana, he won by 10%.
North Carolina, he won by 3%.
Florida, he seems to have lost by 1% (about 52,000 votes).
Ohio, he lost by 2% (104,000).
Virginia, he lost by 3% (116,000).

He needed one more state, and Colorado was the closest; he lost there by 4% (about 113,000 votes) .  The next-closest states were New Hampshire and Nevada, where he lost by 6% (31,000 and 66,000 votes respectively).  So the shortage of Romney votes that turned this election (without considering a combination of smaller states) was somewhere between 303,000 and 385,000 — between a quarter and a third of 1% of the total votes made.  This was not the smallest margin in history, but it was tremendously small.  This couldn’t be fully blamed on Libertarian ex-Republicans, although, again, their sabotage and abuse of the public mind was done long before Tuesday.

Not unexpectedly to leftists, concerns over vote manipulation have been voiced, some more plausible, some more specious — but all essentially plausible given the context of the Democrats’ media alliance, their extreme resistance to voter identification laws, their biased and neglectful Department of Justice, their acceptance of illegal foreign donations, their unscrupulous proclivity to threaten opponents (e.g. California’s Proposition 8, union intimidation all over, black voters threatening riots and assassination), and even actual admission of multiple voting by Obama voters.  Not to say all foul-mouthed, racist inner-city kids should always be taken seriously, only that there’s an ominous cloud of opacity hanging over this administration and party, automatically lending credibility to even the more debatable complaints of voter fraud.

Consider the neighbourhood in Philadelphia reportedly voting 99.5% for Obama.  Yes, they’re black and 47%-ers, dole-takers, and there could be a number of reasons, not all of which are illegitimate — but this is not a healthy democratic sampling, anyway, and not a party that you would innately trust to not be manipulating voters.  As far as I know, we can’t even get that high for Republicans here in the deep red Utah that our local liberals rail at as “monolithic” (and the closest we get is in very small constituencies); neither can our super-dense toasted liberal areas get that high.  99.5% is an incomprehensible figure for us on even the simplest issues, as long as more than one choice make it onto the ballot.

Anyway, there’s nothing to be done about it.  We could try litigation to get to the bottom of it, win or lose — even though Romney already conceded like the gentleman he always was; and like the birther argument, any legal merits that may exist would quickly be obliterated and buried by a barrage of derisive media.  The free press, the Constitutional press, once existed to expose and investigate things, pressure power-holders away from corruption, and demand accountability.  Now both the power-holders and the press are loyal to a single party, and all we have are some rogue sites on-line, some local papers here and there, plus the t.v. and radio pariahs, whose leanings can be as blatant as the old media, and whom we can’t entirely trust ourselves half the time, though they do the job.  We’re not China, but we’re not far.  Liberals call this “progress” — rather, they call their perverted neo-religious ideology “progress”, and scoff at any mention of bad side-effects.

As for China, the LDS Reagan who might have nudged the Chinese Gorbachev has now been tarred, feathered, and run out of town by a drunken mob.

Oh well; this is our destiny; we all know it.  God gave us a choice between two destinies.  This choice was made on Tuesday, but it’s also been making for decades, as the nation has reverted to various shades of paganism and non-belief, and stolen away the faith and minds of generations through mandated atheism in schools, and secular cultural arbiters.  You can’t deny Obama zombies their Obama; this is a democracy, and zombies are people too.

Not only has Nature mourned with my city here, after marauding the liberal east coast last week, giving Democrats more chance to either turn to God, or to dig their holes of hypocrisy deeper as they assailed Romney as a pretender for helping, then pretended but failed to help much themselves, and finally re-elected the guy who didn’t help them, precisely because he had pretended to — not only this, but the stock market average plunked down several hundred points in protest after the Obama win.  It’s nothing so extraordinary or irreparable yet, and that’s as much conservative money as anything else, that we don’t want to see evaporate.  Yet more, many thousands of job cuts reportedly came over the next two days, probably more today, some of which (Boeing) were said to have been hushed up till after Obama’s win.

You can’t even talk about the corruption of Obama and Democrats; you’d run out of breath, and you’d start looking crazy even to yourself, because how could it possibly be so bad and yet so many people be oblivious — the few who ever heard it having immediately discarded it because it challenged their new religion?

We walk away from this great stink smelling sweetly.  We voted aright.

God didn’t see fit to cover this up with a Romney win — Romney, who would probably move past it, abstaining from repetition of Obama’s Bush-blame.  God instead has lifted Obama’s pedestal ever higher and more precariously into the air.  Well, I don’t know all his reasons.  Time will show them.

