Sunday, May 27, 2012

While you were preying...

Later in life I once again found myself drawn to the church. Though it wasn’t so much for the denominational theology as it was for the social intercourse.
I went to several of the institutions that had their teachings aired on the local Christian radio station—103.5 WMUZ—in Detroit. I had been listening to the station going on 3 years. It was after I found the station that I met Brett. For more on Brett and his religious influence on me see my previous post.
I eventually walked into a Presbyterian Church that was 5,000 plus faithful members. Jesus had said wherever two or more are gathered in his name, he is there. What could a gathering of 5,000 accomplish?

“For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered. But for those of us who can't readily accept the God formula, the big answers don't remain stone-written. We adjust to new conditions and discoveries. We are pliable. Love need not be a command nor faith a dictum. I am my own god. We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.”

― Charles Bukowski

Friday, May 18, 2012

Reading between the lines of Matthew 18

My father wasn’t particularly taken by religion. For whatever reason he never made a big production out of attending church. Though he always made it a point to watch the Reverend Billy Graham. Dad would say that was the only man of God he had any respect for. May be it was the experiences Dad had growing up in Harlan, Kentucky from 1929 through the early 1940s that neutered his interest in the church. It could have been the death of his older brother in 1937. Dad wasn’t anti-church; he just wasn’t enthusiastic about it either.
Mom was more likely to encourage our religious curiosity. However, she wasn’t going to turn us completely loose when it came to independent explorations. When I asked about running off with the neighbors to church on Sunday morning, she didn’t support the idea, but she didn’t exactly forbid it—not directly anyway.
Looking back, Mom seemed a bit apprehensive about the Catholic Church. Or may be it was just the holier than thou attitude many churches seem to have. When she was taking us on Sunday morning, it was to a small Lutheran Church. A single storey building, simple glass doors like those you would find on most retail businesses, and a small podium at ground level which the pastor stood behind to deliver his sermon of the day.

“Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I'm not going to make it, but you laugh inside — remembering all the times you've felt that way.”
― Charles Bukowski

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Who rules the world?

To say I grew up in a church would be misleading. During my early years, my parents—that is to say mom—took her five kids to the neighborhood Lutheran Church. We sat with her and Dad in the pews every Sunday. Not sure why we didn’t go to the Sunday school classes. If I recall, Mom said something about being able to sit like humans and listen to the nice man talk. That and she wanted us to pay attention.
Eventually I was noticing my friends heading to church every Sunday as well. My immediate neighborhood, that is the street I lived on, was predominately Catholic. They all went to the same church every Sunday. This may have been because it was the only Catholic Church within 15 miles of our neighborhood.
After some prodding from my friends, I asked Mom if I could go to church with my friends.

“Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I'm not going to make it, but you laugh inside — remembering all the times you've felt that way.”
― Charles Bukowski

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Disenfranchised from our values

I have always felt there has been a disenfranchisement between what we have been taught to believe / accept as righteous and beautiful, and that which is to be honored and valued.

This has never been more obvious than in church.

“Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I'm not going to make it, but you laugh inside — remembering all the times you've felt that way.”

― Charles Bukowski

Friday, March 23, 2012

Fixing some green velvet cake for St. Patrick's Day

Guest post written by Brenda Stevens It never hurts to do something a little special for your family. One of my favorite things to do is to bake treats. So I like to bake desserts for my family to mark special occasions. I started planning what kind of dessert I should fix for my family for St. Patrick's Day after our big dinner. We're of Irish heritage so I really love to fix some straight-up authentic Irish cuisine to help promote the holiday.

But I wanted to make sure that I pick out some food that my kids will eat. They're kind of picky, so the super authentic stuff sometimes doesn't pass their approval. When I was looking for some kid-friendly Irish dessert I saw the website and after I looked through it a little bit I decided to finally settle our debt. We've had financial issues for a while and I'm ready to have our finances be much better.

I found a recipe for green velvet cake, a twist on red velvet cake and just decided to fix that because I think that the kids will love that a whole lot more.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

By what will I be Judged?

