The Party’s Over

©The Party’s Over

By BR Chitwood

*

Friday nights became a weekly

ritual at my apartment in the

Lovely ‘Spanish Gardens’ –

My drinking pals were there with 

‘Lady prizes’ of the evening, plus

Some Male and female loners…

They usually matched up quickly.

At party’s end I was alone.

While soft Frank Sinatra ballads

Floated among the low lights

And polluted air of booze and smoke

I lazily reclined on the sofa,

Allowing my mind to wander

Down its normal paths of

Romantic memories of pretty faces,

Love affairs in Time’s vacuum.

As I stared at the shadowy ceiling

It came clearly vivid to me…

Stark, plain as the mind can

Render and a ‘hobo heart’ can

Pump its Romantic sadness…

No matter the attempts to

Rebuke the world for my failings,

I was a man ignoring his destiny…

‘His destiny’? I smiled at my hubris…

An author who wrote of his small

Accomplishments, his Loves, his idiocy,

His books, his poetry, were to bring

A new name to literature – my name!

‘His Destiny’? Really! ‘His Destiny’?

A fool at the journey’s beginning – 

An enlightened fool at journey’s end!

*

BR Chitwood – June 28, 2021

Website/Blog: https://brchitwood.com

https://Twitter.com  – @brchitwood

https://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood

Why Am I Writing?

Br Chitwood

Back in the days when I was rocking and rolling, acting, doing television commercials, film work, even live plays on stage, living in a world I could never have imagined, a horrible murder caused me to turn to writing…

An actress friend of mine was brutally murdered and went missing for two weeks. Her name was Catherine Gibbs (book name – not real name) a ladyresponsible for my fun and frivolity in the acting world. When Cathy’s body was found in the NE desert area of North Phoenix on a record heat day in August, there was little left for the police and forensic people to go on. The heat of August made her unrecognizable.

We, Cathy’s sad gals and pals, were busy missing our good friend but also playing detective on the case. We knew some of the men who dated Carmen, and there was one she preferred over the rest. She was hopeful of marriage and family. That man and several other men were given ‘lie detector’ tests and all passed.

The method used to kill Cathy I hesitate to give the gruesome details of what the detectives and forensic people compiled from what slim evidence they had.

At least, one of Cathy’s friends wrote a book about the case.

Some time later I wrote my own book about the murder, a fictional account of what possibly happened that long-ago night some fifty-odd years ago. The title of the book is: An Arizona Tragedy – A Bailey Crane Mystery #1.

There are six books in the series, 1-6, each book having kernels of truth in them. If the reader has further interest in these books, please find them on my Website/Blog:

https://brchitwood.com

(Under ‘All my Books’) – Synopses and BUY SITES given.)

In all, I’ve written 21 books, many of which are based on true events – e.g.,

Mama’s Madness – Amazon

Stranger Abduction – Amazon

(For the other books, see my Website/Blog)

*

In writing, I found an outlet for exposing to myself WHO I am – at least, to the extent that is possible. The reader can find me there on and between the lines of what I write.

In ending this short post, let me wish you good reading and a very good life.

*

BR Chitwood – Author -June 14, 2021

Author’s Mission – Writing to Discover Me

Life’s Potpourri of Sweet Madness

“The Cracked Mirror” was written as much for me as for the reading public, but the book does go a long way in outlining the not so whirlwind aspects of my existence…

View Post

 Life’s Potpourri of Sweet Madness

By BR Chitwood

*

I’ve lived life, some of it given to writing novels, short stories, flash fiction, poetry, and songs, much too much of it given to chasing the illusive butterflies in my mind…a cute euphemistic couplet for looking for love in liquor-juice joints where pretty perfumed  ladies congregate to diminish the aroma of alcohol and smoke and make themselves available if the matching system worked its magic…it was, one might say, a large part of my existence. (Call it a lure to one of my twenty books, a memoir titled “The Cracked Mirror.”)

