C. Gary Sweet

The Forest keeps shrinking, but the Trees keep voting for the Axes because the Axes are clever. The Axes have convinced the trees that because their handles are made of wood, they are one of them.

Based on a Turkish Proverb

The story goes like this:
There was a monkey who lived in a forest tree, by a river. One day, the monkey saw a fish swimming in the river and thought the fish was struggling. Feeling compassionate, the monkey resolved to save the fish. It swiftly climbed down the tree, reached out, and grabbed the fish from the water. It then climbed back up and laid the fish on a tree branch. There, the fish flapped violently and soon died. The monkey was puzzled, it had only wanted to help.
This story highlights a fundamental idea about different perspectives, environments, and misunderstanding.
The monkey, being a land-dwelling creature, interpreted the fish's swimming as struggling or suffering because it judged the situation based on its own environment and experience. It saw the fish being underwater, not breathing air as it does, and assumed that the fish was in peril. In its well-intentioned efforts to help, it took the fish out of its natural environment and put it into its own environment, thus leading to the fish's demise.
The moral of the story is a caution against assuming that what is right or natural for one being necessarily applies to others. It warns us of the dangers of imposing our own perspectives and ways of living onto others without truly understanding their needs, their nature, or their environment. This parable also encourages us to develop a deep sense of understanding and empathy for the diverse perspectives and needs of different beings, recognizing that each has its own unique way of being in the world.

“Pets, it turns out, also have last wishes before they die, but only known by veterinarians who put old and sick animals to sleep. Twitter user Jesse Dietrich asked a vet what was the most difficult part of his job.

The specialist answered without hesitation that it was the hardest for him to see how old or sick animals look for their owners with the eyes of their owners before going to sleep. The fact is that 90 % of owners don't want to be in a room with a dying animal. People leave so that they don't see their pet leave. But they don't realize that it's in these last moments of life that their pet needs them most.

Veterinarians ask the owners to be close to the animals until the very end. ′′It's inevitable that they die before you. Don't forget that you were the center of their life. Maybe they were just a part of you. But they are also your family. No matter how hard it is, don't leave them.

Dont let them die in a room with a stranger in a place they dont like. It is very painful for veterinarians to see how pets cannot find their owner during the last minutes of their life. They dont understand why the owner left them. After all, they needed their owner’s consolation.

Veterinarians do everything possible to ensure that animals are not so scared, but they are complete strangers to them. Don't be a coward because it's too painful for you. Think about the pet. Endure this pain for the sake of their sake. Be with them until the end.”

- Tricia Mo’orea. Photo credit: Travis Patenaude.

By Wretched Faith

I drag my theory of the Author
with disdain for Its images…
spit stains the altar.
Sermons take donations—
guilt pennies with expectations;
a preacher paid for signs
grips the vines ripening smiles on vipers’ faces.
When almsgiving fills a bottle,
promise floats to the top;
honor lies at the bottom.

So I took one of a thousand paths
to go where ruin is carefree…
nature’s dream;
to carouse in the vapor…
walk on cream
with sophisticated imagination,
wise and blameless;
where kings and pawns cloaked in glass fog
dance for black swans until they can offer payments,
and none breathes a hymn of winter (and it’s so cold), so
change crusades rage the ruse
taking tolls on amenable fools.
“Shirk all save zero sum”—the message
by rite of pristine simplicity
(threaten seeds, break an oath,
burn minutes, anthropomorphic smoke)
and subtle elegance—
like blood in bath water,
or a woman suckling her enemy’s heir,
when battlefield draws the breast upon milk and flesh.

I may have written off the Author,
or just twisted out of concern,
but I will…
swallow what swills tomorrow;
consume quixotic truths…
muses use to abuse influence;
hard-pressed—without question:
for pouring over withered diasporic vestiges;
pouring for casualties of ancestral pestilence, once again.
There’s nuance to martyrdom:
insouciant and sleepless, scarred numb.
The “pattern pretext to madness…”—well versed;
arms braced for the fall while slowly crying for empathy;
scribbling lifestyle spinning decadence into apathy.
Mortally alone
hoping someone will find me and carry me back home.