I have been in a slump. I suppose it is unavoidable. When I get just a bit too much in the brain, it tends to wander aimlessly—perhaps as a means of survival?
I have been busy with classes at the university, everyday obligations at the school and now preparing to move. This means packing, cleaning, and painting. We, actually I, am painting to make the place look “nice.” Which in and of itself is somewhat of a oxy-moron. The previous tenants used this pea-green Exorcist vomit color throughout the house. We were renting so the color didn't matter a whole lot to us. Though we were somewhat leery when the owners said they had only been in the house less than 4-5 times since the bought it 5 years ago. Not only was this said with a straight face, they were proud of this fact. They further clarified their commitment to the house when they added that they had invested practically ZERO dollars since they bought it as well. We want to say with pride that it obviously showed, but for the $650 we were paying, we just looked like we were truly impressed.
Anyways, I am again wandering from my intent. Like most of the planet, I have a FaceBook. In fact I have several. I wanted to make sure no logical human being could ever connect me to an account and I avoided posting pictures with faces of family members. I changed my birthday every month. I had friends sending me birthday wishes 12 times a year, how cool is that?
I even have the other gender box checked which created a few serious discussions with people I went to school with that I didn't even really know. But as I tell my students, it is a new millennium and we are allowed to be ourselves—unless you are a republickin then your true personality remains in the closet.
And make no mistake, FaceBook is tracking our every move.

You are being WATCHED

But still I am wandering. There are so many tangents, they are like small shiny objects that I just can't resist. Temptations...

My snark. That is what I started out writing. My snark is the “friends” we have on FB. I have become obsessed with my friends. Well, not the people per se, but the friends list itself. Every time I am on FB, I check my friends list. I am not looking for manes. Nor am I looking for a chat. I am looking at the number of friends on my list.
I occasionally go to other peoples FB and see they have hundreds, even thousands of friends. Can they actually know ALL these people? I suppose it is possible. I am not one to measure FB success by the length of my friends list. After all, I have gone to some pretty bizarre extremes to AVOID being found. My friends are typically those I have chosen to be friends with as opposed to them seeking to add to their cumulative total at my expense.
Like most of you, I am sure you get some strange shares from your friends. I mean if someone is my friend, they are probably kind of weird anyways, right? SO I either ignore the shares, sometimes I laugh and I might even share it myself—which is probably redundant as almost all my friends are friends of each other.
Lately I have been collecting some new friends on FB. People I have never met have sent me friend requests. I generally accept since I am always looking to expand my circle and stay outside the box. I had a friend who lived in Trinidad. She was anxious to talk. When I found out she was 16 I told her we could be FB friends, but conversation was off limits. I posted on a news article about the All-American Muslim Show and had another new friend from Malaysia. I even posted some comments on her wall. She rarely writes or either that she doesn't share? But she is on my friends list.
Lately I have returned to my roots, sort of. I have always been an advocate at heart. It is a very painful way to go through life. Speaking for those who have no voice, are terrified to speak or just generally uninformed about what they should be speaking out about. So I have found some pages on FB supporting various causes. The one I am really interested is is the We are Women March taking place on April 28, 2012 around the country. I have 2 or three new friends on my list from this great organization.
Like I said, I get all kinds of shares from this group and others, along with some from friends from the neighborhood. The annoying ones I hide. The really senseless ones that a person sends all the tome like apps and games, I just hide everything. No problem. I even had a friend from the place I taught at in Clinton, Michigan. He was a staunch republickin. Now I have no problems with political or religious opinions. Provide they are not crammed down my throat. I would see his shares and giggle. Sometimes I would comment. Then I started posting / sharing views that were contrary to his politics and religion. I thought he would hide them or just ignore the shares.
Now, I finally get to the point of this wandering snark. UN-FRIENDING people. I check my friends list everyday to see who has unfriended me today! It is an obsession. Suddenly FB has become a form of censorship? Post something someone does not like, and they will unfriend you? WTF?
I suppose it is like life everywhere. We tend to FB with those just like us. We fear the diversity. We are anxious about those who live, talk and eat differently from us.
So it is, with every pro-Obama post, every pro-choice—whether it be choosing life or religion—I am risking another FB relationship.
FB has really evolved into a replica of our society. I suppose it was unavoidable. Humans as a whole are terrified of each other. Sure we all watch the news and shed a tear when an innocent is harmed or dies. We get frustrated when the government is lackadaisical and we get screwed at the pumps or taxes get a bigger chink of our shrinking take home pay.
But almost without hesitation, we REFUSE to speak for CHANGE. We as a civilization have learned the ONE lesson authority has been cramming down our throats since the beginning of time. He who questions first is punished more severely.

