On the bulletin board in the staff area is a notice. The notice reads, “All residents and fifth pathway students report to Dr. Beck’s office at 0700 today.”   The whole gang of Doctors crowd into Dr. Beck’s small room with a huge brown desk.  Dr. Beck reports, “Everyone must leave the complex by 1500 today or stay here the weekend. A huge winter storm will drop at least eight feet of snow tonight and leaving otherwise will be impossible and dangerous.  Make all preparations for evacuation now.  The clinic will resume on Monday or Tuesday when the snow blowers clear the roads.  Any Questions?”

“What if you have no place to go?” asks Dr. Wracker. Dr. Beck says, “Anyone staying will assume the duties of the regular staff and remain in general quarters. The cafeteria will be open at a reduced level on standard meal times.”
Working in a Psychiatric hospital is boring. As long as a person integrates protocol into a mindless act, the rigmarole gets boring. Open the doors and make sure they are closed as a person exits. Genius experts evaluate each patient individually and place them on appropriate medication. What a clinical Psychiatrist does is watch for side effects of a particular medication and administer antidote or note overt change. Any dramatic change of a patient’s behavior in any way indicates failure to take the medication or evolution of florid psychoses mandating a change in pharmacotherapy. Most patients after evaluation and medication do not change very much and the evaluation of these patients becomes automatic and quick. The main exceptions are split personality, catatonic schizophrenia and undifferentiated Schizophrenia. A clinical physician treats all patients with these conditions gingerly, as stress precipitates psychoses with a violent outcome. Once a patient becomes violent he or she must be restrained, paralyzed with medication, and if no remission ensues ultimately terminated. To be a clinical Psychiatrist a physician must be highly intelligent to memorize the pharmacology of the medications and recognize symptoms, the side effects of the medications and the antidotes or remedies for treatment failure. A clinical Psychiatrist must be religious because mental patients in a high percentage are doomed to a precarious existence for life. Once a patient confines to a mental hospital, he or she most likely returns periodically until they die in an abbreviated and shortened life span. To realize most of your patients will die in a filthy or sordid way sobers even the most optimistic of human beings. If you choose surgery, it is a hopeless addiction.
Most young doctors come from rich families. Only rich families can afford the lengthy and expensive medical education. By 1400, all the residents and fifth pathway interns are on the train out of Pookipsie or hook up into carpools to take them downstate. These people will have a tremendous weekend because New York City never sleeps. A bar, a nightclub or restaurant remains open 24/7 somewhere in the city, usually on the upper-class side. All it takes is mountains of non-olfactory money spent in a casual and frivolous way. Money remains the rate limiting factor in the Gibb’s free energy equation. Probably if Wracks had money he would float on a surfboard somewhere in the sun. Dr. W makes his rounds and heads to the cafeteria for the one plus one plus one meal. “It’s so you do not get fat,” she says. Dr. Lecter finds him there. “Why aren’t you gone,” Questions Dr. Lecter. “I have no where else to go and no money.” says Dr. W. “I did not have anywhere to go either,” says Dr. Lecter. Here is the master key to all the wards. This key opens everything, anywhere on the complex. I want you to do morning rounds in our ward and again at 2300 hours before you turn in. We have a new patient from a wealthy family. He was a Viet Nam Veteran and forced to kill people with his bare hands. He was one of the last out at Da Nang. He has become violent and lies in a strait jacket in the padded holding cell. Pay particular attention to him. Remember; do not let chronic schizophrenics get between you and the door. I live close by and will remain in touch. Wear the key on your neck and sleep with it. If it is lost, all the locks in the whole veteran’s complex have to be changed.” “Goodnight,” he says as he walks off into the long corridor.
The Pookipsie Veterans Hospital is a huge apparition set in a park like arcade. The buildings link by means of catacomb tunnels with locked doors at each end. Large fluorescent lights hang in the long, cold, grey, concrete tunnels and sound echoes eerily and reverberates into nothingness. The environment is kind of like a Lon Chaney Frankenstein movie. It must be here where Lon got the settings for the movie. wracks walk alone here late at night in the tunnel leading to Ward 4. He sings and say words to see the ramifications of the reverberations. “Spooky,” Dr. W. says to himself. “Real spooky.”
When the Wracks arrives at Ward 4, everything is mundane. Drugs medicate the patients and they are asleep. The nurse, who looks overworked, stressed and tired, beckons to me from behind the glass blast shield. Dr. W waves back. Dr. W moves to the restraining cells and removes the shield from the glass porthole. As Dr. W Looks into the cell Mr. Glitz looks him back eye to eye in the glass. Only one inch of hardwood door separate our two faces. Mr. Glitz looks more frightened then mean. He must be frightened because he knows that payment is expected for his violent behavior. He stands in a strait jacket in hospital bed clothes. Wracks introduces himself. “I am Dr. W. I will check on you periodically this weekend. Do not be alarmed, nothing changed. Dr. Lecter will see you Monday morning. Get some sleep, it is late.” Dr. W. then looks into the room of the catatonic schizophrenic. Mr. M sits in his chair, wrapped in his usual sheets facing away from him. Dr. W looks away down the hall and looks back in through the porthole. Mr. M does not sit in the chair; he moved out of view. Dr. W instinctively checks the door to make sure it is locked. In ten milliseconds, Mr. M. senses his appearance and moves out of view. He could be juxtaposed behind the door if it is opened. Dr. W does not open the door and walks on. “Make a mental note,” Dr. W says to himself. “Mr. M can feel me.” Dr. W leaves Ward 4 and enters the tunnels. He walks alone through the tunnels. He makes sure the doors lock behind him. He enters the Residents lodging and his cubicle. Dr. W hangs his white smock on the door. Dr. W heats water with his tourist prong and makes instant coffee. Dr. W makes sure the key is around his neck. He adds powdered creamer to the coffee. Dr. W lights a cigarette, opens his books and reads until sleep overtakes him. Locked in a little room in the darkness with the door barricaded with a desk.