“The Cracked Mirror” was written as much for me as for the reading public, but the book does go a long way in outlining the not so whirlwind aspects of my existence. If anyone could be interested in a ‘hill boy’s story’, the book is on Amazon. Had the book been available when I was teaching ‘Writing’, I would have brazenly made it ‘required reading’…under the hyped heading of ‘How Not to Live Your Life’.

The truth is, like so many lives, there have been for me awe and wonder, beauty, college, the US Navy, film and acting work, lovely women, marriages, divorces, children to die for – my own and the satellite children as well. The offset: Sadness and too much Regretting. All in all, I equate my life with so many others. Each of us has these elements in our lives. There are good decisions and there are bad decisions, good dreams, bad dreams.

.

So, writing sustains me, gives me a voice in the great scheme of things, and, maybe a few people will read me, feel somehow benefitted by the flow of my words.

I just write and do very little marketing except for blog posts and Twitter.

At least, I’m out there in the ‘Sphere’!

*.

BR Chitwood – March 30, 2021

*

See my 20 books/blog posts/poetry at:

https://www.brchitwood.com

Follow me on twitter.com/@brchitwood“TheCr

Accept and Share Your Circuitry

Metaphysics and Religions

Accept and Share Your Circuitry

By BR Chitwood

The world turns its orbits with actions and reactions that are inexplicable to understand for so many of us… Well, it does for me, for I know not what governments might have stored in ‘For Your Eyes Only’ silos, what world secrets they may know we citizens might not.

Now, don’t tune out just yet. It is likely we have stored in our super computers so much big tech knowledge that we have not figured how… to manage it all so well…

Actually, when I cannot fall asleep at night I usually the next day write a post that edifies no one, including myself, filled with southern grits and bacon bits. My good wife listens to my bacon ‘bits’, smiles, nods so sweetly her approval, and suggesting that, perhaps, I should write a more upbeat post. Of course, I should listen to a pretty and smart lady like my wife…she really is. I’m not being gratuitous.

But, hey, I have to be true to my thoughts and emotions. Otherwise, I’ll never know if I’m going to write something earth-shattering wise and erudite.

Oh, well, think what you will, but it all started early for me as an Appalachian kid with no orderly orientation time for learning about the good stuff in life, hope and understanding. Too much ugly anxiety dwelt within my little universe, a constant and confusing emotional world defined by bitter anger, divorce, crushed economy. The later post-depression and war ‘did a number’ on family and unity. Also, part of the anxiety and family disunity was Southern Baptist Church services on Sunday…the preacher painted me in his sermons as a sinner – and, I was only twelve years old. So, I was Baptized… More confusion, more restrictions on any kind of good times.

Well, that’s one hell of a preface to the real nuggets in this post – actually, gravels…

After leaving my Mom at home alone and joining the US Navy, the world opened up a bit to me. Life got a bit better, except for thinking about my Mom all alone.

Life got better. It was my goal to put as much into my new life as possible, worked many jobs, read a lot, went to a Pennsylvania college, graduated ‘cum laude’, acted in film and stage productions, modeled…uh, got married a few times… Hey, I never said I got rid of all the Appalachian bull croppy.

I read a lot.

I’ve written a lot – twenty books, over 300 blog posts, and still at it.

Okay, here’s the thing… Is it just me? Or, is the world throwing all this metaphysical madness, these super high-tech giants’ muscle, to overwhelm the populace. Is it all about power? As Metaphysics is a branch of knowledge which studies the meaning of us, humans, of life, contrasted to Christianity and the Religions of the World?

Okay, remember my opening? You can see how easy it is for an Appalachian kid connected to all that ‘Post-Depression’ anxiety crap to find it difficult NOT to write about every nutty event that comes down the pike, to question Religious and Metaphysical reasons for ‘why we are here’.

Now, I’m not going to bring up China’s Gift to the World… (crmfsotw!)

One final and important issue: I am aging, which means I can’t drink whiskey and chase girls anymore. That is most likely the very worst metaphysical menu item that irks me. If there’s a pill for getting young again, send me a sample (Wait, make that, a couple or three bottles of samples…).