Christ was crucified for challenging the authority of Rome, not because He claimed to be god, or represent god. He continues to be misunderstood today because people want to put Him on a pedestal as one of the three god-heads.

Listen folks....IT DOES NOT MATTER WHO CHRIST WAS, WHO He DOESN'T matter who Mohammed IS, BUDDAH, DALI LAMA, or even the BILLY GRAHAM. They matter little in the scheme of existence.

We all know what really matters (and it isn't the length of our FB friends).

What makes a difference is:


Wednesday, February 29, 2012

The world begins to change

Three years doesn’t seem like a long time. It is barely long enough for a toddler to begin walking and talking. Just a little over half way through elementary school. It is just quick enough to get through middle school and not remember the agony. Three years will make you a junior in high school if you are on track and passed all your classes. Three years is just a measly 2.5% of the American box turtle’s expected lifespan.
Three also has some significance in the numerology world for being lucky. The holy trinity is three, the wise men were a trio, and Jonah spent three days in the belly of the whale. Then there are the rare references to the dark side of the three.
The three-day Christ was on the cross is probably the first evil 3 to come to mind. Then there is the 3 on a match curse. As I spent these three years in exile in North Carolina, I never knew how these three years were silently wreaking havoc in my life.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012


Contribution by Saul Martin

When I look back on my childhood, I never would have thought that my family would end up the way that it has. I didn't have the best childhood, there was a lot of fighting, but I really did think my parents were different and would stay together. While my friends' parents were going through divorce, I felt bad for them but I didn't really understand how it felt. Well, now I do. After 28 years of marriage, my parents have gotten a divorce. I am starting to wonder if any marriages last? I have been married for six years and I can see how it happens. Marriage isn't easy, but I still can't imagine not being with my husband. My mom has had the hardest time. I don't think she ever thought they would actually get a divorce either. She just moved into her own small two bedroom house by herself. She said she has never felt lonelier. I go over there every Tuesday and Thursday for dinner but I know that is not enough. I got her ADT Security Blair to help her feel like she wasn't alone. I think it has really helped her feel safer.

Like the ancient Phoenix

I suppose I should start by apologizing for my piss poor snark the other day. I was not only in a psycho-funk from a warring cold, but I was indeed pissed.
I have this issue with frustration. Once I have entered the frustration zone, it is extremely difficult for me to focus and I tend to become circular.
But alas, I also tend to digress.
Just about a year ago, Mary and I registered our domain name and hooked up with an internet host—In Motion. We were looking at going full time on the road in our recently acquired Coachmen Catalina 5th wheel. So we created a domain name BLUE ROAD BLOGGER with our host. Along with our initial site hosting, we have 5 or 6 other domains we can register with In Motion and for the cost of registration; we can have several web sites on out initial plan.
We later registered GET YOUR SNARK ON in anticipation of re-dressing the politically correct mentality.
Though it had been awhile since I was snarkin at the system, I thought I could just snark at the obvious and provide a platform for others to snark along. Kind of like a wanna be closet snarking society if you will. But as I should have known, one , at least I cannot snark quietly.
Then several months ago it started. I friended some anti-GMO groups, a few Agent Orange groups and then I went looking for trouble. I found my old favorite magazines on Facebook---RETHINKING SCHOOLS out of Milwaukee, Wisconsin; THE PROGRESSIVE magazine out of Madison, Wisconsin (see the trend?), and eventually I was back in Madison 1996, at least mentally I was. Walking down State Street, sitting st Canterbury Coffee / Bookstore and writing.
Then I find a FREE subscription to YES! Magazine. I had so forgotten about this publication. When I was living in Madison I had subscriptions to YES!, THE NATION, THE PROGRESSIVE, ADBUSTERS, RETHINKING SCHOOLS, and 2-3 other social commentary publications. I even drove to Milwaukee to work on RETHINKING SCHOOLS. There I met some devoted educators and great teachers fighting for their students on the front lines in Milwaukee Public Schools. In Madison I learned about Leonard Peliter and the Second Taking of Wounded Knee. I discovered Peter Kropotkin, Colin Ward, Black 47 and why society as a whole was drowning.
I was advocating the resistance to the IMF, the Summit of G8 (Now G20), and GMOs in 1996. I was suddenly a prophet and preaching about all that was wrong with society. I saw it as my duty to warn the others of the impending apocalypse. I was the black sheep no one wanted to acknowledge.
Eventually I settled down and let the frustration fall into a well-deserved sleep. I thought I wanted to be normal, and if that meant being comfortably numb, then I would be just that. So it has been for the last 10 years.
SO please be patient as I seek to regain my voice and my clarity. I have been practicing on a web site, CITY-DATA where I have been promoting the evils of GMOs and facing off with two total capitalistic idiots who I believe work for mansanto as they have made several appeals to the moderators to close the thread they deem to be baseless. It has been a great venue for me to present an argument without the frustration taking control.

