It’s a dirty secret, but there are a lot of people who like killing. From Donald Jeffries at donaldjeffries.substack.com:
Americans never tire of violence and confrontation
The title of this subversive little missive comes from a quote by Harry Patch, the last surviving soldier from World War I. The great Smedley Butler said that war is never about enemies, but opportunities for profit. Butler was one of Huey Long’s closest friends, and retreated from politics after the Kingfish was assassinated.
Jeanette Rankin was the only member of Congress to vote against WWII, and had to have a police escort out of that sanctified temple of democracy afterwards. She noted that “You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake.” She explained, in her unique fashion, “As a woman I can’t go to war, and I refuse to send anyone else.” Her courageous stance ruined her political career. Then, as now, it wasn’t popular to stand for peace. In my view, she is the greatest woman in American history, and should have her likeness on a fiat currency bill over Harriet Tubman or any other female. I’m confident that only a very small percentage of today’s dumbed down Americans have even heard of her.
The last war that America was justified in fighting was the War of 1812. Our shores were undeniably invaded. The White House was set on fire. They say that Dolley Madison saved the Gilbert Stuart painting of George Washington. Of course, they say a lot of things. Still, picture Hillary Clinton or Michelle Obama doing something like that. I’m no literal pacifist. You have to defend yourselves and your family when you are being attacked. I don’t count the Pearl Harbor false flag. FDR might as well have been flying one of the Japanese planes himself. Every other war revolved around a dubiously perceived threat emanating from one of those “foreign hobgoblins” that the great H.L. Mencken so colorfully described.
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming!
Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
William Butler Yeats