It is cold in Northern China, in the winter, away from the city. The wolves assemble, because they are a formidable force, together in a pack, and the temujin is there because no body else wants him. They look at him, and he looks back because he is theirs and they were his a long time ago. Now, amongst people he assembles an army, to unite a nation, but mostly to dispense the pagans who prey on the poor. His men are his, and he is theirs, and they fare well in a fist fight but now they have swords, spears, arrows and more. It is the temujin who invented gunpowder in a standard sixty-forty twenty mix, and his men, and his women, and their children bind bamboo together with sisal rope to make a tube, and with this makeshift canon, he destroys the world. They fire, rocks, stones, and grenades at an enemy that becomes no more. He takes their assets, mostly gold, because it is a noble metal, very strong, but with the ability to be forged with a hammer when warm, into shields, body armor and arrowheads because it is also heavy. His army bathes in gold, they dress in gold, pure gold, and their shields glimmer and reflect in the sun from miles away. The horses too, wear body armor. Leather when soaked in horse urine overnight and then dried becomes a plate that can turn an arow, a lance or an axe. They venture into battle, destroying everything, taking no hostages, and bringing the people together in a nation that will last a thousand years. The men, the women, and the horses too, live on rice made with a gravy simmered from blood. Rice is chosen over the other grains because it is portable, spoils very slowly and cooks in ten minutes. He is the temujin, and they are his men, and they are one, and the women sharpen their swords, rear the children, and care for the animals. In a well formed army, they are indispensable. In this era, with an attack by fire, that is chapter nine, no one can withstand them, no one will withstand them, and if they try, they will perish.
The temujin likes the Russians, maybe he might be part Russian, no one ever told him. He is an orphan. He marries Aphrodite Russia, queen of Russia, with the other and they produce children that color the Siberian epoch for years to come. Now he owns the world, the world is his and he and the other want to go home. The world is too big to rule alone. She is beautiful, even when she dies she is beautiful and Yahweh made her his gift to him for the ends of time. She is tall and strong and wears skin tight leather, not to show off her figure but because tight leather is hard to grab and hold. She wears a dagger in front of her thigh in a leather throng, and a broadsword hung on her back, not because she goes into battle, but because she has to protect his children. She stabs anyone with her dagger that approaches him from behind because he is the temujin.
time elapses and everyone is only here for an instant and the great nation is united, has a capitol and a successor. She eventually dies, in his arms, and he carries her body to the temple of Anghor Wat where she is entombed forever and for all to see because without her, it never would have happened. The temple in Cambodia at Anghor Wat is the holiest place in Cambodia and Gauguin are forbidden to enter it under penalty of death.
The temujin is human, and humans have enemies, and if they outnumber you, they will eventually win. The temujin eventually emigrates to Africa and sits with the great Nebucanezer the great of Africa, in Kenya, until his death. The temujin and Nebucanezer are burried side by side at Mount Kilimanjaro, and anyone who violates their grave will be entirely destroyed. The Nebucanezer who share the same eyes with the temujin are his descendent.
In military history, it is the weapons that define the army that prevail. Exceptional attacks come out of the sky, and a number greater than 3 wins. It is those weapons that are forgotten that become something today. They were called the golden horde not because their skin is yellow but because they dress in 24 carat gold. The wolves that assembled when he was there have gone into Siberia and they watch with bright eyes.

The heat waves rise from the steam radiators inside the Veterans Administration graduate student housing. Revelry and reverie occur at 6 AM and the public showers lie too far away.  The Wracks settles for a sponge bath, a shave and then brush his teeth.  The white smock covers clearance clothes no one sees anyway.  In line at the cafeteria with patients in bedclothes and ragged edges for the sumptuous military repast.  One egg, one piece of toast, a pat of butter, a cup of coffee, and a glass of chocolate milk for desert exists as the morning fare. “Can I have another egg?”  asks the Wracks.   The food server looks at him and she says, “No, it will make you fat.”   The Wracks move on with the other residents in the cafeteria at a bunk table in a large hangar room converted to restaurant. Everyone smokes. The Wracks lights up. A patient dressed in a bathrobe and jeans comes over and begs for a cigarette.  The Wracks gives him two. He lights one up, smiles, sticks the other over his ear on the side of his head, blows a smoke ring and moves on.  We meet today in the main observation area at seven hundred hours military time.