Saturday, February 18, 2012

OUTRAGE----Y not?

So are you feeling the outrage? Everyday we are witness to some corporation taking something from our community. We stand by as some politician taking a little more in our wages and attacking unions as the all-evil, soul stealing boogey-man. And all along they tell us it is getting better, it is for our own good, and the best one of all time-----I am from the government and I am here to help….ROFLMFAO…seriously?
Now before all the political entities get in a bunch, this is NOT an us against them rant. It will not be democraps vs. republickins death match. Neither side is innocent in this fiasco.
Both, in fact dare I say ALL politics travels on money; really big money and a lot of it. Just watch the news and see all the corporations being served at the trough of earmarks. Whenever there is a disruption in the system, a protest or strike, the politicians are ready to send in the clowns—aka muscle; enforcement; law. If the clowns are to small, the military is always an option.
Multinationalistic businesses current own us. They have a license that has NO expiration date, because we love the ride. We are firmly entrenched in the front seat and holding on tight. Every year they add new and improved features that compel us to stay the course.
We are willing to pay big for the pleasure of having folks we elected to do what we want them to do for us—TELL us what they will do to us. And we accept this? Like Frankenstein, we have built a monster that no longer serves its master. Like I Robot, we have permitted the creation to rule the creator. And we want to believe it is all for our own good, because we are incapable of deciding for ourselves?

Do they really have to ask WHY?

SO the 1% and their wanna bees are asking why the rest of us are PISSED OFF?

After 10 years of "wanting to BELIEVE" in the america Mitt Romney espouses, I am ready to BE OUTRAGED again!

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Giving her son purpose

My biggest successes are also home to my biggest disappointments. Mary and I had been busting our tails off trying to make a go in the real estate business for almost a year. After spending thousands of dollars and have zero income, I went looking for a teaching position. I started mailing out my updated résumés in June of 2004. Within a few weeks I had two promising offers. One was at a juvenile detention facility and another at an alternative high school with a retired Air Force officer as principal. The detention facility was my comfort zone. I knew these kids and many were probably the students I had at the psychiatric facility I taught at from 1997—2002. The alternative high school was targeting dropouts or the students who were expelled from their home school for drugs, weapons and assaults. The retired military guy wasn’t my idea of understanding either. So I went with the only choice that seemed to have the greatest potential and challenge—I accepted the alternative high school position.
The school was using an on-line curriculum with the PLATO and A+ programs. The school had 2 labs ready for the first day of school in October. We held 2 sessions—one in the morning and another in the afternoon. Each lab had 35 students. We had 140 students the first week we were open and the waiting list started to grow. Within the next 6 months we had 2 more labs each with 40 students and the waiting list was still growing. There were two certified teachers in each lab and I was the lone special education teacher. I had access to a special education supervisor whose office was in Ohio, but otherwise I was the go to person for all students with an IEP. I established contact with the county ISD office and met with the county ISD special education staff. Eventually I would orchestrate and maintain a special education program consisting of more than 50 students on two different schedules.

