Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Peace Meme - Sanity Is A Prerequisite For Peace

The continuing catastrophic melt down in Fukushima, Japan clearly illustrates that the pursuit of Nuclear Energy is a global suicidal tendency...yet contracts around the world are being written up as we speak to build new nuclear plants. 

Are they insane? Maybe. Are they corrupt? Most certainly.

Who knows? Perhaps, they are just setting up the next Ponzi Scheme investor bubble for Wall Street and the .01% without any intention of following through on these trillion dollar contracts.

But, one thing's for sure, sanity is not America's biggest export.

America's biggest war.

Almost every movie made now is just one big
international arms dealer commercial.

Activists, concerned about the undue influence of
"product placement" in television and movies,
complain about the little can of Coke slipped into the
storyline of a fictional dorm room or grade school playground, while missing the massive weapons demonstration of the latest high-tech weaponry on display center screen from the latest action hero extravaganza for international buyers.

Anyone who thinks dystopian reality is some

dark, post-apocalyptic time far off in the distant future
really should think again.

We're already there...people just don't realize it because
it's been wrapped in American Idol and Kardashian ass.


You can visit my Amazon Author's page at:

"I See" - Dystopia Is Already Here

Written by Sharee Anne Gorman

You can visit my author's page here:

Monday, June 22, 2015

"Conspiracy!" - Paranoid, draconian oppression has never been funnier.

The Situation Room
(Excerpt from “Conspiracy!”
by S.A. Gorman and S.J. Curwick)

The State Department’s Chief of Protocol is observing what sounds to be a very heated argument between two four-star generals. An Old Bulldog of a General with a team of like-minded generals beside him is bent over the table yelling at a Younger General with his own team of like-minded generals on his side.
Your plan’s not working,” the Old Bulldog General barks. “If you want regime change, we need to go in!”
“That’s not how we do it anymore, Jack,” the Younger General says. “Regime change is no longer accomplished by boots on the ground-”
Because that’s war...the Chief of Protocol reminds everyone.
The Younger General accepts the State Department’s interruption as par for the course and continues.
“If you want regime change,” the Younger General explains, “you start with your NGOs to foment discontent with the current regime, while simultaneously encouraging partnership with Western interests...”
Democracy promotion,” the Protocol Chief offers, helpful.
“...then you orchestrate the overthrow of the existing government...”
Democratic Uprising,” the PC corrects.
“...which leads to elections in the square...”
which is not a coup,” the PC makes clear.
“...then we recognize the newly elected regime...”
the legitimate government,” the PC adds.
“...and then they invite us in, the Younger General says, giving the Old Bulldog General a condescending smile. “We give them IMF loans and they open up the country to Western investors. We can frack, bring in GMO crops, build nuclear power plants...whatever you want...and no one can say “boo” because it’s just two democratic countries enjoying the benefits of the Free Market.”
The Old Bulldog General folds his arms and gives the Younger General a well-seasoned smile.
“And how’s that working out for you?”
He looks down at the electronic map between them.
Because from here, it looks like the farmers in the North don’t much care for your fracking and frankenfood...and have picked up their pitch-forks and shovels...”
“which makes them terrorists,” the PC points out.
“...and are beating the shit out of your little band of Nazi mercenaries and drafted high school students-”
the People’s Army,” the PC corrects.
“...driving them all the way back to the town square, where they were ‘elected’...”
the recognized government,” the PC reminds.
“...and where ‘the People’s Army’ is now holed-up, cowering like little girls, waiting for someone to swoop in and rescue them,” the Old Bulldog General says, handing the Younger General’s condescending smile right back to him. “While you sit on the sidelines and watch your five year, five billion dollar NGO project go down the drain!”
The Old Bull Dog General gets right in the Younger General’s face.
“So, if you want to frack this fucker, you better do something…and quick!”
The Younger General has visibly deflated during the course of the Old General’s verbal onslaught.
He answers in a measured voice.
“You think we don’t want to do something? You think we wouldn't just loooove to go in there with a full brigade of American troops-”
Nato forces,” the PC reminds.
“...Nato forces,” the Younger General restates, “backed by airstrikes...”
which is not boots on the ground,” the PC adds, just to be clear.
“...and drive those farmers-”
the terrorists,” the PC adds, helpful.
“...back into their barns?!” the Younger General says, finally completing his thought.
The Younger General gets right back in the Old Bulldog General’s face.
“Hell! If it were up to me, Jack, I’d line the friggin’ eastern border with American troops-”
Nato Forces,” the PC corrects.
“Nato Forces...” the Younger General restates, through gritted teeth.
Peacekeeping mission - still not boots on the ground,” the PC reminds everybody.
The Younger General continues with his point.
“…then plop down a big ‘open for business’ sign and invite corporate America to the housewarming party!”
Western investment to bolster their economy,” the PC adds, cheerfully.
The Younger General turns to the Old Bulldog General.
“…but then, Mother Russia looks up and sees a bunch of Nato troops parked on her border, and rightly figures the next thing she’ll see is a U.S. military base-”
American Embassy,” the PC corrects.
The Old Bulldog General and the Younger General both turn on the PC.
“Oh, shut up!”
The State Department Protocol Chief humbly puts up his hands.
Just here to observe...
The Younger General gives the Old Bulldog General a sober look.
“Russia’s gonna have something to say about troops on her border, Jack...and she’s gonna say it with short range nuclear missiles pointed right at the EU. Then we’re just one “fuck you” away from World War III and full on Nuclear War.”
Still not boots on the ground!” the PC interjects, just sayin’.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Buy “Conspiracy!” on Amazon:

Friday, June 5, 2015

We The People - excerpt from "Politics & Poetry" by annienomad~cyberpoet

We the People

we are teeming
we masses
we inconvenient
yet necessary

blindered daily by
well-intentioned talking heads
their rarely seen hands tied by
parent company, share-holder

we the people… 
befuddled fodder for untold riches
occasionally awakened
by the rising grumblings of
our lowly
restless brethren

seasonally riled into
made ritually pointless by
emboldened corporate bag men
and government "think tanks”
who spend tax-payer money
devising new and covert ways
to keep us from thinking.

we the people…
who marvel at our Ponzi Scheme culture
admiring the magic trick of
turning public funding into
private profit


The People... 
quasi-breathing, citizen/consumers
providing mindless grist
for modern financial mills
up to our muffled ears in debt
paupers at the polls
and pump

© 2013 Sharee Anne Gorman

Creatures - excerpt from Legends, Myths and Journeys by annienomad~cyberpoet


We are creatures of Light and Dark
we drink the sun
we dream the moon
heaven conceived our being
thought became flesh
nature bore us from
her perfect balance
…and trembled...

We are creatures of Love and Rage
crashing our illusions
on the jagged edge of
our ego fortress
searching for a small
break in the storm
an idyllic, peaceful cove
some welcoming shore

We are creatures of Hope and Despair
cynical romantics
hobbled by longing
every breath a prayer
that faith can render
true and profound the
unfulfilled promise

We are creatures of Habit and Chaos
we punch the clock
we toy with death
heaven conceived our being
thought became flesh
nature bore us from
her perfect balance

she still trembles...

©2013 Sharee Anne Gorman

"I See" excerpt from Primal Scream by annienomad~cyberpoet

I See

I See…her cringe at his arrogant,
pac-10, six-pack-fueled bid for status
I see…him grow resigned and flaccid
for the bones that protrude beneath
her starving skin

I See…the gay and well-heeled rebels
of the family paradigm
sucked back in through fear of loneliness
and threat of disease

I See…the commuter and his fight for air
and the road less traveled
I See…the child at play in a hostile
miniature monkey asphalt jungle

I See…the old couple bent from the lies
and assurances that kept them placid
members of a society that has,
so readily, forgotten them

I See…the pop culture suicide of
an instant-icon generation who
"dare to say no"
but fill their prescriptions
with a resounding

I See…the desperation
of an exploded population
and the growing realization
that maybe
isn't with us

©2008 Sharee Anne Gorman

Conspiracy! ~ Political Intrigue Has Never Been Sillier (excerpt)