We voted aright, and felt God’s peace and comfort amidst the trauma of Tuesday, at least… but it’s been a dark couple of days since then.

But this world of blindness, hatred, and atavistic “progress” was never our final home anyway.

If only there were some way to save these liberals, cure their zombification.  It seems the demography is against us, though; our civilisation is getting worse, not better.  Their murkiness is too deep to be pierced from the outside with argument.  It’s ultimately a matter of faith in God, enabling a person to recognise human selfishness and to vote against it, not for it.  I wouldn’t say all liberal believers lack faith, but they do compartmentalise their faith, prioritising the creature above the Creator, ultimately serving neither despite their good intention.  They deny God’s right to command; they make his commandments hazy and unknowable, except for one or two that they backwardly depict as bolstering their position.  They make a person into a slave, or a pet, or a vegetable, and then condemn their opponents for not “loving” that ex-person enough to do them the same damage.  Their imagined charity exalts neither themselves nor its recipients, but oppositely pushes them both downward, into their animal nature.

Yet Jesus will forgive their ignorance, as he does ours.  If some cognitive barrier prevents them from extrapolating doctrine into real life, they’re no worse off than any other sinner who struggles to fully understand and apply his right beliefs.  The penitent liberal may be saved.  The stubborn conservative may yet be lost.  I can’t fault the Church for passing civic duties onto the shoulders of individual members.  The Church does its part by teaching us right from wrong every conference, and turning us loose to go live it.  Dallin Oaks in particular just advocated what could be seen as a center-right platform, a Romney platform, though he certainly never said so.

Still, the Church’s congratulation of Obama is the Church’s.  Some guy cheats on a test and wins the top prize… I’m not going to congratulate him, and if I pray about him at all, it will be to defend against his future malfeasance.

…I know he’s just a man; he’s still my brother, Brother Barack.  He’s still a child of God.  So are his zombie followers.  I don’t wish them ill.  They’re all God’s children.  They only make themselves my enemies in a transitory and finally meaningless sense.  The deadly flaws I think I see in their simplistic beliefs can’t really threaten me personally, not where it matters, though they may ruin others.  Do we not keep our brothers?  No; we must try to; but Father God is our real keeper.

Uh, anyway, it’s 7:47 now.  Not only did our country lurch incompletely from left to center; my poor East Mill Creek inched leftward.  Unimaginably, our huge Romney vote had no internal effect on my part of town, and my votes were stymied in virtually every way.  For some reason, I guess I thought the liberals lived further up on the mountain from me, and up in Salt Lake and Foothill.  Somehow, I had the notion that my neighbours agreed with me politically, despite that so many have been re-educated at the U.  Here this summer I was thinking what a nice neighbourhood this was, how I might like to stay here; suddenly, it seems strangely foreign (along with the U.S. as a whole; this is certainly not the country I thought it was).

Our state had about 923,000 voters.  Romney won a majority in every county, including our liberal colonies in Salt Lake, Summit County, Grand County (50.3%, the state-wide low), and the wobbly San Juan County.  The highest amount was 90.8% in Rich County (no, they’re not rich).  The average was 72.8%, which was a 47.9% margin of victory (over 440,000 votes), the highest in the nation for him, ahead of Wyoming (41%), Oklahoma (34%), and Idaho (32%).  These contrast with Obama’s greatest victory margins, in D.C. (84%; pretty impressive mind-control there), Hawaii (42%), and Vermont (36%).

The ‘Justice’ candidate, Ross Anderson, may have gotten his national high here at 0.5%; Gary Johnson beat him with 1.2%.  Green got over a third of a percent, Constitution got over a fourth, and the admitted Socialist candidate got a twenty-fifty of a percent.

Hatch won the Senate race by a 35% margin, but he won’t be able to be in the majority party there for what is thought to be his last term.  For the House, Obama’s ally, Jim Matheson, who hurled back at least as much defamation as he received in the campaign, squeaked past our choice, Mia Love, by a 1.2% advantage, just over 2,600 votes (well short of the Libertarian candidate’s 5,700 votes; a true spoiler, in this case).  This was a double loss, since Obama also retained his power, but at least the greater House has remained fairly Republican.  With this, Matheson could very well remain in office for life.  He’s lost my tolerance, anyway.

My Constitution protest choice for governor, Kirk Pearson, got 1.7%.  Herbert held onto to power by a 40.6% margin.  John Swallow, John Dougall, and Richard Ellis, because they were Republicans, won state positions at respective advantages of 34.5%, 35.9%, and 38.8%.