Actually, as many as you can spare!

Okay, possibly sort of a nothing gibberish post, but I felt like writing it.

If anyone has some short answers to the Metaphysical menu items, I would be happy if you could share them.

BR Chitwood – October 21, 2020

Website/Blog:

https://www.brchitwood.com

#blog, #Metaphysics, #writing, #RRBC, #IAN1, #asmsg, #Appalachia, #Books, #TheWritingNation, #Humor

Phoenix fire

“Phoenix Fire”

By BR Chitwood

BUY AT AMAZON UNIVERSAL LINK: mybook.to/phoenix-fire

 AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Some years ago two lovely, special young ladies, my identical twin grand-daughters, began a fun tour as Baltimore Raven Cheerleaders. Of course, their Dad and Mom who live on one of the outlet creeks to the Chesapeake Bay were happy and proud of their daughters, epitomies of all that is heart-and-soul beautiful – as, of course, were their grandmother and grandfather.

At the time, I was just beginning the first draft of “Phoenix Fire”, and, when finished, I dedicated the book to these two beautiful ladies who have added so much joy to the lives of those who know them and love them. Today, married with ‘gummy drop’ beauties, I think of them each day and always conclude they are living proof of angels living among us…

Why this syrupy intro? Two reasons! ‘Chatty Chaser’ and ‘Pickle Princess’ (my nicknames for Chase and Paige)…I love them, and “Phoenix Fire” has become my favorite of the twenty books I’ve written.

Here’s the beginning chapter. Read, enjoy, buy lots of copies, and leave those reviews on Amazon, Goodreads, et al…an author’s reason for more writing. Thank you.

*

CHAPTER ONE

“Phoenix Fire”

By BR Chitwood

She was lost in the total brightness, a magnificent warm, static whiteness, alluring and warm.

It was an easy place to be, if it was a place.

Perhaps it was a state, a bright and new awareness, a safe and final destination. She only knew that her essence was etched in the great luminous energy and she did not wish to leave it. The light seemed to be transporting her outward, expanding some awesome truth, recently possessed, and she wanted only to remain and to become whatever the promising ecstasy.

Then, there came a slight shimmer of interference, vaguely emanating from the shadowy mystic fringes, slowly fragmenting the weightless pool of white. There was a rippling which softly nudged her new awareness, gently precluding her anticipated oneness with the expanding light.

Then came sound, soft and beckoning, like a bird chirping in slow motion, becoming stronger and more strident. She resisted the sound and the fragmenting but she could not pull herself onward into the radiant void. Like a swimmer urgently breast stroking against a strong noiseless tide, she felt herself dipping, sinking, free-falling from the disintegrating brilliance.

She became conscious of her head shaking in sidelong negation of the interference, her lips silently murmuring, ‘no, no, let me stay! Please, please, let me stay!’

Then she acknowledged the inevitable full immersion back to a solid, contoured reality. The bird chirps became loud concerned voices. The ripples became caring and caressing hands. The hard ground was cold.

She began to shiver, felt the urge to rise, but was somehow constricted. Her mind made some adjustments and she suddenly knew where she was, how she had come to be there.

 Finally, she slowly opened her eyes with a full fluttery acceptance of her immediate environment. A man’s face came into focus, hovering two feet above her own. She felt pinned down and quickly discovered that the man was astride her. There was a momentary sense of panic but something about the man’s face made her relax.

A light rain fell, and she was conscious of wet hair matted to her face and forehead. The sky was a dull gray, and skinny treetops came to her peripherally as some surreal apparitions. The man’s concerned face gave her a final focus.

 She remembered what happened. The lightning! She recalled an awful clap of thunder, so jarring, harsh, rippling, so totally upon her, instantaneously enveloping her in its loud and splintered brightness. She remembered the searing, exquisite pain that so consummately wracked her body and mind.

She was jogging and she must have been struck by lightning. As she blinked from the raindrops and the accounting of the lightning strike, she felt lethargic and without purpose.