Excerpt from "Conspiracy!" Chapter Twenty Nine 


The Washington Monument stands most impressive against a cobalt blue sky, its marble face nearly blinding in the late October sun. Well, the first one hundred and fifty feet are nearly blinding, the upper four hundred and five are, frankly, a little dingy.
Inside the world’s tallest man-made stone structure, Woodhead and Blundstein are feeling the burn as they struggle to climb the granite stairs... Jack with his beanstalk never climbed so high. Blundstein counts off the last few steps as they finally reach the Observation Deck. “...896...897.”
The spectacular view of the nation’s capital will have to wait, as the reporters are bent over desperately gasping for air. A kid wearing an Air Force One ball cap gives them a puzzled look.
“Why didn’t you just take the elevator?”
Woodhead and Blundstein look up, holding their sides and wheezing.
“There’s an elevator?!”
The reporters turn to see the doors of an express elevator slide open. The place is starting to clear out as a group of sightseers board the waiting car.
After a few deep breaths the boys manage to stand upright again.
“How will we know the guy from the note?” Blundstein asks. 
Woodhead studies the dwindling crowd.
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll just have to trust our instincts.”
They look around and spot a tourist in a ‘WE THE PEOPLE’ t-shirt taking pictures of the National Cathedral through the north window.
They exchange a confident smile.
The tourist takes a few more pictures then lowers his camera to find himself sandwiched between Woodhead and Blundstein. The reporters speak in a low tone while pretending to admire the view...they know how to be discreet.
“So...who are the men behind the conspiracy?” Woodhead asks, out of the side of his mouth.
“Don’t worry, we can protect you,” Blundstein adds, also out of the side of his mouth.
The tourist looks at them like they’re crazy. He backs away and quickly darts into the elevator just as the doors are closing.
“Please!” Woodhead calls after him. “You’ve come this far!”
The reporters are left alone on the observation deck. Blundstein frowns. “Damn!”
Woodhead shakes his head, sadly. “He must’ve got cold feet.”
A low and cautious voice intones behind them.
“Gentlemen, I believe I’m the man you’re looking for.”
Woodhead and Blundstein turn to find a man in a long raincoat standing in the shadows. The reporters shrug and cross to him.
The man looks around, nervous.
“I have a lot to tell you and not much time.”
Blundstein takes out his notepad. Woodhead gives the mysterious man a grateful nod. “We appreciate you coming forward, Mr...?”
“I’m not going to tell you my name, or who I work for,” the man in the long raincoat says. “Just call me...‘X’.”
Blundstein looks up from his notes, his curiosity piqued.
He takes a guess.
“As you know,” X continues. “Bellamy was assassinated to keep him from giving you the original draft of a secret trade agreement.”
Blundstein tries again.
X stops to give Blundstein a sideways glance then continues.
“This is far more than just a trade agreement. It’s an instrument of surrender. Once signed, entire nations will fall. The treaty will force countries to give up their national sovereignty through an unbreakable contract, which guarantees private investors the right to extract global resources without restriction. This is a new form of colonialism…contractual colonialism. Any law, or regulation, that interferes with corporate profits will be seen as a violation of the agreement and the offending country will be subject to sanctions, or sued for up to half of its GDP.”
Blundstein turns to Woodhead.
“Sounds like your phone contract.”
Woodhead nods.
“Yeah, those guys own me.”
X continues.
“This document goes way beyond the level of greed that has run the world to this point,” he says gravely. “Beyond the simple capture of trade routes and the control of energy resources. With this agreement, wealth extractors have found a way to legalize their spread of Empire. This trade contract will supersede the rule of law, and with nothing to stop them, this consortium of money monarchies will divvy up the wealth of the world in a modern day conquistador pursuit of gold and return us all to feudalism.”
Blundstein turns to Woodhead.
“You really should change your carrier.”
Woodhead shakes his head.
“I can’t…you heard what he said. They’ll sue me for half my GDP!”
X hears a sound from the elevator shaft.
He listens for a moment then lowers his voice even further and continues.
“The operation is run by a high-ranking military officer, the same man who ordered Barton and Farrell to assassinate Bellamy.” He pauses, “Let’s call him...General ‘Y’.”
Blundstein looks up, his curiosity piqued. He takes a guess.
X continues.
“It was General Y who gave the order to bug Green Party Headquarters. The Green Party candidate has promised, if elected, to get off fossil fuels and switch to renewable energy. General Y cannot allow that to happen.” 
Blundstein tries again.
X gives Blundstein another sideways glance.
“General Y works for a secret group of men. Men with no names and no allegiances. Men whose only concerns are wealth and absolute power.”
The boys exchange an ominous look.
X nods, gravely.
“Yes, and they must be stopped. But you’ll need proof. The original draft memo, Document 214.8, which outlines the provisions of the secret treaty is kept in the National Archives. You must find a way to get that document to the public, but be careful...the conspiracy goes everywhere.”
Woodhead gives him a solemn nod.
“You can count on us, Mr. X.”
Woodhead and Blundstein shake hands with X.
Blundstein takes one last shot.
The elevator doors open.
X nods to the reporters.
“We shouldn’t leave together…you go first.”
The boys step into the elevator. X tenses at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He turns to the reporters.
“Are you sure you weren’t followed?” he asks, in a hoarse whisper.
“We didn’t see anybody,” Blundstein says, with a shrug.
X looks around, nervous.
“Did you take the precautions I outlined for you on the phone?”
The reporters give him a blank look.
The elevator doors slide shut. X is alone on the observation deck. He turns toward the stairs as the footsteps grow louder.

© 2015 S.A. Gorman and S.J. Curwick