Our state House district had nearly 18,000 votes cast.  I don’t know the boundaries.  The increasingly tenured Democrat, Arent, defeated my Republican choice, Dana Dickson, by a 21.9% advantage (3,900 votes).

Our county, Salt Lake, had about 334,000 votes cast.  Every one of my selections was overcome.  For county mayor, Crockett surprisingly lost to the overly boyish McAdams by 9.8%, or about 32,700 votes; I’m left to guess that this will translate to a tax increase.  For the county council, my choice of Joseph Demma lost to long-timer Jim Bradley for the at-large seat by 8.1% (26,500 votes).  The alcoholist, Democrat Frank Granato, beat the former Democrat I’d supported, Missy Larsen, by a fairly large 16.7% (12,200 votes, relative to the nearly 72,800 total made in that county district).  Two other Republicans held their seats in the Steve-friendlier parts of town.  Of course, these local Democrats can’t do extremely much more damage than the moderate Republicans aren’t guaranteed not to do.  It’s probably just a bit more tax creep.  Our brilliant, budget-cutting outgoing county mayor (Democrat) just announced plans for an absolutely necessary property tax increase starting next year, an average of $64, that residents must either shout down in some meeting, or quietly pay.

This “November surprise” comes, of course, after county leftists just led the way in approving the proposition to raise taxes for parks and things on Tuesday, to overlap with the new Corroon tax.  The bonds were approved by 12.4% (39,400 votes).  I had declined this one.

Also, those who voted to incorporate Mill Creek as a city to get some distance from these county Democrats’ hijinks are surely thinking up polite curses for the rest of us who managed to defeat the effort, largely out of the blatant paranoia of hidden tax hikes.  Whoops; the hikes came anyway.  Joke’s on us; happy November Fools Day.  Better luck next time not trusting Democrats so religiously, Salt Lakers.  I had other paranoia than that of taxes prompting my change of position; time will show whether I read it wrongly.  Of our roughly 25,400 Mill Creek voters, just about 15,000 (59.1%) declined city-hood (10,400 voted for it).  Based on the signs around town, I expected the opposite.  I have no intense pleasure of being on the ‘winning side’ of this one.  It’s really lose-lose anyway with so many quasi-liberal Democrats around.

If we had incorporated, I would have selected the least popular form of government: 6 councilmen with no mayor (15.8%).  7-member-with-mayor got 23.5%, 5-member council got 29.7%, and 5-member-with-mayor won with 31% (but this was contingent on city-hood).  It seems East Mill Creek residents hadn’t been particularly thoughtful about the dynamics of the numbers that my mom clued me in on; instead, they probably favoured the smaller council forms due to cost, the larger form due to increased representation or something, and the mayors due to wanting to be like other cities.  Also, the moot question of electing the city council by city district or electing at-large passed with a 79.4% margin (still not quite 99.5%…).  I was in the majority on that one.

Now, Dan Lofgren, my casual pick, won quite handily over R. Wagner Jones for the Granite District board.  For the State School Board 8 seat, the woman I voted for, Jennifer Johnson, beat what was probably her male competitor, Chris Williams.  Now that I think about it, I should have voted for the man, since the races with a woman and man almost all went to the woman by default of gender — not just making hypocrites out of the liberal preachers of false equality, but quite possibly also adding to the feminising and liberalising public school experience that is pulling kids everywhere into extremism.

The judges were all retained, even Christine Johnson, at approval rates ranging from about 76% to 87%.

As for the other items, I found myself on the plus-side of the trust fund vote (Amendment A), which just barely came out with a 1.1% margin of success.  21 of our 29 counties rejected this item, including my Salt Lake (by 1.7%); 8 of those 21 rejected it by double-digit percentage points, when only 1 supporting county (by chance, liberal Summit) passed it by double digits.  But while Salt Lake is the largest county, the #2 and #3 counties, conservative Utah and Davis, nearly equal its clout when combined, and it was mostly them who overcame the several-thousand-vote deficit of the rejecters.

Our propagandist organ, the Salt Lake Tribune, hoping to buy back some of the credibility they’d lost by having warred against Romney this whole time and having finally openly backed Obama, slyly endorsed the wealth-transfer-to-deployed-soldiers amendment by crafting an argument of grateful support for the heroic military.  It still has nothing to do with maimed or traumatised soldiers, only simple deployment — only class stratification.  This strange hybrid of conservatism and liberalism which I’d voted against passed easily by a 35.7% margin.

(These numbers are all subject to being updated, if other votes come in.)