 She was struck by lightning, yet there was no panic, no real sense of urgency. The man’s hands left her chest and he studied her with a tender and squinted concern. She felt the weight of his body leaving her, felt a great rush of air fill her chest.

The man lifted himself from her damp body but his soft blue eyes remained upon her face. They were beautiful eyes, shrouded by dark cavernous brows. Wisps of his black hair was pasted about his forehead, and he made odd movements with his lips as though making an adjustment. Her own lips felt strangely tender to the touch of her tongue, and, in a moment of clarity, she understood: the man had given her mouth to mouth resuscitation.

The man then softly spoke, his voice conveying a cultured refinement and pleasant resonance. “Can you move your arms and legs?”

 She understood the question and lifted her head tentatively, feeling her hands, arms, and legs slowly move to her inner commands. She nodded to the handsome stranger who knelt above and to her side. She managed a small, sad smile of gratitude.

“And can you speak?” He returned her smile.

“Yes, I think so,” came her weak reply. She noticed for the first time a small group of people standing off to her right, near a park utility shed. She heard a siren off in the distance, its sound increasing in volume. She attempted to rise from the ground.

“Maybe you should stay where you are until you’ve been medically checked. Are you feeling much pain?” The man lightly touched her shoulder.

As her powers of observation became more focused she noticed how the man was dressed. He wore faded red denim shorts, a powder blue sweat shirt which matched his eyes, white athletic socks, adidas jogging shoes. Her own ensemble of white shorts, blue top, white socks, and Nike shoes merged nicely with the man’s attire.

She answered the question. “No, I don’t think so, not pain so much. It’s sort of dull aching almost everywhere about my body. I think I’m okay. You are very kind to help me. Thank you.”

“No ‘thanks’ necessary. It was kind of freaky the way that cloud exploded above us. You just got unlucky, and I suppose we could be faulted for jogging when a storm was brewing.”

 The man stopped talking as he saw the flashing lights and heard the diminishing siren whirr of an approaching ambulance. Uniformed EMTs rushed from the ambulance to the woman’s side, their faces intent, all business.

 She watched as they quickly set up equipment and prepared for various medical checks. She was beginning to feel confident that her body had not sustained any permanent damage, although some tingling sensations remained in her legs.

After all the medical tests were run, she heard an attendant announce that her vital signs were normal, that she was stable. The visage of the handsome stranger stayed with her, after the ambulance attendants displaced him. The image of his dark hair wet against the brow stayed with her, even when he became a blur on the gray fringe of the rainy-day crowd.

His face stayed with her even beyond the hospital’s emergency room where she was pronounced hale, hearty, and lucky to be alive.

 His soft smile stayed even when she returned to her fashionable and luxurious Scottsdale condominium.

*

[END OF ‘CHAPTER ONE’]

Get your copy at:  

AMAZON UNIVERSAL BUY SITE:

mybook.to/phoenix-fire

Visit my author website:

[Twenty books AND counting!]

http://billyraychitwood.com

Visit my author Blogsite:

[Over 350 blog posts written!]

http://brchitwood.com

Where Did That Dream Go?

Where Did That Dream Go?

(So I asked  a Shrink!)

By BR Chitwood

Where did that dream go, you ask?

Beyond your grasp, sadly…

You had it, but you let it go…

You did not pursue it to the end…

Other diversions caught your fancy…

The phrase is: ‘wine, women, song’…

Sound familiar? ‘wine, women, song’?

WWS slowed and finally ended your dream…

But they were part of the dream…

Too many working dreams spoil the broth!

You’re mixing metaphors, Doctor…

But you have no trouble grasping meaning?

Grasped, Doctor. So, you’re saying, ‘no chance for me’?

There’s always a chance, but youth is gone. Maybe your next life chances will come again…

Whoa, Doc, you believe we get to come back?