       Schizophrenics do not seem so bad.  For the most part they look the same as normal people, smile and wave to the Doctors as we come in.  There are exceptions.  The exceptions have private suites for everyone’s safety.   Dr. Lecter introduces the Wracks to a Viet Nam Veteran who is cross dresser and sits immobile for prolonged periods of time.  He is the one that broke Dr. Sheldon’s nose.  This patient is an afro American on the gaunt side.  He wears a long evening gown with a pearl necklace and earrings.   His hair is cut short Marine style.  Mr. O, this is Dr. Wracks and he will be interviewing you today.  Should I have an absence, he will be the one interfacing with you. 

    “Hello Mr. O.   My name is Dr. Wracker. How are you today?”

Silence

“Mr. O, be at liberty to tell me if your medication is correct and you feel well each day.  Should you desire more or less, let me know.  If your jaw clenches tight, let me know.  If you can not sit still, let me know.”

Silence

Mr. O smiles at the wracks and says “I like you.  I hear you have good hands.”  Dr. Wracker says, “thank you for the compliment.  If you have anything else to say or want me to write in my notes please speak now.”

Silence

“Good day Mr. O, I will see you tomorrow around the same time.”

“Bring me some cigarettes,” he says. “I like Marlboro too.”  “I will not forget,” says Dr. wracker.  Dr. Wracker slowly, slowly, slowly rises from the interview chair and moves backwards keeping an eye on the patient at all times without maintaining direct eye contact. 

“What do you think about Mr. O?’ says Dr. Lecter.  “Undifferentiated, with catatonia and lack of affect.”  “That is what I think too.” Smiles Dr. Lecter.  “Now I want you to meet Mr. M.  Mr. M. is a chronic patient with catatonic schizophrenia.  He rarely moves in the presence of anyone.  The reason he is a chronic patient is because he likes to hang from the ceiling and fall on people.  He is a violent offender.  In his presence, move slowly and never ever take your eye off his body until you lock the ward door with your key.  Back away from him and never let him get between you and the door. When the lock clicks on the door, then you can turn away.”   Mr. M. sits in a chair, alone in a room covered with white bed sheets.  One arm hangs down low and the other is wrapped around his neck.  He does not move.  Like a statue, he sits there and does not move.  His breathing is imperceptible and his eyes never blink.   “How are you Mr. M.,” says Dr. Lecter.  Silence.   “If there is anything, I can do for your please let me know.” Says Dr. Lecter.  Silence.  “We are leaving now.  See you tomorrow.”  Silence.  We both back away to the door and Dr. Lecter takes the key hanging on his neck while I view the patient and opens the door.  As we slip outside I hear, “Goodbye.” From Mr. M.  When the door lock clicks I look into the room from the observation window above the door handle.  Mr. M. has moved.  Both of his arms lay at his sides as if in preparation for a leap.  The chair has moved a quarter of a circle towards us.   All this happened in ten milliseconds of time.   “Let me remind you to never let him get between you and the door.”  Wracks nods and says, “I understand.”   “Let me now introduce you to a football player who occasionally becomes violent. He is a famous defensive lineman.  When he gets mad he picks up whoever angers him and throws them through a window like a softball.  Do not make him mad.  The reason he is here now is because he threw his wife and her family out a three story window into the street. I maintain him on an indoleamine alkaloid antipsychotic agent called Moban.  Use this drug for violent patients.  Moban works well.”  Mr. G. is a large afro American about six four or six five in height and extremely muscular.  He is famous for tackling fast running backs and hurting them.  “Hello Mr. G. how is you today?”  Mr. G says, “Fine, I like my Moban.  When can I go home?”  “When you are stable, we will send you home Mr. G.” says Dr. Lecter.   “I hope that is soon,” says Mr. G.  He pulls a cigarette from a package on his front pocket, lights it, takes a long inhale, blows it out and says. “See you later.”  He then walks towards the television set and watches the broadcast standing while smoking his cigarette.  “Interview your patients every day, write notes and advise me if a change occurs.”   “Do not change their medication without asking me.”  Says Dr. Lecter.   “See you tomorrow. I have to meet some private patients in my in town office says Dr. Lecter.  He walks off seamlessly and disappears into his office as the door clicks shut. We have missed lunch so Wracks goes back to his room and review his notes and read again the notes Dr. Lecter presented to the group. Wracks will see my comrades at six in the dinner line.  We all are dispersed in the many wards and places around the Veterans facility. Wracks lock himself into the little room and smokes.  He does not want to miss dinner.  Winter still exists outside and the cold seeps in through the cracks in the insulation.  The steam radiator radiates heat and a light mist escape from the relief valve on top of the unit.  Wracks has learned to quick dry shoes and underwear on the steam radiators. He pulls the reading lamp close to his face to illuminate the pages of the notes, his notes and medical texts.  Time goes by quickly and it is time to get a one plus one plus one dinner.  Main course plus a vegetable plus a starch and cool aid from the huge beverage coolers.   Food tastes good and tastes even better when a person is hungry.  Tomorrow will occur soon enough.  Wracks do not want to provoke it.  Now at night in Pookipsie, upstate, ensconced on the road to a career and maybe a new beginning, Dr. W sits by himself with his reading light and cigarettes and a milky way bought from Napolean.