Well, it was a dispiriting day, all told.  Very little else really mattered to us but the Romney vote, to see whether we were still a viable country, whether God still had a place here.

…We weren’t…  He didn’t.  Marijuana passed 2 for 2 in Colorado and Washington, and government-backed homosexual deviancy passed 4 for 4 in Washington, Minnesota, Maine, and even black Maryland, just four years after not-yet-so-atheistic black Obama voters helped stop the California radicalism (though the radicals later just nixed that vote in the courts).  Maybe they could vote it in for real by now… and keep screaming at the rest of us about carbon dioxide as the weather angel finally wipes them away for their entire abandonment of morality.  (These states, of course, all went to Obama.)  Repent while you can, liberals; once repentence starts seeming laughable to you, you can well suspect that God’s Spirit is no longer striving within you, and self-destruction waits around the corner.

But, we’ll see how it goes for us.  Good luck to that truth-averse brother of ours, Brother Barack, in not burning the place down, at least until we’re good and situated.

A selection of my comments after Dark Tuesday-

A retort to liberal gloating on Facebook the morning after:

God’s hand is in this, for better or worse, and we accept it without anger — but certain observations must be made.

This is still our country, and we’ll still try to save ourselves, and you leftists along with us, since your self-destruction will hurt us too.  We’ll try to pull your president back from the brink of extremism; but everything’s on your heads now, repeat Obama voters, you who campaigned with venom and bile, fear and hatred, slander and paranoia, bigotry and reverse racism, blame and revenge, and barely re-elected a deeply disturbed man because of his skin colour, who has nearly split this country in half with his contemptuous partisanship.  You could be forgiven for being dazzled and persuaded the first time, but now, I hope you’re ready to defend your willing mistake for the next four years — not against us, but against the political, fiscal, and cultural pendulum you’ve just shoved away.  We can’t save you from cause and effect.

It’s on your heads too, Libertarians, traitors to conservatism, perpetual adolescents; you’re lost to us, and may as well embrace your innate liberalism.  Though you rail against it, Obama’s record is now your record.  You knew it would be.  Don’t come back around begging, or claiming to be Republicans.

We fought well; we chose the right and kept our souls; others chose the wrong, and outnumbered us; now all of our choices will follow us.  If they say it happened in 2004, well, they’ve just made history repeat itself.

A pair of comments later on Wednesday morning on Facebook:

We walked through the mists of confusion; we passed our test.  We stood together and stood tall for this good cause, and it’s lifted us up and enlarged our hearts.  Every reason we had to hope for ourselves, we still have.  There assuredly will be struggles ahead, but the God who led us this far will give us refuge.  It’s the truly hopeless in this country, who fought so desperately and so ferally for their imagined salvation by the arm of flesh, that we should feel sorry for.  Their victory in this controversy was outward; it will fade.  Ours is untouchable.

Don’t forget what this campaign did. It pulled together radically divided camps of people with a shared sense of duty, decency, humility, and patriotism, and showed them that their slowly dying country would not die before they did. We may choose to press forward unto the breach; we may withdraw in disgust; but none of us is where we were when we started out. We’ll be called on again to stand for good principles before we’re done here. Not to be dramatic, but these are dramatic times. This campaign was a torch held high. A city set on a hill can’t be hid.

A consideration of loyalty to the president on Facebook yesterday:

A president, like any man, must conduct himself honourably if he’s to be respected.  Some can’t and won’t forget what he’s done; some will give it a shot.  Either way, if he repeats himself, we’ll all have ample excuses to reject him afresh.  And if he’s miraculously converted to the truth?  We can be a forgiving people, when forgiveness is truly sought.

Obama’s not my president either, and never was since his deceptive campaign four years ago and his immediately opaque administration; it’s a tremendous struggle to call him “President Obama”, and I wouldn’t give him the time of day if he knocked on my front door — yet I don’t dispute that he holds the office.  It’s really not personal; I know he’s just a cog in the greater machine of American decline.  We can’t blame gullibility entirely on the salesman; he’s responding to an opportunity.  We blame it on the gullible.  If we say he’s not our president, what we really mean is his voters have not voted wisely nor in the interest of our country; a piper came along, and they, as children, danced away into oblivion.  While Obama has capitalised on his specific attributes, his voters were already maleducated and ripe for media control and personality cultism; anybody could have snatched up their votes who was willing to manipulate their baser emotions.