That’s not so crazy an idea. A colleague of mine, a hypnotist, has written about taking some patients back to former lives, even having some patients talk about their time while in training units between lives. He has done ‘case studies’… Go to a library, book store, and look under hypnosis, case studies, psychiatrists, former lives…you can find them if you’re interested.

Oh, I’m interested. I just find it so hard to believe.

You wouldn’t be human if you took it at face value. Remember, most of us are ‘doubting Thomas’…many did not believe we would put a man in space, go to the moon, have ‘space stations’, diseases cured, knowledge re-doubling every few months, and all of these life-changing events are being challenged, joined by nefarious rioting groups trying to destroy our cherished freedom and liberty. It is a crazy and wild time for the history of the world… I just hope our kids in the future will be able to read and know of this history… Sorry about the digression, but, in your case, from what you’ve shared with me today, you have had a comparatively good life. You have accomplished many of your goals – which a lot of folks would die for. I really cannot find any major anomalies in your life. Keep your dreams alive. That’s a good thing. The large news I would give you is: be happy in your life – you’ve got more living to do.

Thanks, Doc. You’ve got me feeling better about things… I’m going to find the book or books you were talking about. When I absorb them, I’ll call you for another session.

*

BR Chitwood – August 12, 2020

Please preview my books – many inspired by true crimes:

http://billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my ‘Soul’s Music’ Blog: http://brchitwood.com

Follow me on Twitter: @brchitwood

Somewhere A Lesson

Somewhere A Lesson

By BR Chitwood

By 10:00AM I was sated with Jenny’s steak and eggs  and ready for some serious beach time across the road from her sidewalk café in Santa Monica…it became a ‘ritual thing’ some six months back when I moved into Marina del Rey a few blocks east to taste the merry and often contrary life of a divorced male, still lying awake at night much too long evaluating those years brought by an insecure and troubled child and young-adult childhood. It was likely even seasoned psychiatrists would feign a ‘too busy’ schedule to ‘work me in’.

A ‘thought’ that tip-toed often into my emotional network, ‘I was loving every damned minute of my new freedom’…well, not every minute, but enough so that the ‘old me’ of my thirty years of living would not give one selfish minute to considering another legal ‘I do’ affair.

So, sated, along with some time-worn good jesting with familiar customers – mostly, over my casual attire (swim suit, jazzy tee-shirt, and white tennis shoes) – plus, some ‘life of the idle’ remarks that were good-natured and jokingly sent, I left the café.

As I crossed the street westward toward the sand and Pacific Ocean, I noticed a group of four kids in their early teens in some sort of lively debate and shoving action. When I stepped onto the sidewalk one of the youngsters accidentally crashed into me. Actually, shoved into me by one of the teens.

“Whoa,” says I, “what’s the ruckus, guys?”

I noticed the smaller kid who fell into me was the smaller of the group…it took me only a tick or two to notice the leader of this pack – you know the type: half-closed eyes, twisting his face into what he considered a menacing position, stood in a defiant stance, legs parted, hands rolled into fists, trying for all the world to look mad and mean.

I put my hand on the smaller kid’s shoulder, looked at the ‘defiant one’, and asked: “What’s your name, fellow?”

“What’s it to you? This is none of your business. Butt out.”

I took my own defiant stance. “I should slap the crap out of you, kid, so keep your mouth shut while I talk…”

The big kid started to open his mouth, and I moved forward one step closer to him. He did not speak.

“Okay, guys, what’s going on? Why is this kid being shoved around?”

The big kid started again to talk, and I moved within two feet of him with my eyes wide and glaring. He looked to the ground and did not speak.

Again, I asked, “What’s going on? Why the shoving. It looks like all three of you are against this kid. Why? Give me your names.” My cold stare reached them all.

The two smaller kids gave me their names – Danny and Sol. The shoved kid offered his name as well – Chaney.

“What’s your name, big guy?”

“I don’t have to give you my name. You’re not the police…”

“You know that for sure? Give me your name, ‘Big Shot’, or you just might find yourself in a lot of trouble.”

