Tag Archives: justice

Order is in the Bar


A cold fire burns within and without in the world I dwell in, and they all dance on a pin while I sit wondering why they dance at all, and what tune is playing as they dance, and do they even hear the music that they dance to because it’s god awful.

I press my ear to the wall in my hotel room and I hear their gibbering, muffled words coupled with occasional laughter. The snatches of conversation never seem to come into focus, never revealing anything but more mysteries of a world that I could never truly see. It’s one of lofty laughter and sick sorrows, and fears reflected off a dirty black mirror sucking in all the known. In that room, desires are unfurled, as regrets are thrown to the floor, forgotten, with lessons never picked up and put in their proper place upon the shelf.

Chaos reigns in that room as Order has a left a long time ago and gone for a drink in the hotel bar down below.

I pound against the wall, over and over.

“Hear me!” I yell at the peeling paint.

“See me!” I yell through the thick crumbling plaster.

“Let me into your party!” For I need talk sense to you savages, or at the very least strangle you all completely so I can finally go peacefully to sleep.

The music abruptly stops. The mumbling, murmurs, and gaiety subside.

Have they heard me? All is quiet.

Then there is laughter all around, and a banging back upon my wall as if by a hundred, a thousand, no a million hands, and one clear word shining through it all of being called a “FOOL” right before the music resumes, louder and more raucous than before.

My fists clinch, eyes becoming intense as dark deeds flood every particle of me. Destruction reigns, blood rising as my blue view begins to fade to a pale red creeping to a dark hue.

Then comes a knock at my hotel room door.

I walk over, looking through the peephole and it’s Order, eye to eye with me.

I fling open the door ready to give him peace of my mind.

“I thought you might need a friend,” Order says,  grinning with whiskey in hand as he walks in, bringing all his new found followers, never ending, flowing in, filling my room complete.

Order’s smile is infectious and I smile back as the cold fire within burning  begins to warm.

I laugh loud and hard, bringing out glasses for everyone, filling them, with Whiskey neat, passing them out fast as I fill them

“A toast, a toast” I say, with a flourish of my glass, “To Order, my friend, for your time shall come as will our own, so drink, drink and turn the damn music up and lets have some fucking fun!

by Philip Wardlow Feb, 2020

Send your Kid to TrumpCamp its an adventure!


 

Trumpcamps are facilities  where Immigrant Children ranging from 5 months old to 17 years of age go to linger in their own filth and stench.

They are not giving means to wash their clothes, brush their teeth, clean their bodies, properly eat, given time to go outside,  or being taken care of medically overall.

7 to 8 yr old children are being  directed by the guards and supervisors of the facility to take care of children as young as 5 months old who are also  not part of their family.

350 Children are “housed” in a facility with a capacity of only 100.

They live in cages on a thin mattress on a hard floor bunched in cages with little to no privacy from those they are caged with or from the guards not more than foot away outside their cages with guns at their holster.

I.C.E. and Homeland Security are breaking the LAW.

72hrs is the maximum time mandated by law under the George Bush Jr era for  processing these immigrants and moving them on to a better Housing environment or with a family living in the U.S.

These children stay in  horrendous conditions for weeks to months.  Some are malnourished . There has been lice and flu outbreaks left to grow unchecked.

Now the Department of Justice lawyers are making light of the conditions and actually defending the outrageous inhumane treatment done to  the children.

I say again, its inhumane in regards to  what the US Government….OUR Government is doing to them. We are paying for this to happen to these children out of our own tax money.

It’s time to say enough is enough.

The children are suffering.  Simple as that. Children are suffering at OUR  hands and yet we do nothing. This goes against every thing the US stands for.

Speak out. For we are the Government  not the governed. The Senate, the Congress and the President work for us.

We are not obligated to just bow our heads and say nothing.

 

by Philip Wardlow June 25th, 2019

* please reblog if you could , repost, copy, share in all forms of social media in your own way at your disposal. I have already shared this on Instagram, and Facebook and now here. Our voices do matter, never think they don’t.

 

 

Marita Growing Thunder


 

Marita Growing Thunder is her name, she is just 19 years old, and on a mission to bring a voice to the growing lack of concern regarding the almost epidemic, and systemic issue of  the Thousands of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Woman  (MMWI)  in the US and Canada of over the last few decades.

Click the links below to read her story and the cause she is fighting for the woman who no longer have a voice and for future women who will SURELY go missing themselves or be murdered.

Online Articles related to her Movement and Awareness Outreach:

https://www.truthdig.com/articles/walking-with-marita-growing-thunder-and-the-young-revolutionaries-among-us/

https://www.independent.co.uk/news/long_reads/native-american-women-missing-murder-mmiw-inquiry-canada-us-violence-indigenous-a8487976.html

Witch Hunt


 

WitchsBroomsticks

 

Sister,  sister, you’re dead now. 
known as only ashes buried deep in a cold shallow
grave at the top of a lonely hill…
I saw you burn hotter than the sun, tied to a stake
worse than a dog was ever done.
Sister,  your shrieks still fill my ears from
that day, as they continued to pile on the wood to your funeral pyre.
I saw them laugh as the flames rose ever higher and higher.
I could only salt the earth with my tears for I was far too young.
Far too young  to save  a lighted soul such as yours being wronged.
My own darkened that day,
blacker than a shipbuilder’s pitch.
A witch you never were, but now
a witch I have become,
and tonight I hunt.
Hunt for the many ones,
and oh they will surely see a witch
tonight of the like they
have never seen.

 

By Philip Wardlow 2016