Shout, shout

Let it all out

These are the things I can do without

Come on

Shout shout

Scream it out

This is what I am talking about

Come on

In all these years

You didn’t have to sell your soul

Amongst your peers

You didn’t have to lose control

You didn’t have to lose control

You didn’t have to lose control

Shout shout

Let it all out

These are the dreams I can do without

Come on

Come on

Shout shout

All alone scream it out

These are the schemes lurking about

Come on

I am talking to you

Come on

Its all in my mind

You didn’t have to tear my world apart

Time after time

You didn’t have to break my heart

You didn’t have to break my heart

Shout shout

Scream it aloud

These are the scenes lurking around

Abound, they whisper to you

Abound

Shout, shout

Let it all out

These are the dreams

I can live without

Come on  I am talking to you

Come on

As the earth revolves

Get out of my mind

Night turns into day

I need time to unwind

There exists no reason why

There exists no reason why

“Where have you been?” “We are busy tonight!” “Get your ass into room two. We have a gunshot to the abdomen and we need your hands!” Dr. Mac is an African American built strong and powerful and he is also a trauma surgeon.  His sister could be Oprah Winfrey and probably is but the wracks never asked him.  He is always too busy doing surgery.  the clock says eleven thirty.  Wracks missed the burrito run and will have to settle for chips and a coke and his coat needs washing but no one ever sees it anyway and tonight a gunshot victim lies on a gurney in a pool of blood with two doctors doing what they do and a second-year student cleaning up the mess. The Wracks cleans up messes in the ER. His chores are to clean the surgery rooms and suture sites and then wipe antiseptic on the furniture.  He also lends a helping hand. “Get your white ass over here and take the pail and pour the blood over the screen so we can rein fuse him with his own blood says Dr. Mac.  I have already dropped four crystalloid bags and he still bleeds.  Dr. Mor is on his way and will do it in the penthouse. “The patient is an Arab male of average height with dark hair.  He could be Iranian.  He could be Saudi.  He could be Iraqi but now he is in between life and death and nothing else flies germane.  On the right side of his abdomen is a gaping hole the size of a fist and everyone can see into his abdomen.  Blood drops out of the exit wound in his back steadily and the wracks grabs the stainless pail and hands it to one of the doctors who pours the blood back into a bag hooked up to a large 16-gauge trochanter needle stuck into his femoral vein. The Wracks puts the stainless pot underneath.  The man is conscious but barely breathing and has a vacant expression on his face with sightless eyes staring up into oblivion. Dr. Mac pours the blood on the screen and the nurses enter in and out bringing bandages and surgical sets.  “This guy is the luckiest man in the world says Dr. X.  The 357 magnum slug missed his aorta and right kidney by one inch. If we can stop the bleeding he will live.”  Mac and X clamp the bleeding vessels; insert gauze into the hole blasted out by a 357 magnum revolver. A nurse puts her head through the curtain and says “We have a patient clubbed with a baseball bat on route. He will be in room one.”  Dr. Mac says to me, “Stay with this man until Mor comes for him. Do not let anyone closer than ten feet away. Wracks says, Am I your favorite white boy?  Dr. Mac says; If anyone comes in the door, grab the phone and type in the secret emergency number we gave you and security will come. Do not let anyone near him because he is near death.”  Dr. Mac and Dr. X run into receiving and the wracks is alone. he sits in the wooden chair next to the door with a blue seat and thin legs and I wait.   Five minutes later a person puts his head in the door.  The person is also mid-eastern with thick black hair and a thick black beard in jeans with a mean expression and wild eyes.  The Wracks says “You cannot come into this room or I will call security.  He says nothing and looks at the Wracks. Wracks slowly stands and walks to the phone and slowly pick up the phone and put it to his head. “If you do not leave, I will call security!” says Wrak The man looks at him and the hair on the back of his head starts to crawl.  He holds the phone.  He looks like he will explode. Wracks holds the phone.  He looks at him.  Wracks start dialing the secret code and he snarls and disappears.  Wracks never saw him again.  Dr. Mac says he did well because he probably was the shooter and wanted to finish the job.  Dr. Mor is an Anglo-Saxon man about six feet tall with slightly red hair.  He has good hands.  He and his surgical assistant start rolling the man toward the service elevator to the penthouse.  “Dr. Mac what is the new kid’s name?”  “Wrak”, says a voice from down the hall.  “Nice to meet you Wrak,” says Dr. Moo.  They leave and the elevator door closes.  wracks hear the patient lived and was able to tell his children the tale.  He is a lucky man indeed.  The bullet missed vital targets and Dr. Moo was the general surgeon on call that night.  He lives only fifteen minutes away.  In life, like anything, luck is everything and when a person needs luck, they need a lot of it, now, badly.  This man lucked out.  “Clean the room and mop up the blood.” Says Dr. Mac.  “We need a surgery set in one with proline.” “You can leave at daybreak.”  “who is your favorite white boy,” says the Wracks.”   “Fool” says Dr. mac.   Get back to work.  