The big kid lowered his head, looked off toward the ocean just as a police siren was heard off in the distance.

He lowered his eyes and spoke: “My name is Oscar, okay?”

“Look, guys, I spent a lot of my childhood around bullies who liked to tell others what to do and get them into a lot of trouble. I’ve got a feeling Oscar here is a bully – he’s bigger, feels that buys him special rights, like, picking on smaller guys and being known as the ‘big wheel’. It’s a matter of time when these ‘bully-guys’ will not be around to torment others…they go on to become criminals and spend years in dark prisons, away from anyone who could or would love them.

“So, look, guys, don’t treat people like you would not like to be treated…here’s the plan: Oscar, you take off, think about what I’ve said here – it’s just as easy, Oscar, to win friends with kindness as with ‘bully behavior’. I just hope you get that sooner than later. Your life will be much better…go on, take off, but don’t bother these guys again. I live here and will be looking out for any troublemakers.”

Oscar turned and walked away, went a short way, then ran full speed southward down the sidewalk.

“You guys okay now?” I asked.

Each in turn seemed relieved and would eventually head eastward and home.

After the boys left, I stood watching them while they were still in sight, and, for some reason a memory I own from my own teenage life came to me.

*

[NOTE: one of my fictional novels – Hammer’s Holy Grail – which, like most of my fictional books, contain some factually accurate content…brought to my mind the scene below…

The scene in the book deals with an encounter where my Mom, a cousin, his sister, and I are visiting my Dad in his hotel room to tell him about my sister, age sixteen, eloping with an Army Corporal. Mom and Dad, divorced for some years, with Dad an absentee father we seldom saw for the most part… Suffice it here, but that was a scene I shall never forget. If you want to read more, the book is available on Amazon Kindle and Paperback.]

*

I did live in Marina del Rey, did have breakfast at a small café in Santa Monica, and the following aforementioned scene did occur – both, really, and in Hammer’s Holy Grail.

*

Dad’s hotel room was large but there was not enough chair-seating for all of us. My club-footed Cousin sat in a chair, and his sister sat in a matching chair next to him. Mom sat on the big king-sized bed, and I sat on an uncomfortable radiator by a window some ten feet across from my Mom.

Dad finished his phone call, walked around the room, smiling, looking us over. He knew something was amiss.

“Something’s going on, so let me in on it.”

Dad came to the big dresser and mirror across from the bed and leaned against the top.

Mom was cowed at the pillow-end of the bed, her hands wrapped into each other, her face a pitiful chalky white looking very nervous and scared…she had known a number of times of Dad’s beatings of her and my sister…

Finally, Mom spoke in a soft, terse voice: “Bobbie Jean ran off and married an Army fellow…” Tears came and poured down her face, and her lips tried to form words but could not. She bent her head to her bosom, her hands shaking with terrible stress.

All was quiet in the hotel room for some few seconds.

Dad’s eyes turned into squinted monster eyes. He walked one way, then, another, finally walked to Mom, hovered above her for some seconds, then, with an open hand slapped her so hard on her left cheek, the force of his blow throwing her into the headboard of the bed.

On my uncomfortable radiator grills I was a jumble of nerves, frightened as I had always been in those tense moments when Mom and Sis were beaten, but, not this time. Oh, there was the usual partial paralysis, but also a sudden mix of anger as I looked at my trembling mother on the bed.

As terrified as I was, something moved me, and I dashed with tears streaming from my eyes off the radiator and tackled my Dad onto the lower part of the bed, and swung my fists at him as hard as I could…

For whatever reason, my tackle and my blows had an immediate effect on Dad…surely, they could not have hurt him so very much – although I was then much bigger, playing football, and much stronger than when he beat her years before.

Dad calmed down so quickly that I thought I really might have hurt him…but it was his eyes that told me differently. He looked into my face with a sorrow I cannot describe, like, maybe he had destroyed a part of something most important in his life.

That was the ending of hostility, and I don’t remember when my breathing came back to normalcy, but I was happy that day was over and my Mom was calm again.