Is this one single book, or just the first volume? 😂😂😂

When kids rule the world 😂😂😂

This is a poem I wrote called:

“Love in the Time of Melanin”
❤️
Mention
trade routes or bloodlines;
a divide reduced to punchlines and rumors.
You can tap shoes to The Weary Blues;
a minstrel tune up for consumers.
Hopes bleached, a mean place,
hands bleeding, can’t wash ‘em.
Soap ain’t for laborers
and bet’ not stain the cotton.
Redefined whips
to pimp rides; fly kicks.
Expedite the supply of implied privilege,
twas fist fights before Christmas.

Swords bring diseases,
casualties of foreign investments.
Keep acting, rapping, and athletics
boosting revenue metrics.
We’re hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, carbon,
but don't listen to a kid
who got his Master’s in Boston.
Paleness and ego—ingested placebo;
a free Tuskegee STD yelling
“fire in the p*e hole!”

Mention
a rebranded Jim Crow
with Willie Lynch-phonics.
Road Sign.
Hard Times.
Trickle-Down Narcotics.
Honest!
God bless,
the Moores, Evers, Malcolm,
Martin, and Hampton paid ransom.
Now who’s paying for the outcome?
We are hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, carbon.
Always fact check the kid who got his Master’s in Boston.
Heartstrings for harmony,
either for melanin or economy;
tragic beauty!
God’s creation has perfect shades of mahogany.

Mention
that some things won’t go viral,
like poems.
Ya’ll throw up your pencils,
those Red Ryder carbine action range model writing utensils.
Traps they’ll be waiting,
classrooms pretty vacant,
they got standing room banquets for the agents who’ll be taking statements.
We are hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, carbon.
All the wrong ones are winning,
consider the numbers,
here comes a color!

A new land with new dreams
for crossbreeds to transplant seeds
to grow more trees, push ‘em to pull weeds, build monopolies, and setup these policies,
that are still here, but they’re all dead;
new ways of slave driving—still in**ed;
progeny knits the same thread,
playing the middle with both ends.
None have ever shown face, we never met.
They’ve never been broke,
never had to sweat.
They have never worked in the fields.
They’re on super yachts in the Maldives watching sunsets;
quick to say “aim for the sky”
when American pie is only for those born on the Fourth of July.
All humans equal hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, carbon,
have the same exact systems, tissues, and organs;
all eat, drink, sleep, spit, get sick,
breathe, have a heartbeat,
have the same forms and functions.
We all have skin, and all skin punctures.
Now mention something special about color.

The Dog Always Knows

I want to tell you all about a dude who lived in my old building named Omar. He was always good for full-belly, rolling-on-the-floor laughs, usually at his expense, but he was cool like that. Here's the thing: Omar loved dogs, as many of us do, but he had a problem. For some unfathomable reason the entire canine race didn’t like him. There were lots of people who walked their dogs in the neighborhood, and not one dog would ever go near him.

I speculated many things in an attempt to explain the sheer insanity of this thing. I threw everything at him, from him being voted most hated zo****le by the global canine community, to accusing him of using vinegar aftershave, to claiming he had dead vermin in his pockets. It was bizarre!

I once walked with him down to the local dog park to gather evidence and observe. Omar couldn't pet one dog. It got so bad that a couple owners put their dogs back on their leashes. I could not stop laughing. I got the feeling they wanted us to vacate, so we split. I would joke that there was something evil living inside him; some demonic presence that only dogs could sense. I even started calling him "Omen.”

Dogs must have had dirt on him; like they knew some deep dark secret he never told anyone about. The dogs knew. He believed he was cursed, and even referred to it as "the curse." So one day I run into him outside and he tells me he met a girl, and she was coming to see him in a few minutes. And... [dun dunn dunnnn] she was bringing her dog. Bang, on cue! She comes around the corner, and sure enough, she's walking the cutest Russian Toy Terrier, I would soon find out was named “Fyodor.” Best dog that ever lived! The rest played out in slow motion. Omen bends down, pets it, raises back up, and triumphantly declares, "the curse is broken!" I look back down and see Fyodor pi***ng on his boot... and no human has ever laughed harder since.
FLATLINE__________________

Roll credits

I can’t express and emphasize this enough: if it’s the human brain’s cortex that determines human reality, then this means we were created in a manner that requires us to choose and design our own world for existence: our own beliefs, interests, principles, values, etc. We were created for the purpose of constructing our own thoughts, ideas, and processes.