It wasn’t long before my difficulties started. I had a small lab where the students with IEPs could come for individualized assistance. Most were using the A+ program that was easily modified for lower grade level work to accommodate students varying performance levels. Which just wasn’t sitting right with the general education teachers. Why should those students have easier work? It wasn’t air they were given high school credit for lower grade level work. I quickly became familiar with the supervisor in Ohio and had her phone number on speed-dial.
Next was the problem with there being so many students with IEPs coming to my room. It wasn’t fair they were not required to stay in the room like all he other students. Then there was a problem with IEP students having access to workbooks for credit. Being in jail and allowed to return to school when other students had to reenroll after an extended absence. All this IEP nonsense was just patronizing the students and encouraged them to shirk responsibility. As for as the general education teachers were concerned, I was the one encouraging these special education students to milk the system. I need to get over my fear and face these students and set them straight! It wasn’t long before Ohio had her own office next to mine to more efficiently deal with the general education teachers’ misunderstandings. Eventually the public protests died down, but the resentment and animosity never faded.
Initially when a student had an emotional problem or was frustrated, the principal would call myself and our family advocate in to meet with the student. Together the four of us would work on a solution or a goal. As the school grew, this task was left to myself and the family advocate to deal with these situations. This also caused problems with the staff. Again they saw this “service” as coddling and allowing students to manipulate the system. The general education staff had established its own line of communications with central office in Ohio. I did not know it then, but the school and the management company was now divided. On one side there was central office management and the general education teachers tallying my deficits, and the principal, supervisor and ISD tallying my successes. Within 6 months I had lost my greatest ally. Central office fired the principal. It was now them 1; me 0. And I was still on the offensive.
I met Marcus sometime in January 2006. I had heard he was a real terror. Angry at the world, angry at his mother whom he was now living with, and angry with having to be in school. There were rumors he had assaulted the principal at his previous school with a knife. Stolen several cars and even operated a successful drug business. I tried not to put too much stock in such rumors as I avoided reading IEPs of new students until I had met with them. Marcus had the general education teachers sweating. If the reports were true, they wanted him out of school; at the very least he should be in my room where he wouldn’t be a threat to them or they added after a long pause, the other students.
Marcus came into school and by all appearances and actions seemed determined to live up to his reputation. To describe him as angry was like saying a blue whale is big. It was obvious he hated everything and everyone. My advice to the lab teachers was patience and not to push Marcus until we had established a rapport with him, immediately was dismissed as indulgence.
Several weeks later Marcus storms into my lab/office. He was demanding where his other credits were. His lab teacher told him all he had was 6 credits towards graduation and he needed 19 credits to receive a diploma. Marcus was ready for a fight. Somehow he had managed not to slap the lab teacher, but he was ready to rip my head off if he didn’t like what he heard. I cannot tell you what I was thinking at that moment, but I want to say that I understood where Marcus was coming from. Either he knew he had other credits or believed he should have more credits on his transcripts. Either way I accepted the fact he believed he was right. And who was I to argue? I hadn’t even seen his transcripts.
“Let me see if I can find out for you.” I told him.
“HOW YOU GOING TO DO THAT!!” Marcus had thrown down the gauntlet.
“Why don’t you pull up a chair over here,” I said slowly, “and I will call your high school and ask.”
All eyes in the lab were on me. All you could hear was the whirling of the computers’ hard drives. It was quieter than a deprivation chamber. Marcus just stood there, staring at me like I was rotten meat.
“Sit down and tell me what school you went to last.”
He said I wasn’t going t call them because it was way down in Mississippi. I was just trying to clam him down enough to call security in to haul him out of the school. I told him to give me the name and city so I could pull it up on the Internet and get the telephone number.
An hour later, I hung up the phone, had a complete copy of his transcripts Faxed to the front office and a total of 14 credits. As Marcus just sat there next to me I could see the little frighten boy he was. I knew he was embarrassed, not that he showed it, but I could tell. He was speechless. In all his anger, he could not find anything to say. I was just a little uneasy and had no idea where this would go.
Marcus came back to school the next day and I never gave it a second thought. Marcus never had another day of trouble and as far as I know was a model student.
In June 2006, I talked with Marcus’ mother at graduation. I had spoke with her quite a bit since Marcus had been at the school, but she had something to say at graduation. She told me Marcus had come home that day he ripped into me. She said Marcus told her every graphic detail, complete with the expletives and implied threats. She said she wasn’t surprised at all that Marcus would react so violently towards authority. What she told me next almost brought me to my knees.