Things change. People change and get older and their grandchildren look just like them. The earth changes too. Volcanic activity from forces beyond comprehension adjusts the sea floor, and the beaches and the mountains which are really upthrust from the center of the planet. This morning BG and Wracks reconnoiter on a hill above Salt Creek, a little bit off the beaten track on a fire road in the hills of San Clemente. BG has a scope, and he and Wracks are watching a surf break that was off limits to the public like the upper trestle is.
here, take a look at the Salt Creek Peak says BG
Alright, there is one person out there surfing the reef alone.
His name is TJ says BG, and I know him. How many grads is that on the scope, This is my favorite optic that I put on my rifle.
About two grads says the Wracks.
Thats about two hundred yards says BG, my turn.
It is summer in Southern California and the ground is brown, and dry, and when the wind whips in from the west, sometimes dust eddies spin around like demons. Salt Creek is an exclusive enclave, with a gate and fence with a wire, People live there because of the Beauty, and an ephemeral creek drains into the surf during the wet season. What makes Salt Creek so special is the wave, a surreal majestic figure to be looked at and admired. Maybe it is the ocean bottom contour, maybe the orientation of the beach to the ocean fetch, or pure luck, but Salt Creek for some reason breaks twice as big as the trestle on a similar swell. When Lower trestle is a four foot mushy peak, and Uppers is about the same with a long section and full of shark, and Cottons is not really breaking yet, Salt Creek can be ten feet. This is the situation that makes the peak out in the ocean that breaks both ways but better on the left. Today BG and Wracks are here and it is working.
I washed out of the Seals says BG.
Sorry to hear that BG says the Wracks
They dropped me from a pavelow in the middle of the Pacific Ocean at night and ordered that I maintain communications until morning. Something kept grabbing my feet in the survival suit and I started screaming. I thought it was a shark tasting me. I radioed that they come and pick me up and they found my transmitter within an hour. When they were hoisting me up on the rope, a scuba diver appeared from underneath the water and waved. When he was up in the copter too, I asked him what had happened. He said it was me underneath you, it wasn’t a shark, and that you chickened out. I was the backup he said, we always work with a backup. They told me back in Pendelton that I hadn’t made the cut and here I am. If someone in command does not like you, they think of a reason to get rid of you and I was gone.
Somebody had it in for you says the Wracks
It is probably something else but I cant do anything about it.
Do something else says the Wracks, you can swing it.
Lets go sneak in Salt says BG I cut a hole in the cyclone fence commando style
BG found a place to park closer to the beach, and he and the Wracks hiked in with their boards to the cyclone fence. A blond person appeared, one of BG’s friends and said that we couldn’t come in today, somebody had called the police about suspicious people loitering around at night and the security patrol was on the lookout.
BG and the Wracks walk back to the car and BG says he is depressed and wants to go home
I don’t want to surf four foot mush at lowers with the crew.
The drive back in the econocar is fast, and it seems the police let BG through and don’t mind that he I going at least seventy in a fifty-five mile zone. The five and miles of petroleum refining factories feeding the wealthy and desperate of L.A. slowly eclipse . Soon they are back in tranquil hills and behind the fence the orange silky terrier jumps two feet in the air to welcome them.
Hi Punkin says GB, we didn’t score today, and then he asks for a cola, Wracks gives him one and the green econocar with the prototype aluminum engine put out by his dads company fires up and he is gone.
Wracks never had a chance to surf salt creek, he had no one to drive him and no push to get him in the gate, kind of like 18th street in Newport. For some reason ordained by Yahweh, the reef at the salt creek fell into the sea and the exceptional surf break no longer exists. The area now populates with well endowed Japanese expatriates and the beach is no more than a closeout with very few takers except those that do not have to work. Everything changes, hopefully for the best, and the earth modifies, time passes and new generations arise to learn about things already said. History does not repeat itself, it only returns for another engagement. Enjoy the summer and give her a hug for me instead. I wonder what happened to TJ?