We all knew there would be no more rage and spousal abuse.

There were always reasons behind actions taken by someone…I loved my Mom. I loved my Dad. However, there were times when reality could place you smack in the middle of a scary and ugly movie.

Such is life – the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly!

*

BR Chitwood – August 11, 2020

*

Please preview my books: (Most of them inspired by true crimes in real life – and, preview my Memoirs):

http://billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my Blog, “Soul’s Music”:

http://brchitwood.com

Please follow me on https://twitter.com/brchitwood

Mood Shifts of a Romantic

“…a foolish, soulful ‘Quest’…

Mood Shifts of a Romantic

 

-Poetic Thoughts by BR Chitwood-

*

The mirror shows six days without a shave,

My beard grows long and white…

Lips smiling inanely at the ruddy face as

Thoughts so long I’ve known come to me…

With the same silly youthful flow…

So much I could have hoped to give our world

Save for the pursuit of Love and Romance –

It became the ‘all that mattered’ focus

Of a foolish, soulful ‘Quest’…

 But, then, fools such as I must exist

To Confound the minds of wizards.

*

BR Chitwood – August 1, 2020

Please preview my books:

http://billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my blog:

http://brchitwood.com

Please follow me on Twitter:

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Freedom, Liberty, and Other Observations

©Freedom, Liberty and Other Observations

-Fact or Fiction-

By BR Chitwood

Only a few of us know and it once seemed there was no earthly reason for anyone to know, not that large numbers of people during these evil days would believe, or, maybe care to believe.

However, having been years in the military, attending Classified and Non-Classified Briefings, all the way up to apersonal clearance’ of Top Secret data I shall ask for your patience while I give you here in these few pages one of those aforementioned Briefings that will serve you better in understanding the world of Large Governments, the reasons behind their operations.

Who am I?

Why am I writing all of this down for the world to read? Back there in those young titillating years of youth, it was all so mysterious, so fulfilling to be part of ‘something’ monumental, so important, so necessary for  our country’s readiness and safety, so incredibly ‘cloak and dagger’ that those of us participating had to sign some scary ‘legal do not do this and that’ documents that, violated, promised fines and long prison terms for infidelity, if not the possibility of death.

 With the details I write about here, all true, certainly scary enough, you can understand my great pride in serving this wonderful country.

Beautiful and Wonderful, but with some of its parts needing replaced, oiled, and repaired!

Why?

Why, indeed?

Because it is time for the world to know some of the truths and fictions under which they live.

Who am I to tell you these truths? Just a patriot, and, it is ‘my truth as I see it’!

Part of me is a kid who grew up in poverty-stricken Appalachia, somehow surviving a bitter, harsh, and ugly home environment and the aftermath of The Great Depression.

Another part of me? A man hungry for family, love, some stability, and a few pieces of the American Dream. Some of that part I partially fulfilled, family, few pieces of the Dream: college degree, kids to love and cherish, some small, modest business successes.

Finally, in the Military World, with a myriad of testing, I would be placed bewilderingly into a position that would involve USA National Security, and, after months of FBI ‘life-checks’, I achieved a coveted Top- Secret Clearance and began a second phase of schooling.

Without sharing with the readers details of my varied duties in several duty locations, I was privy to some very interesting covert projects, educational and nefarious programs that whetted my appetite and excitement.

This is the extent of personal background information. Now follows what I consider the meat of this thesis.

This small exposé will only focus on one aspect of a government educational program that in some ways staggered me, the Causes and Effects ramifications entailed therein, and the C&E of street violence.

***

No one needs from me history lessons, so let me be as succinct as I can without stretching believability too far.

You watch your televisions, and, if you watch the best channel for news, Fox News (now, you really know me, and hate me if you must!), you know what is happening in our own United States of America… Some of our ‘Lib brothers and sisters of Congress’ say it’s all made up.