“Marcus told me that when he finished what he had to say, screaming in your face and making threats, he said ‘Momma, when I was done, Mr. Johnson just stood there. He didn’t yell back. He didn’t tell me to leave. He just looked at me and said he would help. He talked to me like a man momma.’ And he has never been the same since. Thank you Mr. Johnson for giving me back my son.”

Saturday, January 28, 2012

When does it start?

The Early Years; I am not sure if this is the correct use of the phrase for this book. I wanted to impress upon the reader that the time prior to present is something more than just the past.
I have always been enthralled with history. Now as I count the years between my current age of 52 and the birth of my parents, the distance between us is not so great. Then I begin to count the years between my birth and other significant events. The Korean War in which my father fought just 6 years before my birth is like a shadow looming over my conception. Word War II, 15 years earlier, has come to be somewhat of an introduction to my existence. My father was 16 when it ended. Mother was 13.
When the Viet Nam War ended, I was 12. I sat in front of the television set watching the flag draped caskets of the soldiers coming home. I was mesmerized. I have no idea why. I just remember watching. Sitting in my mother’s rocking chair, squeezing a rubber ball like Bronson squeezed the wax in The Mechanic. I remember Lieutenant Calley. Even at the age of 12 I felt disgust. I was nauseated by what I read and heard in the media. I could barely think, why was this happening. How could our country treat Calley like a criminal? He was at war. The USA was at war. We were at war. Even a 12 year old knew that.
I believe that was the moment I began to doubt my country. When it was easier to hang a member of our military out to dry; a person who was doing a job they were told to do, rather than adress the hierarchy who developed the policy…how could I support hypocrisy? Years later I would learn that we were supposed to hold the individual German troops responsible for killing the Jews and other ethnic groups. I was told that each member of the military has to decide when orders are morally and ethically acceptable. I was being told the military is under no obligation to follow inhumane orders and each soldier has to stand up for what is right. And I wanted to believe this. I even repeated this mantra over the newt 5 years like it was gospel hand to me by the Lord Himself.
Then I realized, what if the troops decided ALL killing was inhumane? What if soldiers around the world all accepted war as being morally and ethically wrong? Of course this reasons that killing can be correct and acceptable at some point. How long would it take for a soldier refusing to carry out an order they deemed morally and ethically wrong to be executed on site and made an example of? At what point will we accept the soldier truly had no choice? Are we to hold the person responsible for carrying out orders in lieu of being put to death? At some point self-preservation has to be an acceptable defense. We have to move farther up the ladder to where the directive originated and ask why they were permitted to issue such a command…

Friday, January 20, 2012


Thanks for the guest post by Jo Levy

Ever since we upgraded our internet service provider at, I have been a lot more connected with friend and family in Florida. We moved away for my husband’s job only two years ago, but it feels like it has been forever! Of course we stayed in touch through e-mail and telephone convos, but now that our internet speed is quick, we can stay in touch with everyone through Skype. I had no idea what Skype was until my kids showed me one day. They were talking with their cousins that live in Orlando. I was totally in awe that you could see and talk to people that far away in real time. The picture is actually really clear. It is like you are all hanging out together in one place when you are really so far away. I wish that I had known about this when we moved to years ago. I would have gotten an internet speed that was much faster sooner. I feel like I am home when I am really so far away!

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Ready to pen – waiting to speak freely

Imagine there’s no difference. Imagine there were no fear. A thought beyond comprehension without fear.
Discrimination does not live without fear, intolerance has no reign without fear, prejudice dies a pointless death. Albeit unnoticed by humanity. Without fear there is no wealth, without fear there is no disparity, without fear there is no status. Could fear be the commonality that drives civilization into a frenzy? Is fear the one underlying element that causes society to demand justice? Looking for the one thread. When it is removed undoes every pre-conceived fallacy. Couldn’t it be fear?
Once that is removed what have we to fear? Is every decision we make simply based on fear of what if we chose an alternative? Worst-case scenario – unacceptable. Fear dictates thinking and influences patterns. Fear over rules sensibility and creates it’s own reality. Fear allows us to be content, find comfort in avoidance and accept status quo.

Fear rules and will never relinquish control freely – until we demand it be executed and ignored – until then we will always be submissive.