Welcome to your life

Theres no place to run

Theres no place to hide

Do you have a heart

It’s you I seek to find

I think I am on to something major

Please be on your best behavior

Everybody wants to rule the world

It is my desire

It is my design

Its love I do admire

I have no reason why

Leave me with a sigh

Lost In a court of knights and kings

Jewels and gold and beautiful things

Everybody wants to rule the world

Welcome to my mind

There is nothing inside

I have nothing to hide

Sit down and unwind

Promise me you will never ever leave me

Promise me you will keep me

Everybody wants to rule the world

Let the economics community know, that a new concept populates in intelligentacia. The new Buzz word is Peopleism. Peoplism defines as the governing of a democratic nation by an elected human and his family with a term limit. Let this author probe deeper into “Peoples” by a psychoanalytic profile of people and their attitudes, tendencies and development. Throughout history human beings choose their kings by asking them to be kings. A king does not declare himself king, the people ask a king to rule them. In a democratic society the populace elect human beings to serve in public offices, in effect to organize, rationalize, and institutionalize society while the working class works., Most offices except for state governorship, and as a justice for the supreme court have term limits. These term limits prevent human beings from declaring themselves king as all people try to do when placed in the similar situation. Elected officials like all animals start a clan of personals: their family, their friends and key business officials to broaden the scope of their realm. The net effect of Peopleism is that elected officials obtain easy and lucrative positions in government and sensitive private institutions for all their family members. For example: most elected officials secure entrance for their friends and family in professional schools, doctor, lawyer, and businesses to extend their push or scope of influence, and these people their families, their friends and loved ones try to steal as much money from public funds as they can during the term of their election. Once voted out of office, their lawyer sons and daughters try to get them reelected after another term, so they can continue their dominion or dictator ship. Yes, women can be dictators. Thus a dynasty is born and they try to monopolize every situation possible to remain in power and blight or cast into disrepute their foes. This is solely a human trait. Ultimately the stigmata of success and riches makes the line die out and another takes their place. Every one it seems gets a chance in the sun and you and me are no exception. In summary, all people when elected to public office in a democracy, not matter their race, creed or color, try to make themselves and their family rich and successful during their term, and then try to have their son or daughter elected to replace them.
Let I be known as a blighter or sordid iconoclast but let me stipulate explicitly that “Peopleism”, is better than a monarchy, elitism or communism.
In a monarchy, the ruling family secures the “kings fifth”, or twenty percent of all the business deals that occur in the realm. The royal family slowly expands as desirables marry into it, and the integration of the result yields a nation of the very rich and the squalid poor who serve as workers and are killed when they retire. Monarchies become “top heavy” in economic parlance.
In elitism, only the beautiful people or highly educated get to share in the spoils of a Malthusian marketplace. The elite like the royals have cushy jobs and want their children to have cushy jobs and lead lucrative lifestyles. Because the elitists value education, and hard work the bell curve shifts from 80:20 into maybe a 60:40 percentage and greater percentage of people get to share the spoils. This situation by definition fares a trifle better in fairness.
In Communism, the white tower iconoclast hard line rulers rule in fairness, the people live austere lives but on the whole, the country runs well and is well oiled. To be admitted to the communist party people must be schooled, and when awarded a red card they have access to the best jobs and prettiest women. Unfortunately like all human beings, when the iconic hard line shakers and movers pass away, communism turns into a monarchy and the result is inevitable like a pogrom or civil war.
Then we have democracy, Let us hail the red, white and blue for the most costly, inefficient corrupt political system in existence. Let us be patriots and fight for freedom because the affluent will jet to France until the war is over , then come back again. O so American. Political candidates are Peopleists and will steal, kick back or parlay all funds at their disposal until they are kicked out of office or their term expires. Then their offspring will try the same thing but WE THE PEOPLE at least have a chance to maybe elect our own, our well educated, our dedicated souls to make existence more equitable to all and to all that follow them. Let this author not scream Americanism to all around or stand on a soap box, but to guarantee that us, the ones that clean the sewers, and pipe the water, and watch the electric turbines, that this democracy is the best that we as humankind can do. A democracy is not a panacea like the Greeks extrapolate, or a god sent fixture sent by Jesus or Mohammed, but the best system we can devise to make life in our society more equitable, happy and livable. Democracy is crap but the best the economists like the founding fathers can think of for a bunch of people exiled or cast away from the mother country. Do you have a better system? Bring it to church, everyone, even your grandmother wants to hear and I am sure so do you. For all us couch potatoes, that smoke pot and watch the late show with Jimmy Kimmel, democracy with free elections is the way to go. Don’t forget to have the marines guard the ballot boxes because the president is around, and have the organization get a piece of the action with all the contraband coming in on the west coast on container ships. Pip pip, Cheerio and carry on.

