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Rod Brock
Poet, stargazer, philosopher, musician, gardener, geographer, and skeptic who lives by his wits on the fringes of society.
Poet, stargazer, philosopher, musician, gardener, geographer, and skeptic who lives by his wits on the fringes of society.

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"...The devil hath power. T' assume a pleasing shape..."
- Hamlet", Act 2 scene 2. William Shakespeare, English dramatist & poet (1564 - 1616)
Light and Darkness,
Darkness and Light:
The analogy, trite,
Has damaged your sight,
So that you do not perceive
How commonly
Darkness goosesteps
Through sunny streets.
Works its wicked
For all to see.
In so many things,
That rightly belong
To you and me.

Nor do you perceive
That, oftentimes,
Light lies quiescent,
Concealed, by day,
In a shuttered room,
– A splinter, a ray –
Dares only emerge with
Eventide, to slip
Down the shady side,
With a cowl to cover its
Pallid face,
The best and brightest
Of the Human Race.
copyright © 2014


We remake "The Boiling of Bad Lord Soulis," wherein the title shall henceforth become "The Boiling of Bad King Trump."

WHEREIN: King Trump of Orange dabbles in the dark arts of hostile takeovers, inside trading, tax-evasion, &c. Having thus consorted with supernatural forces, he sells his soul to the Powrie, Putin Redcap. Putin Redcap is a dimunitive although murderous goblin, of foul renown, who must perpetually keep his cap dyed red with the blood of illegal aliens or other souls heralding from the ranks of the indigent, the unwanted and the unworthy. If the hat should dry out, he will die. Thus, the nature of their pact comes to be one of mutual benefit to himself and Bad King Trump.

Bad King Trump, being a large man and intrinsically devious, lures illegal immigrants to his castle to be swiftly dispatched by Putin Redcap, thus extending the goblin's wicked life. King Trump is in turn endowed by Putin Redcap with supernatural resistance to the most common modes of dispatch used for villains, city-dwellers, et al.: the gun, the knife, and the Polonium-210.

This situation continues unabated for some time, and by-and-by the general populace begins to notice attrition in the ranks of food service and hospitality employees, farm laborers, &c, and correctly surmises that this attrition explains the high prices of Rainier cherries and Romaine lettuce, as well as a general downturn of the economy, since the missing souls no longer pay a brass farthing into the system. Accordingly, Great Lords of the land are petitioned to allow the swift dispatch of Bad King Trump and the timely resettlement of the country with immigrants of all manner and variety, as set forth in the ancient charter of the land.

The Lords, although exceedingly great in renown, are reticent to order such, they being essentially spineless. Nevertheless, the populace continues to appeal, whereupon the Lords utter in exasperation: "Trump, Trump. We tire of hearing that name. Boil him in broth, for all we care!"

The people then proceed according to the Great Lords' mandate. Being fettered by Putin Redcap's magic against the use of gun, knife, or Polonium 210, four strong men are given authority over King Trump, whereupon he is processed at an unnamed facility in New Jersey, ending up in shiny silver cans emblazoned with the profile of an overly corpulent hog and the legend, "PORK: TO BE USED IN CONJUNCTION WITH GOVERNMENT FOOD ASSISTANCE PROGRAMS," programs which, by an interesting coincidence, had previously been eliminated by King Trump, himself.
"The Boiling of Bad King Trump," by R. Brock, 2017

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"I have a foreboding of an America in my children’s or grandchildren’s time—when the Unites States is a service and information economy; when nearly all the key manufacturing industries have slipped away to other countries; when awesome technological powers are in the hands of a very few, and no one representing the public interest can even grasp the issues; when the people have lost the ability to set their own agendas or knowledgeably question those in authority; when, clutching our crystals and nervously consulting our horoscopes, our critical faculties in decline, unable to distinguish between what feels good and what’s true, we slide, almost without noticing, back into superstition and darkness."

Carl Sagan, The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Darkness, page 25 (1995)

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If a Moon Lily should volunteer,
should appear in your foyer,
by your doorstep, or 'neath the
trellis in your courtyard, or anywhere in
the midst of your English garden--
pray, let it grow, let it prosper,
its phosphor glow to guide the dreamer
through the night, for it seems that in
these darkling days, big, bright dreams
are as rare as Moon Lilies.
"Let This Flower Grow," copyright © 2016, by R. Brock

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We live here in the ur-moment of now, with seeds of possibilities in our hands.

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Lightspeed, Prince Rogers Nelson.
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