I and I alone am responsible for implementing the conditions and composition of my existence. And you for yours. It is also my responsibility to establish the methods for how I respond or don’t respond to those conditions, and all other stimuli. I am. Me. Not others. I am behind the wheel. You are behind yours. I do not believe in engaging prevailing topics and narratives, and it’s pretty simple why. Because those are not my realities. My cortex didn’t produce them. They’re not my ideas. So why should I?

I stay in my lane. I follow my own existential designs and blueprints. I don’t oppose other people’s organizations, entities, forms of expression; ideas, philosophies, rhetoric, or anything else they have constructed or conjured up. I’m too busy interacting with and shaping my own. However, if for whatever strange, inexplicable reason someone’s belief grows a sharp edge, finds its way into my proximity, and attempts to cross the threshold of my big toe, I will defend myself, neutralize it, and leave it where it found me, The Creator willing.

Society says that from the moment we’re born we are obligated to subject ourselves to this system of ideas and beliefs- wholly owned by people who we will never know and never meet. Truth is, I have lived for almost half a century, and never once has anyone representing this system ever personally approached me and given me a choice of whether or not I agree to shut off my brain and give away my right to think for myself. I’m fairly certain that I would kindly decline his offer and wish him well.

Imagine someone walking up to you claiming that he owns the patent to your brain; stating that he also owns the patents for: each and every one of your brain’s functions; all methods your brain employs to process and decode information; and all of the decisions, thoughts, ideas, and beliefs your brain produces, now and in the future, in perpetuity, “so help you God.” Your brain belongs to somebody else. He has absolute authority over you. I use “he” because this is definitely a dude’s move. He then threatens you, and states that if your brain operates in any manner not pre-approved, or consistent with his reality, then you can and will face consequences, such as, but not limited to: fines, community service, jail, prison, work camps, public shaming, being terminated from your job; being physically, emotionally, and psychologically abused; having your possessions confiscated; being teased and ridiculed, bullied and threatened, blackmailed and blackballed, blamed and demoralized, and or murdered. If your brain doesn’t work the way this person wants then you’re labeled and identified as a racist, criminal, dissident, traitor, terrorist, unpatriotic, unNorthAmerican, anti-gender, anti-someone, anti-something, or any other labeled short cut to human thought.

I simply don’t possess enough ego or arrogance to be any of those things. Plus, that would take way too much energy. No thanks. I’m good. I’m preoccupied. I have better things to do. All I want is to go my own way, and do my own thing. I’m not against anyone. I just don’t see them anymore. I don’t play with futility, toxicity, or stupidity. Out of sight, out of mind. I don’t put myself anywhere near arguments, anger, blaming, excuses, liars, cheaters, judges, excluders, connivers, ass kissers, whiners, narcissists, elitists, backstabbers, racists, thieves, rudeness, the ignorant, or anyone who is anywhere in the vicinity of the aforementioned individuals.

My mind, my design, as far as my Creator decides. That’s the best I can do. Cut the rest of it out. Cut them all out. If they don’t contribute positivity or progress, put them in your rearview mirror. Don’t look back. Our clock is ticking, and life is too short to play hokey pokey with folks who don’t have legs (figuratively).

People are fighting for their rights. In other words, humans have somehow been convinced that other humans have the power to grant or not grant rights. Humans asking Humans for permission to be Humans. If you want rights, exercise them. Why ask another human to give you rights? We already have them. If you ask me, that’s the real definition of insanity: the act of humans asking other humans for permission to be humans.

I’m just going to leave that right there, for the time being. Thank you for your time. ❤️