This is Why I Hate You, Leftist Bastards

How exquisitely progressive. A beautiful young Ukrainian refugee, Iryna Zarutska—23 years old, fleeing the horrors of war only to have her throat slashed in a savage, unprovoked stabbing on an American train by a repeat offender with a rap sheet stretching back years—now has her memory whitewashed from a public mural memorializing her in Providence, Rhode Island. Not because the artwork was ugly or offensive in any aesthetic sense, but because, according to the city's enlightened mayor and his cohort of virtue-signaling officials, it simply doesn't represent "our values." Whose values? What values? The ones that prioritize feelings over facts? 

For the Children (Just Not the Poor Ones)

 

The great enthusiasm among our betters for replacing coal and oil with wind and sun is not, perhaps, quite so disinterested as they would have us believe.

“We do it only for the children,” they assure us with the practiced sincerity of men reading from a script, “and for their children after them.” Very noble. Yet the poor, in their coarse way, show little gratitude for these lofty aims. They care nothing for solar arrays that cost a fortune and fail when the sky is overcast; they have small patience with sermons on diversity, inclusion, or the finer points of sexual metamorphosis. Their minds are occupied with more immediate trifles—rent that must be paid, children who must not starve, clothes that must somehow be found, streets that must not become places of casual murder, winters that must not kill.

In Defense of the Un-Cheerful

    

 I have met a certain number of people who regard any expression of negativity as verboten, as a kind of moral leprosy. One critical remark, one honest doubt, and the offender is scorned, even ridiculed-if not patronizingly "helped". They speak of it with the gravity of men defending a sacred principle. To admit difficulty, to name a fault, to utter a plain complaint—these things, in their view, are not merely unpleasant; they are crimes against right thinking itself.

Elementary Music Theory

You experience some sounds as interesting, beautiful, pleasing — or even annoying and disturbing — because music is organized sound (and silence) over time.
"Organized" means there are differences in pitch (how high or low a sound is), and the sounds are arranged with rhythm (when they happen and how long they last). To review:

1. Music — organized sound and silence over time.
2. Rhythm — when and how long sounds (or notes) are played.
3. Interval — the distance in pitch between two notes.
4. Melody — a sequence of notes of different pitches (with rhythm) played over time.
5. Pitch — how high or low a sound is (not how loud — loudness is a separate quality called dynamics or volume).
6. Note — a single musical sound (with pitch and duration).

Dear Comrade

    

We want what you have-your money and your things. Therefore, we're going to take it from you by force. First, however, we'll try to convince you to hand it over freely. We'll tell you how unjust it is for anyone to live in poverty, especially children. We'll tell you it's for the good of society. If that doesn't move you, then we'll call you greedy for wanting to keep your stuff, and cruel. We'll try to make you feel guilty about it. If all that doesn't convince you to fork over the goodies, then we'll just seize them outright, and execute you once you become useless to us (i.e., run out of money). Will any poor man, woman and/or child get the money and stuff? Will poverty be eliminated? Ha ha, very funny. It won't. We'll get rich, 'though. 

    

Alone and Unafraid

    

There was a time when all I could do was think of you, but you weren't the only one. There was a black haired young lady who looked at me and smiled, a long time ago now. She went away just like you went away, just like the others went away. Today I am alone and unafraid, happy to be so, walking the world without shame, pain or guilt. 

I don't hate you, despise you, miss you, love you, or want you anymore. Although I have told you good bye forever before-once or twice, I believe-this time it's true, horrible as that seems. 

Solitude

     

    I'm late for dinner and all alone

    but my canteen is full and a song is playing

    there's no one to answer me and I am fine

    I'll be in Tucson by and by

    without a dime to spend on you.