A spacious place, and so green, a large pasture with Quonset hut-like structures linked together like a frontier outpost. No fence, no gate, just anonymity, and designed like a military structure because not seen by the unaided eye, most of it lies underground, and tunnels link it all together.
This is or at least was, the major psychiatric facility of the United States of America, and was built to withstand an all-out bomb attack. The front doors to the main unit are wood, hard wood like walnut or oak, and have huge parallel steel bars vertical to the ground set in the wood with steel bolts, so in case of attack, they can be chained shut, and no one can ever leave.
Dr. Whacker is here, and he just aspires to be a general practitioner on the beach and sell psychedelic surf wax on the side. The doctor or Sheldon and Kretchner somatotype welcomes the fifth pathway students to a vacation stay at his life calling; an insane asylum for the criminally insane, that is also open to military personnel shunted in from Walter Reed.
Dark, deep, foreboding, but in New York State, the sun shines on the Statue of Liberty, and the tunnels that link the facilities have fluorescent lights that dim and sparkle when they get old, and the ambiance is southern gothic. After a brief lecture by the head honcho, who got beaten up by a catatonic psychopath, the students retire to their quarters, small prison cells without lights, clustered together and isolated by a big wooden door with the best lock hardware money can buy.
Dr. Wracker is happy; his new domicile has a reading lamp, and the sheets on his futon are clean.
He gets a message from the lead doctor of the inpatient psychiatric facility to come to his office at 0800 military time for orientation, in the main unit he finds the office with a number on the door in metal so it cannot be pried off, and Dr. Wracker notices that the door is reinforced hardwood with metal laminates so it would take a bazooka to breach it should it be locked.
Come in, Wracks says Dr. Lector. My name is Dr. Wracker says the student. Your friends call you Wracks, and so will I, he says. How did you know my nickname is Wracks asks Dr. Wracker. Dr. Lector says that is what your friends call you. I am your friend. The office is a lot bigger than it looks from outside, kind of like a uterus, and a huge walnut desk, with a chair and a huge, powerful reading lamp appear inside. Still dark, quiet, and unassuming, large bell jars filled with yellow formaldehyde stand in his bookcase that occupies the majority of the room. Immaculate books like a library stud the walls, and they look like they have been read several times. In the bell jars are various parts of the human anatomy, pickled and preserved for eternity, and one has a hand inside with a ring still on its finger. Dr. Lector follows wracked eyes and says they are souvenirs from past clinical cases. Wracks, you are assigned to the main unit with me, and another doctor, and the other students will work in the outpatient unit. I don’t think I am up to the competence dealing with patients like these, says Wracks. Your dossier says you are board accredited in Internal Medicine, Am I in error asks Dr. Lector. Yes, I am, says the Wracks. Fine, says Dr. Lector, if you are up to snuff, you will learn in the main unit and live with incurable psychotics. If the law puts someone insane in a cell, they eventually go berserk and kill someone, says Dr. Lector. Here, in the military, the patients spend their day in a rumpus room, watch tv, play ping pong, poker, and the game of life or monopoly. Your job is to sit in the corner, so they can’t get behind you, and observe. Take notes. Get to know the inmates by name. Be sure you have a straight line to the door at all times, and if someone gets rough, run out the door and lock it behind you. Do not let anyone touch your key. Not anyone except me. The reason for observation is to note any side effects of psychiatric medications and alert the pharmacy. They like the professional wrestler guards work until five P.M. and then you are on your own. Observation is key and critical because people presage their actions with behavior, and the way to treat a psychotic is to prescribe medication with an intrinsic side effect opposite to their psychiatric behavior. I will be around, just shout and I will appear. You are here to learn. I will interview you periodically to transfer information from caregivers and modulate treatment protocol for the patients. Do you have any questions? No Dr. Lector. You are dismissed says Dr. Lector. Exit and the door will lock automatically. Enjoy your day.
The Wracks do not know why this place seems so dark and quiet, so quiet. Almost like eternity, and he walks down the hall to the cafeteria, because it is lunch time. Three meals a day and a small box of chocolate milk. The military has all the calories counted for logistical purposes. The patients are all there, sitting at the benches, some of them smiling, He is new someone says, come talk to us. The wracks takes his tray with a processed cheese sandwich and some chips and sits down. A tall patient from another table runs over and steals his chips from his tray. The chocolate milk is mine says Wracks. I think we like you says one of the florid psychotics. I love chocolate milk, thinks the wracks. Back in the hall, a PHILIPPINE doctor in his group screams a bunch of obscenities to no one because no one is there, and no one is listening, except maybe Dr. Lector. The Wracks heads back to the rumpus room, with his key, open the door and enter, and they don’t notice him, they already know he is new.