A trio of policemen in Minneapolis, Minnesota arrests a man, cuffs him, and one of the cops puts him on the ground and keeps pumping his knee into a most vulnerable part of the man’s neck. The other two cops are busy doing other odd duties while the handcuffed man dies from the knee-pumping cop. (While it might not matter to anyone reading this, I’m still angry as hell with those cops. There is simply no valid excuse for their behavior.)

We are all seeing the after effects of these errant cops, but, then, loonies need very little reason to act otherwise – likely because they’re being paid good money by some big benefactors to cause all the beatings, riots, killings, lootings our televisions entertain us with each night, those ‘big money’ people who  want a different USA.

Some of our citizens do not want our old used-up Democracy, Freedom and Liberty, The Rule of Law, Bill of Rights, et al… all beautifully framed by some of the greatest patriots this country has known, men and women whose spilled blood is mixed with the ink on the documents. ‘They want to venture into the Socialist-way, a la Venezuela, Cuba, negating the price paid by millions of America’s youth that never had a chance at their American Dreams… For most Americans there is disbelief that some of our elected ‘public servants’ have opened wide our democracy doors to ‘big money interests’ who see better and faster ways to rip our country apart.

There are times when the world has a surreal feel to it…like, “Where did my country go? Why are we giving way to the anarchists, the looters, the killers, the haters?

It is an election year, and election years bring out the ‘looney left’ haters of President Donald J. Trump. Sure, like many Movers and Shakers, people who can get things done, our President can say too much at times, open mouth and insert foot, but he has also done more for our country than any other president in our history. A businessman, he came at a time when a prior two-term president changed the face of our democracy and bowed and curtsied to every leader in the world. Yes, I’ll take your poll: Barack Obama was the worst president in our history.

For this old hillbilly cast-off, the world is made up of people with different levels of intelligence and common sense. I am not the so-called ‘brightest light in the room’, nor am I the dimmest. There is so much I do not know and wished I knew, and, with the years adding up it will not get a lot better for me.

What I do know is this: the world is made up of ‘Governments’ – most of which are not democracies, but some form of ‘Authoritarian President’ (a la Venezuela-Socialism), Kings Queens, Despots, Ministers, Absolute Ruler (a la N. Korea).

What I do know is that nations of the world have their low IQs, high IQs, Rich, Poor.

What I do know is that nations of the world have their criminals and law-abiding citizens.

Diversity is everywhere. How do the nations of the world stop crime, get rid of poverty, handle all the diversity?

When I was in the military I heard of a ‘Smart Pill’ to make the Low-IQs smarter, pills to control raging sexual desires, pills to control all kinds of crime and diseases.

Perhaps to the extent these ‘pills’ and other scientific and technological advances can prove to establish some major controls, and/or have made a difference in some of our areas where crime emanates and destroys, there is so much we cannot know.

We also know there are those who enjoy their lives as they are – the doctors along with the criminals and evil-doers, so it most likely will become that our categorical areas of crime, evil doers, and/or quality leadership of nations will be on the fringe of our understanding.

At this moment in our American History, we face a crucial election in 90+ days. My hope is that we in America can remember the tens of millions of lives given for the causes of freedom, liberty, and belief systems which are given to us by a Higher Power! The price for what we are and can be is and was Steep.

We will soon beat the Covid-19 Evil, and, hopefully fill our nation with happy dwellers of peace and prosperity…and I am proud to say I shall be voting once again for Donald J. Trump in November.

BR Chitwood – August 1, 2020

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The Devil’s Time

-Photo Image by: Pedro Lastra – Unsplash.com-

©The Devil’s Time

-A Poem By BR Chitwood-

***

No machine, no vaccination,

Can launch us back in time.

No Hypnotist can erase your mind

Of that clinging primeval slime.

You are here of your own craving,

Desires of your nights and days

Without doubt densely depraving.

Though Biological Sciences seek

Cures and advances in ageing,

Your chances appear most weak.

Today, so much of our world wants

Rebellion, violence, and Anarchy.

Therein the Devil lives and taunts.

***

A Poem by: BR Chitwood – 7-28-20

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