A note on the Church centrism on Facebook yesterday:

This is a good alternative to thoughts of retribution, sedition, and tumult.  The Church has a long history of peacefully submitting to the final earthly authorities rather than inciting bloodshed — and further, the Church takes increasingly great care not to gnaw at the ropes suspending anvils overhead — not to unite with civil factions or needlessly offend those in power, since the consequences are tangible.  Is this the reason the Restoration didn’t happen before the American Revolution — the Church may have needed to officially sit it out as a fence-warmer while its seditious brethren bled and died for justice against their own government?  Yet, if we take this balm as an endorsement of a victorious politician or platform, we’ve merely tumbled over the opposite edge.  The Church now gives us two guides: we won’t institutionally choose a candidate or party, but we absolutely will individually choose them.  Our internal ecclesiastical unity, as far as we can help it, is paramount, and this statement is a reminder of institutional neutrality toward external civil controversy, mixed with some extra-doctrinal politeness and tact that we may or may not equally share, depending on our gifts; but whether we are individually neutral is our own question to answer by the same Spirit who leads us in all things.  Let’s not conclude that the Church or God wants our minds to go blank, or us to withdraw from the perplexities of the nations into impotent docility, or close our eyes to the judgments on the land, just because we need to get along with others and love our opponents.  I’ve spoken for myself.

A response to the EFM team’s statement yesterday:

You’re not alone; many share your feelings, and hope you also feel their gratitude and friendship, whether near or far, here from the beginning or here at the end.  While this was not a physical battlefield, the battle did rage, and ring in the ears.  Some gave more than others, but all who united their best efforts in this difficult, ugly, tragic, but glorious experience got their own small taste of heroism — and maybe sacrifice and loss is the only way heroism can end.

The cause is just.  I sometimes read verses like 1 John 5:19, “We know that we are of God, and the whole world lieth in wickedness,” (KJV) and make a mental note not to use them in a debate, at the risk of seeming too self-assured.  Nevertheless, here we are reflecting on this bewildering turn of already strange events… and we, too, know, in a way that time, eloquence, and numberless essays may still fail us to explain, that our cause was right on Monday and is still right on Thursday, and that not all, but much of our country lies in wickedness — not that every Obama voter is or means to be wicked, but that in a momentous day of collective decision, although by a very thin margin, an easy falsity overcame a challenging truth.  It was neither honest political disagreement nor superior strategy that carried Tuesday, it was unabashed deception and outright malice and prejudice, exceeding the scope and design of our democratic process.  If it were war, these would have been war crimes.

I’m anxious to see what’s ahead, but not afraid.  If God leads us to the trouble, he’ll lead us through the trouble.  We’ve been humbled; let’s be more humble.  Already, many Romney voters have dissipated and fled, some in disillusionment, back to whencever they were recruited; but let’s make our determination like steel to carry on the work we started, bear out our convictions of principle, and retain our unity.  In the end, this campaign will have been an earthly effort, but it has been a symbol of something much better.  This gloominess will pass… but even the gloom of a righteous cause is far brighter than the sun of an unholy victory.

A response to an exchange on an Investors.com article today:

Jean Spencer, traitors (to their subjects) screwed up our last government two centuries ago, and traitors (to their sovereign) started our current one, with the loyalists around them whispering, “With all due respect, you’re advocating treason.”  There’s always enough treason to go around, when one culture and nation divides into two.  This election has cemented the fact that we no longer have American leaders, but party leaders.  We don’t believe Romney the non-politician, the great alternative to the extreme right in the primaries, was cut from this cloth, but what we have now (again) is one side winning, and half the country suddenly disenfranchised from self-government, their only resorts being obstructionism and deadlock, or taking to the streets.  It goes both ways, and when decent leaders like Romney appear but then get crucified by partisan media, there’s no foreseeable happy ending to this slowly enlarging social gap.  If the cost weren’t so high, we’d have split 8 or even 12 years ago.  The costs remain high; so far, resisting bondage would hurt us more than the bondage.  We still have a lot to lose; indeed, it’s Obama’s hopeless and changeless half of the country that loiters closer to the precipice of civil uprising.  If it ever does come to a split, we’ll have the chance, of course, to do it peacefully, as long as those in power don’t feel they’re being robbed…  Well, it’s a nice thought, anyway.

To borrow from Arcturus Mengsk: “Unprecedented and unimaginable though they may be, these are the signs of our time.”  Well, we’re not there yet, and can imagine worse…  Then, brave Fenix’s exhortation: “All seems lost now, but still we must fight on.”

The clock has by now advanced to 14:59…

Everything’s white outside, and the flakes continue to float down.

-Steve Foster

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