Office

A spacious place, and so green, a large pasture with Quonset hut-like structures linked together like a frontier outpost. No fence, no gate, just anonymity, and designed like a military structure because not seen by the unaided eye, most of it lies underground, and tunnels link it all together.
This is or at least was, the major psychiatric facility of the United States of America, and was built to withstand an all-out bomb attack. The front doors to the main unit are wood, hard wood like walnut or oak, and have huge parallel steel bars vertical to the ground set in the wood with steel bolts, so in case of attack, they can be chained shut, and no one can ever leave.
Dr. Whacker is here, and he just aspires to be a general practitioner on the beach and sell psychedelic surf wax on the side. The doctor or Sheldon and Kretchner somatotype welcomes the fifth pathway students to a vacation stay at his life calling; an insane asylum for the criminally insane, that is also open to military personnel shunted in from Walter Reed.
Dark, deep, foreboding, but in New York State, the sun shines on the Statue of Liberty, and the tunnels that link the facilities have fluorescent lights that dim and sparkle when they get old, and the ambiance is southern gothic. After a brief lecture by the head honcho, who got beaten up by a catatonic psychopath, the students retire to their quarters, small prison cells without lights, clustered together and isolated by a big wooden door with the best lock hardware money can buy.
Dr. Wracker is happy; his new domicile has a reading lamp, and the sheets on his futon are clean.
He gets a message from the lead doctor of the inpatient psychiatric facility to come to his office at 0800 military time for orientation, in the main unit he finds the office with a number on the door in metal so it cannot be pried off, and Dr. Wracker notices that the door is reinforced hardwood with metal laminates so it would take a bazooka to breach it should it be locked.
Come in, Wracks says Dr. Lector. My name is Dr. Wracker says the student. Your friends call you Wracks, and so will I, he says. How did you know my nickname is Wracks asks Dr. Wracker. Dr. Lector says that is what your friends call you. I am your friend. The office is a lot bigger than it looks from outside, kind of like a uterus, and a huge walnut desk, with a chair and a huge, powerful reading lamp appear inside. Still dark, quiet, and unassuming, large bell jars filled with yellow formaldehyde stand in his bookcase that occupies the majority of the room. Immaculate books like a library stud the walls, and they look like they have been read several times. In the bell jars are various parts of the human anatomy, pickled and preserved for eternity, and one has a hand inside with a ring still on its finger. Dr. Lector follows wracked eyes and says they are souvenirs from past clinical cases. Wracks, you are assigned to the main unit with me, and another doctor, and the other students will work in the outpatient unit. I don’t think I am up to the competence dealing with patients like these, says Wracks. Your dossier says you are board accredited in Internal Medicine, Am I in error asks Dr. Lector. Yes, I am, says the Wracks. Fine, says Dr. Lector, if you are up to snuff, you will learn in the main unit and live with incurable psychotics. If the law puts someone insane in a cell, they eventually go berserk and kill someone, says Dr. Lector. Here, in the military, the patients spend their day in a rumpus room, watch tv, play ping pong, poker, and the game of life or monopoly. Your job is to sit in the corner, so they can’t get behind you, and observe. Take notes. Get to know the inmates by name. Be sure you have a straight line to the door at all times, and if someone gets rough, run out the door and lock it behind you. Do not let anyone touch your key. Not anyone except me. The reason for observation is to note any side effects of psychiatric medications and alert the pharmacy. They like the professional wrestler guards work until five P.M. and then you are on your own. Observation is key and critical because people presage their actions with behavior, and the way to treat a psychotic is to prescribe medication with an intrinsic side effect opposite to their psychiatric behavior. I will be around, just shout and I will appear. You are here to learn. I will interview you periodically to transfer information from caregivers and modulate treatment protocol for the patients. Do you have any questions? No Dr. Lector. You are dismissed says Dr. Lector. Exit and the door will lock automatically. Enjoy your day.
The Wracks do not know why this place seems so dark and quiet, so quiet. Almost like eternity, and he walks down the hall to the cafeteria, because it is lunch time. Three meals a day and a small box of chocolate milk. The military has all the calories counted for logistical purposes. The patients are all there, sitting at the benches, some of them smiling, He is new someone says, come talk to us. The wracks takes his tray with a processed cheese sandwich and some chips and sits down. A tall patient from another table runs over and steals his chips from his tray. The chocolate milk is mine says Wracks. I think we like you says one of the florid psychotics. I love chocolate milk, thinks the wracks. Back in the hall, a PHILIPPINE doctor in his group screams a bunch of obscenities to no one because no one is there, and no one is listening, except maybe Dr. Lector. The Wracks heads back to the rumpus room, with his key, open the door and enter, and they don’t notice him, they already know he is new.

The district attorney is elected by the people to prosecute. That is what he or she is there for. Often, they must carry a personal firearm because they are solely responsible for the health and longevity of the populace. Bad guys don’t take no for an answer. A crime defines as any action that impoverishes or hurts people in any way, and this is the reason A district attorney exists, to put criminals in prison. The question is this: Does the DA know justice? Few people know her, and this is why.
Justice is a beautiful lady incarnated by the maker to save mankind from undue attack. She is a tall brunette, and she dresses in a long flowing gown and holds a scale outstretched to the people in her right hand. She is large in case she has to defend against an attack. She wears a long, flowing gown so men do not become obsessed by her immaculate figure. Justice is overly beautiful to war like Helen of Troy, and her figure is exceptional, and she holds a scale. Justice is almost perfect, not perfect like Jesus Christ, but almost……..
She holds a scale and shows it to everyone who draws near. The scale represents mankind. The right or white side juxtaposes with the black or left side, and in human endeavor, never balances. The human condition, like the scale, is not black or white, but shades of gray, and she weighs this fact in her judgment
Justice is a woman, and the maker made her feminine because justice is matronly, hysterical, and merciful. Justice has a dark side. Otherwise, the law would look like a dinosaur that carries a weapon and breathes fire.
All a criminal has to do is show justice that he or she is 51 percent good on the scale, and she, like a devoted mother, will take it into consideration. Justice can be prone to illogical and exceptional actions because she is a woman, and this is what people who love do. It pays to be on the right side of Justice because statutory law is written in black and white.
Like all humans, Justice has another side. In ancient history, it is said she was the mistress of Hades, the king of the underworld. Whether she did this to contain him or whatever is the substance of speculation, humankind must be aware that she associates with darkness, and it is not prudent, fashionable or imperative that anyone socialize with her. It is important that the DA understand this fact and beware. . Justice is the most important and desirable commodity that can ever be bestowed on humankind. Justice is exceptionally beautiful, and the thrill never dissipates.
What does this mean to coke-snorting adult movie human beings? From basic mathematics and relational operators, If a criminal donates more than half their earnings to the church, when the DA sees a writ of investigation or litigation, he or she takes it, tears it up, and allocates it to the circular file. Remember, Justice has a scale and holds it for all to see. Justice is a woman but I wouldn’t go bar hopping with her at night. The consequences might be dramatic.
If the DA or a Judge is having problems with decisions, decisions that might affect millions of people, rather than have a shot of whiskey, walk out to the main hall in the courthouse and look at the sculpture of justice holding the scale, and she will give you solace. She will give you inspiration, and know that justice is the most beautiful condition to be bestowed upon mankind.

Load and lock and kiss your wife, goodnight. We may have to fight for it.